Rose Tinted Reality - A Succession Story

Martini's and Money

The smell of the bar hits Piper as soon as she enters it, washing over her like a wave. Chatter rises and falls as she weaves through the growing crowd, eventually getting pushed to the back of her mind while she focuses on finding a place to sit. She squints, looking for an open seat at the bar. She finds a section that only has one person sitting anywhere near it. With a cheeky smile, she makes her way to the seat and slides onto it with ease. Almost immediately, one of the bartenders greets her with warm familiarity.

"Vodka lemonade, please! Actually, no, make it a sex on the beach. Today's a special occasion," she says, leaning on the counter. The bartender smiles as she orders, and quickly makes it.

"Alright, here you are," the bartender says, sliding the sun-set colored drink across the bar. Piper stirs her drink with her straw, watching as the red and oranges bleed together. It looks delicious, it's almost as if she can taste it just by looking at it.

"You're too happy to be in a place like this," comes a man's voice. She turns to face him, sipping from her drink. Her brows furrow into a quizzical expression as he continues. "You look like a fucking puppy, asking for a treat."

"I used to work here," she shoots back, feeling a pang of defensiveness at his comment. It takes only a second for her to clock the frustration in his narrowed eyes, and comes back with her own biting words. "At least I don't look like a beaten puppy. I had a good day, and clearly, you didn't."

Why is he even talking to her? He's no regular, and the well-ironed suit and pressed pants give him away as someone who could afford better. There's something vaguely familiar about him, though she can't place it.

"Yeah, you worked here," he scoffs, taking a sip from his own drink. It's dark, and she guesses whiskey. "Did you get tired of old fat fucks hitting on you? Figure their fat tips aren't worth it anymore?"

"I got a slightly better job that paid more. As a chef," she says pointedly, unable to hide the bit of pride that bubbled up in her chest. "Why do you even care? You don't work at a bar. By the looks of it, you work in an office somewhere."

"Actually, I'm a bartender," he says smugly, taking a sip from his glass. "I'm the king of bartending. I mean, how hard can it be? You just pour alcohol into a cup and pass it off to the next drunk idiot who passes by."

"It's actually a bit more complicated than that," she corrects him, and she finds a thin smile tugging at her lips. "But maybe you're right. You should try it, I bet you'll make a great-tasting drink. What do you think, could you make a better-tasting drink than me?" she challenges, a hint of condescension creeping into her voice. He turns away, flustered.

"Probably. I don't know. I don't care," he mutters, taking a long, slow, sip from his drink, finishing it off. "Whatever drink is better is just whichever drink gets you drunk faster."

"You couldn't make a better drink than me," she decides with a smug grin on her face. She glances over at him, surprised to find herself enjoying the conversation. "Who are you, anyway? I've never seen you here before."

He gestures to himself with a smirk, raising his brows.

"You mean you don't recognize this handsome face?" he asks. When her response is nothing more than a blank stare he adds: "I'll give you a hint, I'm rich as fuck."

Piper squints. Whether it's the loud and distracting environment of the bar or the fact that she truly has no idea who he is, she can't come up with an answer. Heat flushes over her cheeks. By the way he spoke, he must be famous, and here she is drawing a complete blank.

"Uh, shit, I'm pretty bad with names," she says, fumbling over her words. A hand teases through a knot in her ponytail, a nervous habit. Famous people. Famous people. Who does she know who is famous?