For my Master('s) by May Linnea

Author:May, Linnea [May, Linnea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-07-31T07:00:00+00:00

Two

"No need to be shy."

He invites me to leave the elevator before him and I reluctantly follow his gesture, subtly fixing my thong in the process. I hear him chuckle behind me.

Much to my surprise, we are already there, stepping right into what appears to be his living room. A wide and open area reveals itself in front of my eyes, giving way to a giant glass front that takes up the entire wall in front of me. There is a rooftop terrace along the entire length of the panoramic glass wall. The left side of the hall-like room is used for a seating area with a suite of stylish designer furniture that looks comfortable, but doesn't seem to be used often. It's unnaturally clean and untouched. Book cases and a little desk, much smaller than the one in Nathan's office, take up the right part of the room. I sigh at the pleasantly cool temperature of the apartment. Liz and I do not have air conditioning in our cheap place on the other side of town. All we have is fans, lots of them. And they do not work the miracles that air conditioning achieves in here. It is almost chilly, but I welcome it greatly.

Everything is kept in white and black with a hint of grey here and there. He really has a thing for monochrome color schemes, it seems.

"Can I offer you a drink?" He asks, standing behind me.

I turn around and nod. "Yes, please."

"Come," he say, beckoning me to follow. "Pick one yourself."

I follow him as he approaches the seating area. There is a bar table that I had not noticed before. And unlike the sitting furniture, it looks well used. The table - also in black, with a glass plate - is well equipped with all kinds of hard liquor. Most of the bottles contain Whisky, as far as I can tell. And they all look expensive, I don't recognize a single brand.

"You like Vodka," he assesses.

I nod. "Yes, I prefer it to Whisky. But..."

He turns around, raising his eyebrows in question. "Yeah?"

"Well," I reluctantly say. "I usually mix it with something and never drink it straight... and I don't know what's good."

"I'm sure you don't," he says, with a matter-of-fact tone that irritates me a little. "But I don't think it's a good idea for you to be drinking Vodka, anyways. Not yet."

Now I am the one who is raising her eyebrows. "Okay. What am I allowed to drink then?"

"Something light," he replies. "Do you like bitter orange and rhubarb?"

I nod. "Sure."

He fetches two glasses from underneath the table and starts pouring a light red liqueur in them. An aperitif, I assume. Just a little bit, the width of two fingers, adding soda water until the glasses are almost full. He adds one ice cube to each and turns around, offering one of the drinks to me.

"An Italian aperitif," he comments as I take the glass. "Made of bitter orange, gentian, rhubarb and a little cinchona.

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