Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I’ve been here before more than once. It’s a pub that’s garnered a reputation similar to Lionfish, just the junior league version. It’s the place where young, hungry up and comers in the Financial District share a pint after a day’s hard work.
It’s also got a reputation of being a bit of a frat house, and as I join the sea of dark suits and the waves of faint cologne hit me in the nose, I’m reminded of the last few times I’ve been here.
Tonight, there’s an actual band on the stage, playing traditional Irish music, and I give them a glance before scanning for people I know. Thankfully, I see Hector waving at me from across the room and head that way.
“Raven!” he calls, greeting me loudly. He’s gathered by the long, black oak bar, his coat already ditched somewhere and his sleeves rolled up his forearms, which highlights his Rolex watch. “Glad you could make it. First one’s on the company! Guinness?”
It’s not one of my favorites, but it seems to be apropos, so I nod and a moment later, the bartender hands me a pint.
“Cheers,” I reply, clinking mugs with him. Three other people around us hold their glasses up too, smiling and clinking with us. I’m not sure if they even work at Sharpe or are maybe just financial district types out for a nightcap after work.
Hector takes a sip, bobbing his head to the music. “You don’t look like the Irish music type.”
“I used to work here, back in college,” Hector says, grinning at my surprise. “I know, I know. It’s the locs, right?”
“Something like that,” I admit, and he laughs.
“You’ll see when I get up there and start belting out some Dropkick Murphys!” he vows, his voice rising as he completes his statement. It’s greeted by a roar of approval, and behind the bar, a staff member rolls her eyes. “Worker’s Song, Worker’s Song!” he chants, and a few take up the rally with him.
“Worker’s Song?” I ask when he quiets, and he nods. “Sorry, I’m unfamiliar with it.”
“Best ‘fuck the rich’ song recorded in the past twenty years,” Hector says quite seriously. “Pretty awesome bagpipes, too.”
I nod, deciding to take his word on that because my musical tastes run a little more popstar and a bit less… bagpipe.
More people arrive, and the party really begins, though no one gets too wild. It’s more of a ‘who do you work for’ and ‘how’d you do in the markets today’ than ‘let’s get as shit-faced as fast as possible’ vibe.
Right at six forty-five, the doors open and Dylan arrives. A cheer goes up from everyone, and Dylan looks around, nodding and smiling.
He looks… divine. Handsome as always, but more rugged in some ways. His sleeves are rolled up, highlighting his strong forearms and masculine hands. He’s removed his tie and undone a couple of buttons at his throat, and his eyes are bright and happy.
In that realization, I remember what he said… You make me happy.
It takes all my strength not to run over to greet him, which would be disastrous, so thankfully, I manage to keep my butt on my barstool. I run my fingers up and down the cold glass of ale.
“I see we haven’t forgotten how to have a little bit of fun in this company,” Dylan says to more cheers. He raises his hand, and everyone quiets. “But seriously, this month’s traditionally been a good one for us, but it’s been even better than usual… because of you.” He looks across the gathered group who’re hanging on his every word. “We’ve got our new hires here, so let’s make them feel welcome. You’ve all been great mentors to them, which I appreciate. Keep up the good work there.” A few people fist bump one another, like they’ve got their ‘teamwork makes the dream work’ on lockdown. “To the new hires, continue to learn from your colleagues. They’ve been where you are. They’ve built the house you work in today. So lift a glass, not to me, but to those who’ve come before, to those who come after, and to yourselves. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” the group replies in unison.
I lift my glass, toasting with the person I’m next to, Shanna. She’s also young, and though she’s been with the company for about six months, she was only recently officially hired on. Previously, she was an intern with the firm her senior year of college, and she impressed enough to be offered a job in the payroll department upon graduation.
“Cheers, Shanna,” I reply, clinking glasses with her and taking a drink of my beer. “Welcome to Sharpe,” I tell her, teasing since we’re both new hires.
“You too,” she answers with a laugh before she floats away to continue a conversation with a guy who I think works in HR. Or maybe he’s an analyst? I’m not sure.