“Friends never need an invitation,” the man says smoothly before turning toward me. “Although you’ve been hiding this lovely thing from me. Sebastian Rollbairn, at your service.” He proffers a hand.
“Olivia,” I say, sliding my hand into his. His skin is soft and a tad slippery, and I’d bet the last seventy-three dollars of Mac’s hundred that he sleeps in overnight moisturizing gloves. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He holds onto my hand for an extra moment while he examines me, likely noticing the fingernails that haven’t seen a manicurist in more than two weeks and the absence of cheekbones, which, in the wake of my abandoned diet and personal trainer, even contouring can’t resurrect.
“Well, aren’t you just perfection personified,” he declares at the completion of his assessment.
“She’s already represented,” Deiss lies smoothly, shifting closer to my side, “and she’s deeply committed to her agent.” He holds a hand to his mouth as if telling a secret. “Things have gotten amorous.”
Sebastian’s eyes brighten at the gossip. “So, you are in the industry. Commercials? A soap?” He waves away the need for me to respond, slipping a card out of his pocket instead. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that sometimes romance and business prove incompatible. If you find yourself in that situation, you call me.”
“Of course,” I say, serenely. “Mac is always telling us what a dream maker you are.”
Sebastian beams. “Speaking of, I’ve got other clients who need my attention. But you all stay! Have some drinks on me. I only wish I could join you. But there are deals to be done, you know, and money to be made.” He winks at Mac as if he’s running off specifically to pad Mac’s bank account. Then he points a finger at Deiss. “And you. I hope you’re still considering my offer. I meant it when I said we could find someplace for you in this industry. You’ve got presence.”
Deiss nods and slaps him on the shoulder, making Sebastian’s eyes widen in surprise. His hand goes to the spot where Deiss made contact, and his expression turns pleased, like he’s interpreted the sporty display of camaraderie as some kind of acceptance, rather than the blow-off it is.
“Dream maker?” Phoebe says the moment Sebastian is out of earshot. Her cackling laugh draws attention from the table next to us.
“You said to flatter him.” I grin, grabbing the chair next to the one she’s pulling out from the table. Mac slides a marinara-soaked plate on the chair to my right, but Deiss notices it before he sits down and shakes his head.
“Are you twelve?” Demonstrating his own maturity, he places it gently on the table and takes a seat. Then he ruins the effort by flicking a piece of bread crust at Mac’s head. It arcs through the air and, by what I assume is at least seventy percent luck, smacks Mac directly between the eyes.
“Children,” Phoebe admonishes. But her giggle undercuts the messages.
I’m able to keep a straight face until Mac lets out a high-pitched squeak of incredulity, his hand flying toward the spot of contact as if he’s been shot. A snort rips out of me, and he turns my way, cartoon-level betrayal on his face. Rather than dampening my amusement, his expression makes me laugh out loud.
“No drinks for you,” he says irrationally.
“What?” I point at Deiss. “He did it.
Mac looks at him. “No drinks for you, either.”
“Phoebe laughed first,” Deiss says.
Mac looks at her, the reluctance in his expression clear. “Sorry, baby. Fair’s fair.”
“And I’m sorry, too.” Phoebe reaches out and places her hand sympathetically on his. “But you’re the one who tried to ruin Deiss’s pants with red sauce. That means no drinks for you, either.”
Mac’s face falls with disappointment, but to his credit, he accepts the ruling with a nod.
“However,” Deiss says, leaning back in his chair with his chin tilted up so he can look down on Mac like a benevolent god, “I choose to forgive you. So, you may have free drinks.”
Mac perks up and declares his own forgiveness, sanctioning drink distribution for everyone. Within a few minutes, we have an entire page of specialty cocktails in front of us and are trying to narrow it down to the four with the most unusual combination of ingredients. I end up with one that pairs strawberry and peach with basil, while Phoebe’s contains elderflower and mint.
“I’m telling you,” Deiss says, defending his choice, which involves orange juice and coconut, “it tastes good.”