INTERIM LOVER, ryan howard.

030 ⋮ night changes

          She should've guessed that Andy would take her to the most expensive restaurant in Scranton. After all, he was born and raised a Bernard, and as much as he tried, he could never part with the rich man's world. Not yet, at least.

"Wait here," he demanded, and Rachel's features fell into a confused look. Andy dashed around the car, then opened the passenger door for her. She rolled her eyes at the 'chivalrous' gesture, a real gentleman wouldn't waste her time waiting for such protocols.

They were promptly seated thanks to their reservation and immediately bombarded with choices of wine. "I'll have the Airen," he told the server. "And she will too."

"Actually, I'd much prefer Pinot Noir."

Once the mousy man had disappeared through the restaurant, Andy turned back to his date with an impressed look. "You're a woman of taste."

"Well, I don't like to sacrifice my tastebuds for the lower quality Airen."

"How would you even know that? You're... uh..."

"Poor?" she scoffed and he nodded quickly. "Andy, people who grew up with less money than you are not necessarily poor. And don't say it like it's terminal cancer. Plus, my uncle's a chef and he's pedantic about his wine, so..."

He nodded, and the table fell into another awkward silence. Once again, Andy was questioning why he was here on a date with the only woman he was certain hated him. That day she walked into the Stamford branch and rolled her eyes at her desk behind him was clearly Rachel's sign of disinterest in his shenanigans.

How did Abbey convince him to ask her out? How had she convinced her that his crush was worth pursuing? He was a Bernard, but without that, he was nothing. And Marilyn Monroe sitting directly across from him was not one to settle for less than the best. He knew her type, the ones who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. And usually, when these girls affiliated with him, they were after the Bernard wealth.

"Andy." Rachel's voice cut through the thoughts cantering across his mind. When he looked up, he saw a worried friend, not a competitive colleague. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," was his exasperated reply.

"Post-show blues?" she teased, but when he responded with only a quick nod and averted his gaze, she sensed his discomfort. Reaching across the table, she laid her hand atop his and left a reassuring squeeze.

In a low voice, she cooed, "Hey, you know you can talk to me. We're friends now, remember?"

Nard Dog offered her a smile. "Thanks a lot, Rachel. Why don't you tell me about your shitty week first?"

She leaned back with a scoff, taking a mouthful of her wine. "It all started when Kelly came in on Monday, screaming the new Alicia Keys song at the top of her lungs."

—

MICHAEL
That's not Andy onstage! It's not! Andy is just a little less pitchy than this dude. I'm a lot less pitchy than the guy playing Sweeney Todd. He sucks.

—

"And then Creed says, 'I know where you can get another one for cheap.'"

"Another spleen?!" Andy exclaimed.

"Exactly! Then he chased after me, trying to 'get my measurements' for God knows what! I have a feeling I might wake up tomorrow with one less organ."