Keep Me If You Can (If You Can #3)

13. SpitSwallow

Chapter thirteen

Spit or Swallow

“— so many of them don’t understand how impressive it is that this model outperformed the traditional benchmarks and helped the client achieve a sixteen percent higher return on their portfolio.”

“Sixteen whole percents,” I said flatly. “Wow.”

“Exactly. And it’s a rapidly evolving sector. So those benchmarks are now part of a proprietary—”

The man talking at me gave off the air of someone who bought condoms that were too big because he refused to accept anything about him was average. Yet the way he talked made him so sound generic and boring that I was afraid to blink, lest I fall asleep while he blabbed in my general direction. Instead, I focused my dry eyes on the glass of what apparently passed for wine at this event, trying to decide if it tasted the way it did because it was poisoned, or if it was just that bad of a wine.

JP had been vague on the details of whatever retreat or conference or convention this was, probably because it was for businessmen or finance guys or investors or other generic names for careers that were based on manipulating money. Bringing it in, spending it to make it, liquidating and illiquidating it in an attempt to avoid paying their share of the tax bill. Plus, of course, advising and protecting people in those careers so they didn’t end wherever it is rich people go when they commit crimes instead of prison like everyone else.

Not that I thought JP was specifically that type of lawyer. All I really knew about JP’s job was that he read a lot of contracts and didn’t like it all that much.

But JP hadn’t bothered pointing out who the fuck I was supposed to be impressing, even though he’d already introduced me to plenty of people. And that meant that when he excused himself to the bathroom, all I could do was sit there and imagine ramming whatever a benchmark was up Mr. Sixteen Percent’s ass as he attempted to shoot his shot.

Though, to JP’s credit, there was a good chance I wouldn’t have remembered who I was supposed to be impressing, even if he had pointed him out. If someone told me I had to pick one of the business bros here from the sea of them, they’d all fucking drown.

“—multi-billion-dollar merger—and yeah, I said billion with a B,” Mr. Sixteen Percent was saying. “So the analysis of the financial synergies and risks meant we could successful enhance the portfolio to—”

“Ah, ma chérie !” a loud voice interrupted, and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. “ Est-ce que tu apprécies la fête ?”

The man attached to the hand appeared to be in his late fifties. He was heavy-set and had short, cropped hair that was significantly thinner on the crown of his head, though it was still dark brown. He was otherwise clean-shaven and he wore an unassuming brown suit that, on closer inspection, was of surprisingly high quality. Cufflinks decorated the sleeves of the white shirt he wore underneath and there was a redness to the olive-toned skin on his nose. In one hand, he held a half-empty glass of what I assumed was the same terrible wine I was drinking.

“I’m enjoying it so far,” I replied.

The man smiled cheerfully, switching to flawless but accented English as he removed his hand from my shoulder and leaned on the cocktail table we stood at. “Excellent. You know, I say the most important thing at these events is that everyone enjoy themselves. Isn’t that right, Rob?”

“It is,” Mr. Sixteen Percent said quickly. “Of course.”

“You must pardon me for interrupting,” the man said. “I did need to speak with this lovely young woman for a few minutes.”

Mr. Sixteen Percent nodded. “Pleasure to meet you… uh… I didn’t get your name, darling.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said.

He waited just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, then chuckled awkwardly and excused himself. The older man smiled again.

“ Je suis désolé ,” he said. “But you did not seem to enjoy that conversation. And I am good with faces, you know, but I am sure I haven’t seen you here before.”

I wasn’t quite sure if I could trust this man or if he and Mr. Sixteen Percent had some kind of wingman arrangement where they swooped in to “save” someone from an awkward conversation with the other, but I figured JP had to be coming back soon either way. “It’s my first time.”

“Newcomers are always welcome,” he said kindly. “Have you been called to the bar yet?”

“No,” I said. “The line’s been too long so I’ve been drinking the wine on the tables.”

The man stared at me, then let out a bright laugh. “Clever. And tell me, what do you think of it?”

“It’s shit,” I said.

“Is it?” His eyebrows knitted together. “May I—”

“My boyfriend’s coming back with something for me in a minute,” I said before he could offer to buy me a drink.

“That is a relief to hear,” he said. “But as I was saying, may I have a sip of your glass to see what you mean?”

Great, I thought. He was going to lift my wine glass up and go through the whole wine-tasting show, sniffing it and swirling it and taking a sip before declaring that I simply did not know good wine, and then I was going to have to tell him my dad had subjected me to more than one lesson with connoisseurs he hired so I wouldn’t embarrass him at events like these and could unequivocally state that this wine was from the bottom of the bargain bin at a liquor store, and that the bin was probably next to a south-facing window that received direct sunlight for most of the day because it clearly hadn’t been stored in a proper wine cellar.

But I still hadn’t figured out if the wine was poisoned, so at least there was that.

“Go for it,” I said, holding out my glass.

Sure enough, the man took my glass and eyed it carefully, first from the top down and then by lifting it to let it catch the light. He swirled it, then eyed it from the side again, then took a gentle whiff before bringing the glass to his lips and sipping it.

Then his face contorted almost painfully and he spat the wine directly back into my glass.

“ Crisse d’ostie de tabarnak ,” he swore, sticking his tongue out like that would get the taste out of his mouth. “My God, that is horrendous. How—why—” He let out an annoyed noise, then turned and lifted a hand in the air. “Sophie!”

A woman wearing a slinky black dress and a headset with a clipboard clutched in her hands rushed up to him. “ Oui, Monsieur LaCloche? ”

“ D’où vient ce vin ?” the man demanded. “ C’est pas le vin que j’ai demandé pour les tables. ”

“Ah…” Sophie’s lips tightened into a worried pucker. “ Ce vin est sur les tables des dirigeants. Monsieur Richard a insisté pour que nous changions le vin sur les tables d’h?tes. ”

“Of course.” The man scoffed loudly. “A cheapskate to everyone but himself. Sophie, have bottles of the original wine sent to every single table. Please give my wife the bill. And for Monsieur Richard, since he is not covering that bill, you may serve him the swill he purchased for the rest of the evening.” He handed her the glass. “Have someone bring this young lady a new glass immediately. Her beverages are to be on my tab for the rest of the night.”

And sure, he could’ve been trying to impress some random blonde he’d never met. I might not look as polished as I usually did at these types of events since JP told me it was the closing reception of a personal development conference for legal and business professionals. So I’d picked a simple black dress that my dad had surprisingly approved of for a casual luncheon, despite the inclusion of two stripes of mesh around my ribcage and the V-cut neckline.

That approval had occurred when I was wearing a bra, though, and this dress was low cut enough to make it very clear that I’d forgotten to pack one.

But not only had the man mentioned his wife, when Sophie nodded before scurrying away and he turned back to me, there was clear and genuine annoyance on his face.

“My apologies,” he said. “There are many things I am easygoing about, but good wine is not one of them. You know, I am horrified that my colleague thought it acceptable to replace the table wine like that.”

“It’s fine,” I said, my tone guarded only because I wasn’t sure what to make of him. “It wasn’t bad enough to stop me from drinking it.”

“The wine they are bringing you is much better,” he promised. “My father would rise from his grave and cut out my tongue for saying it, but while the French make an excellent wine, you know, nothing they have ever created compares to the grapes from Piedmont.”

“Oh!” I said, both surprised and not that I knew what he meant. “Is it a Barolo or a Barbaresco?”

The man’s eyes went wide with excitement and he pressed a hand to his chest. “My dear. You know, there is nothing more trustworthy in this world than a young woman who knows her wine. You must tell me what firm you’re with so I can poach you immediately.”

“What?” I said.

“I joke, of course,” he said, chuckling. “Unless you are actually looking to move. I have just hired one new associate but I can certainly make room in our offices for another, the other partners’ opinions on the matter be damned.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

The man frowned. “You are not one of the lawyers here for the personal development seminars?”

“I’m not a lawyer,” I said. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”

“That is positively devastating,” he said.

“That I have a boyfriend?” I asked.

He chuckled. “For the younger men of the world, certainly, but I meant that I cannot hire you. Who is this lucky boyfriend of yours?”

“That would be me.”

I was too cynical not to wonder if JP had been standing by, waiting for the perfect moment to stride up to the cocktail table and slip his arm around my waist. I think anyone would’ve thought the same thing, and I had half a mind to be pissed off that he’d sacrificed checking on me and making sure I was okay for movie-level timing. Like yeah, I was fine, but from the outside, JP wouldn’t have known that.

But when the other man laughed warmly and stepped out from the table with his hand extended, if that was the case, he would’ve actually known I was fine.

“Jean-Paul!” the man said. “I should have known you would be the one with this delightful young lady.”

For half a heartbeat, my stomach dropped with the worry that this was JP’s prospective client and I’d potentially messed things up for him. But JP’s client wouldn’t be another lawyer, so my stomach returned to its usual place as JP shook the man’s hand with nonchalant confidence.

“The prettiest girl in the room? Of course.” JP looked at me, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “He hasn’t been giving you a hard time, has he, babe?”

“The opposite,” I said. “He saved me from a terrible glass of wine.”

“No one should be subjected to that garbage,” the man said. “My apologies again. Your new glass will be here shortly.”

JP chuckled. “Nell, this is Louie LaCloche. He founded one of the top law firms in Quebec. Louie, this is my girlfriend, Nellie Belanger.”

“Ms. Belanger, it is a pleasure,” Louie said, extending his hand to shake mine. “So you say you are not a lawyer. What is it you do for a living, my dear?”

“I’m still a student,” I said. “But I’m taking Forensic Science.”

“That must be fascinating,” Louie said. “Is that the program at Carleton?”

“Ottawa Tech,” I said.

“Ah, of course.” Louie tapped the side of his nose. “Well, forgive my bias, as of course my profession makes me think anyone suited to it should be an attorney. But you know, the commonality between law and forensic science is the pursuit of justice, and that is entirely noble regardless of the path one takes.”

“You don’t think I should give up on the science aspect and become a lawyer because I might be good at it?” I asked.

“The day I deem myself more qualified to decide if someone is better suited for something than they themselves are is the day I should retire,” Louie said. “Passion plays a much larger part in our careers than any of us expect, as Jean-Paul knows.”

I almost told him I loved him.

The words wanted to burst from my mouth. Luckily, I held in both that and the semi-concerning request for him to please be my new dad but not as a sex thing, as a legitimate parental figure. “Wow.”

Louie tilted his head to the side. “Wow?”

“You’re the least lawyerly lawyer I’ve ever met.”

He let out another one of his bright laughs. “You know, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Coming from her, it’s the highest possible,” JP said, grinning. “Louie could write a manifesto about how law professionals need to focus more on genuine connections. Both as a service type of thing and as a reminder of why people choose law careers. It’s a little out there compared to other firms, but it makes a difference.”

He said it in a matter-of-fact way, but there was something beneath that paired with the way he was determinedly not looking at Louie that was almost sad. Almost envious, like that was the kind of lawyer he wanted to be. I rubbed my finger over the edge of my thumbnail, a quiet sense of sympathy making my chest ache. JP’s dad didn’t see things the same way that Louie LaCloche seemed to. And deep down, I knew JP wasn’t thrilled about where his career had taken him.

But there wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do or say about that. I’d only really said anything to him once, at the Diamond Gala, when he admitted he felt like he wasn’t making a difference. And yeah, maybe the response of “Go make a difference, then” wasn’t the most helpful thing I could’ve said, but I hadn’t meant it to hurt the way it clearly had when he responded with a lash of sarcasm.

So I didn’t say anything. I just smiled and stupidly put my hand over top of JP’s where it was resting on the cocktail table. A moment later, he flipped his hand over, interlocking our fingers and pressing his palm to mine in a way that felt just a little too good.

“Focusing on genuine connection seems very worthwhile for lawyers,” I said. “Is that what this conference is for, then?”

Louie’s cheeks rounded as his smile widened. “That it is. And you know, I think they do a damn good job of it. Though I may be biased as I’m involved in organizing it and teach several of the sessions. But I have already begun thinking of some new things to try out for next year, you know. There is one I’m particularly excited about, but it was too late to implement by the time I’d fully developed it.” He shook his head sadly. “Perhaps if I find some volunteers, we could do an impromptu demonstration for everyone tonight! It is an exceptionally entertaining exercise.”

I had a hard time believing any exercise at a personal development seminar could be described as entertaining, but JP was still holding my hand, so I guess anything was possible. “What kind of exercise is it?”

The moment he told me, I looked at JP, who let a slow, reluctantly affectionate smile spread on his lips. “Alright. Let’s go for it, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe,” I said without thinking.

“Sure thing, babe,” he said.

I shot half a glare at JP, but Louie clapped his hands together in glee. “You know, the two of you are the perfect couple for this.”

And despite my instinctive objection to anyone thinking JP and I were a perfect couple, ten minutes later, we were sitting across from each other on the stage, each of us holding a bottle of water.

“—but Nellie and JP have been kind enough to assist me with giving you a preview of an exercise we will do at our next conference,” Louie said into the microphone to the crowd of half-drunk and intrigued-looking business bros and their wives or girlfriends. “This is an exercise I developed after discovering it on a podcast my sixteen-year-old was listening to—and yes, she got sent to her room when I began listening and realized how vulgar it was—called Why Am I Like This .”

There was a hum of recognition and a few laughs from the other attendees.

“For those who do not know, the original game is called Spit or Swallow”—there was another round of laughter, louder this time—“and the point of the game is to say something to make the other person spit out their water, or swallow it so they can take their turn. And you know, you’re probably thinking ‘Louie, how does this relate to creating a genuine connection with my colleagues and clients?’ Which is fair. Usually, you will not want to spit water on your clients.”

It was a few more minutes of laughter interspersed with an explanation, but once Louie finished describing the somewhat questionable reasons he had for using this as an exercise—pinpointing information about someone you’re speaking to, creating connections over laughter, determining the line between humour and hurt, and a few other things that I’m sure he hoped covered the fact that he obviously just found the idea of a bunch of business types trying not spit water at each other hilarious—he turned to me and JP.

“Now, you know, of course we want this to be all for fun,” he said. “So you do not want to be too mean with your remarks.”

“We’ll be okay,” I said. “My mother always said never to let a man who can’t grow a beard get to me, so he has nothing to worry about.”

“She’s right,” JP said. “I’ve always told Nellie I’m jealous of her mustache.”

“Well, I suppose that shows we have started the game!” Louie said over the laughter from the crowd. “The first person to spit out their water loses, and the other person will win a bottle of the lovely Barbaresco we had on the table this evening. You may begin, Nellie!”

And like, I’d already decided I was going all in on things. I didn’t need a game to insult JP; I’d do it whenever I had the opportunity.

But now that there was a prize on the table, I’d do whatever I could to beat him.

I waited until JP had taken his first mouthful of water, then looked at him with the closest thing I could manage to a swoony expression.

“JP, I know you don’t know this,” I started in a solemn voice just breathy enough to sound romantic. “But I can’t look at you without feeling like I’m looking at the sun.”

JP blinked, his eyes darting to the side in unsettled confusion. I couldn’t blame him. I was pretty sure I’d never looked at him with that kind of earnest expression or spoken to him with that amount of dreaminess in my tone. Frankly, that should have been the tip-off for him, but it wasn’t my fault he was too slow to realize I was faking it.

“You hurt my eyes and make me want to cry,” I finished.

The roar of laughter was much, much louder than I’d expected. JP hadn’t seemed to expect it either because he got really, really close to spitting, but by twisting his mouth and stifling a cough, he kept it in.

“Babe, I want you to know I’ll never forget the day we met,” he said when it was his turn, matching my solemn sincerity. “But I swear I’ll keep trying.”

I almost let some of the water dribble out of my mouth as the audience laughed again, but kept it in. After all, I had a lot of practice not laughing at anything JP said.

And that was the problem.

Louie had no reason to know it, but JP and I were far too experienced at insulting each other for this game. I think he expected us to trade a few lines back and forth before one of us cracked, but even as the people in the room laughed and our jabs got a little more risqué than was probably appropriate for a work event, both of us kept a straight face.

“You seem like the kind of person who still has their Little League trophies displayed in their bedroom,” I said at one point.

“They’re part of the decor,” JP said when he swallowed his mouthful of water.

“You don’t even live with your parents anymore.”

“I don’t care what anyone says,” JP said after I’d taken my next sip. “You can barely even tell you have daddy issues.”

I swallowed my water. “It’s because the mommy issues cancel them out.”

JP lifted his water bottle to his lips. “That’s not how that works.”

I waited half a moment for him to take a sip before responding. “Some people stop speaking when they don’t know what they’re talking about, but you’d never let a little thing like that stop you.”

“It doesn’t matter to me what my friends say,” JP said when that didn’t get him. “You are almost as pretty as all their girlfriends.”

Even Louie let out a low ooo that underscored the chuckles in the audience. “Jean-Paul, the point of the game is not to get her to break up with you!”

That part nearly got me to laugh, but I swallowed my water as JP took a swig from his bottle. “Oh, I won’t. He’s by far got the biggest—”

And I don’t know who was looking out for me right then—maybe the god or goddess of gondola-fucking called in a favour from the god or goddess of trying to impress your fake boyfriend’s potential client, who was obviously working overtime because oh my God, why had we agreed to play this in the first place?—but I cut myself off before I said something hugely inappropriate at a work event.

And also inaccurate. While I was bisexual and therefore happy with any and all genitals as long as they were attached to a decent human being, JP was proof that dick size didn’t matter. Not because he was small—he was maybe a hair above average—but because not once had the size of his cock affected how good sex with him was.

But I’d also never fucked any of JP’s friends, so I couldn’t say for certain if he was the biggest.

“Uh,” I said. “I mean, he… is… the best kisser. Of all his friends.”

It fooled no one; everyone knew what I’d been about to say and they lost it. Even Louie had to put the microphone down because he was laughing so hard. JP’s face was turning red and his shoulders were shaking as he stifled his laughter, and for a few seconds I was certain he was about to spit his water out.

But he didn’t. He held it in, and then he swallowed, and took a steadying breath as Louie wiped a finger under his eye.

“My God,” he chuckled. “If that did not get him, I don’t know what will. We may be here all night, folks!”

But we weren’t.

Because JP, bastard that he was, figured out how to get the best of me.

“Nellie,” he said after I’d taken a mouthful of water before everyone had even caught their breaths. His voice was deep and solemn and his bright blue eyes were laser-focused on mine. “I love you.”

And water went everywhere .