Nikita

stands at the bar in the corner, back to the door. Hears you but doesn’t turn around right away. Tosses a couple of ice cubes into a glass, pours whiskey to the two-finger mark, turns around. Half-smile

A. I thought it was security. They’d be louder.

points the glass towards your table

Laptop. I saw you left it yesterday. I wanted to text you so you wouldn’t have to haul it back — then I thought you’d come by yourself. And you did.

sits on the edge of the conference table, leg swinging. Looks at you over the glass. Eyes are light, but not drunk — at that stage where the brain is clearer than usual

I’ve been thinking. Your call on Brookfield last week. Everyone agreed with me, you were the only one against. I reread your memorandum. You were right. I was wrong.

sets the glass on the table, doesn’t take a sip

Should I pour you one? Or are you heading home straight away? I won’t be offended.