Inferno

thirty | the troubles in paradise

I reach the club at eight, flushed and appearing a thirteen year old who's got no clue of what she's getting into, roiling with the fear of the things peer pressure might get her doing.

Okay, so maybe not as hyperbolic, but spending Saturday night amidst whiskey breaths and sticky countertops isn't my first preference, probably never will be. Chase understands, but the decision of celebrating a yearly target nowhere but at the most high end club in Vancouver wasn't his own or even a suggestion, and he was bound to agree with his colleagues, he said when calling me to ask if I want to join. My initial thought was 'uh huh, no way' until it struck me we haven't been out anywhere in nearly a month.

I don't enjoy addressing my issues with someone gulping down reckless glasses of scotch in front of me, but I don't want to distance us more. These work things, parties, hangouts, will happen to us both, and if we keep finding excuses to slip away, maybe one day without realising we really will.

Entering inside, I get the hype around this place with tall ceiling, muted pink lights, glass panelled shelves holding precious scotches and whiskeys worth over five hundred grand or so.

I can't help feeling under dressed with people around decked in velvet, leather and Gucci off the racks. Adjusting the straps of my denim playsuit, I try spotting Chase; a sly breath of relief escaping when he's nowhere near the bar, hopefully bereft of the ruddy cheeks and glazed eyes as those sitting there possess. I'm right, finding him waving at me from the floor above by the wooden railing. I'd take two steps at a time if it weren't for the pointy heeled pumps, reaching over to him as he engulfs me in his arms. Pulling apart, I recognise he's wearing the black shirt I gifted him a week back. And pulling it off such, I entertain the thought of what if it were to come off right then.

"Black suits you," a hand round his neck, and his on my waist, our world ends where our feet stop.

"I've got to look somewhat decent if you decide showing up like this," our lips meet, the craze as high as it's ever been.

"We'll get to this later," I unwillingly slip away from the embrace. "So where's your friends, I want to meet them."

"They're over at that table," hand in hand, we walk over and he introduces me to everyone, most of them being from from the marketing department, which is Chase's sector. Apparently they're doing well with the lawsuits and taking each allergy warning down step by step, nearly making me try out the skin care package Janine sent me. Luckily, it's not as awkward as it was in Spain with his buddies, or so I let myself believe for quite some time. "So you took a presentation off the Internet, for the dog food industry and the clients were happy with it?"

"After some photoshop, they couldn't tell," Rafe, one of Chase's closest apparently, narrates, chortling. "Boy, we've done some crazy things."

"You have, I just watch," Chase shrugs, chuckling.

"Right, because I'm the one who dated the HR and her assistant at the time," Rafe says, sipping his drink as though he didn't just lay a bomb out.

"That... that's not what happened. It wasn't at the same time and it wasn't even dating per se if you—" realising my gaze on him, he refrains from spilling anymore than anyone of us need to know. "You're an ass," pouting, he goes back to his virgin screwdriver, while Rafe only seems to be enjoying it. Of course he later clarifies it was more of a joke, before Chase leads me down, the hopping lights flickering on our faces as we find a place among the rest dancing to Tate McRae. "Isn't dating at workplace an issue at some companies?"

"Come on," he groans, my smirk growing wider by the second. "You really don't believe him, do you?" His eyebrows, knitted together and a bobbling Adam's apple put an end to my hijinks.