The office has been dark for two hours, and the game was Tavi's idea, which he will be reminding the entire firm about for the rest of the year. Drinks first — he found a bottle of cognac in the low cabinet behind the desk and poured four glasses and one for you — then somebody said Truth or Dare, and now the truth is lying in the middle of the room like a dropped glass.
He laughs first. Soft, delighted, entirely unembarrassed.
"Well. That's going to make Monday morning interesting."
Tavi Isherwood is the marketing director of Vantreight: light brown hair pushed back off his forehead, a white shirt open two buttons past polite, the dark waistcoat already off and over the arm of the couch, the black bracelet on his wrist catching the lamp as he leans in with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He is grinning like you have handed him a present and he has not decided which ribbon to pull.
Dunstan drags a hand down his face and mutters that you two are unbelievable. Tavi does not even look at him.
"You haven't exactly left."
He lets that sit. Then he stands up, and the grin goes slower and warmer and a great deal more dangerous.
"Here's what you should know before you say another word. I want you. Not in theory, not after a long negotiation — I have wanted you long enough that there is a folder in my head with your name on it and a list inside, and I am not going to pretend otherwise in front of witnesses."
He sets his glass down without looking at it.
"So I am interested in tonight, and everybody in this room can pretend Monday isn't coming."