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If Bobbi had to hear one more stupid man say another stupid thing with a stupid amount of paper-thin bravado she was going to scream. She already had to stand around the large hotel ballroom in far too high of pumps for an ungodly amount of time. And for what? Definitely not to listen to said stupid men. Had she picked the heels out herself? Yes. Yes she had. They were cute, paired nicely with her little black dress, and accentuated her long legs, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t complain about having to stand in them for too long just to listen to a stupid speech.
Just as Bobbi was considering the risk versus reward factors in chucking her drink at her coworker currently on the mic, she felt someone come to stand next to her.
“Do you think Grant could be any more of a prick?” Daisy Johnson, one of Bobbi’s favorite coworkers, asked, taking a long sip from her glass.
Bobbi snorted. “Bet if he tried real hard he could. Didn’t you hear in his speech? He’s innovative.”
“Didn’t mention he was a prick though, did he?”
“Line must have gotten cut.”
Daisy slid the olive out of her martini. “Too bad,” she muttered, eating the olive, “would have been the only honest thing in the whole spiel.”
She was certainly not wrong about that.
“I was just thinking how worth it would be if I chucked my drink at him,” Bobbi said.
Daisy eyed her empty champagne glass and quirked an unimpressed brow.
“The great Bobbi Morse can do better than an empty glass. Plus, the whole aaah! blood! broken glass! thing probably wouldn’t help you achieve your career goals.”
“I don’t know, from the look on Coulson’s face I don’t think he’s too far behind me.”
Their boss, standing just a few clusters of coworkers up from them, had his arms folded and a very unimpressed furrow of his brow. He was not the biggest fan of Grant Ward. But were any of them?
The corner of Daisy’s lips tucked in as she nodded. “You have a point my friend. Still, I bet we could do better. The whole giving him stitches thing isn’t our finest idea.”
“I could spill my drink on him,” Bobbi suggested. “It would be an accident of course.”
Daisy’s eyes lit up, a mischievous glimmer flashing in the shades of brown. “Oh of course. Complete accident.”
“Hate to get something on that fancy suit of his. Seemed he paid a pretty penny for it.”
Finishing off her drink, Daisy placed her glass in Bobbi’s free hand, using her own to wrap her friend’s fingers firmly around the stem. “Well, you can’t exactly pour an empty glass on him can you.”
“Are you using me and my brilliant plan to get you another drink?” Bobbi asked, her face unimpressed but the right corner of her mouth trying its best to tick upwards.
“Wha--no! I am simply helping you accidentally spill your open bar drink on Mr. Slimelord up there. But I would also love another dry martini with extra olives if it’s not too much of a hassle please and thank you very much I love you.” She finished off the very fast sentence with a smile.
Bobbi lightly kicked Daisy’s shin with the toe of her stylish black pumps. “Sure, but I might just accidentally pour your drink on you as well.”
“On this dress I got on sale at the mall for forty-five dollars, you wouldn’t dare!”
Bobbi’s mock anger was briefly forgotten. “You got that for forty-five dollars! How?”
“A magician never reveals her secrets. But the sales rack, a lot of digging, and I took it to my mom’s to fix the zipper.”
“Nice!”
Daisy took a little bow. “Thank you. Now go get the drinks before Grant finally gets his ass off the stage and we lose our window!” As Bobbi started to walk towards the bar she added in a faux whisper, “Extra olives!” Bobbi shot back an eye roll so extreme that it would still have been visible from across a football field let alone the growing distance between her friend and the bar.
It seemed she was not the only one in need of a drink, though she figured the people ahead of her at the bar were obtaining alcohol to pour down their own throats and not onto the person whose speech they were trying to drink away. Eventually, though, Bobbi finally managed to get to the front and order a glass of red wine--perfect shade to match Ward’s tie--as well as Daisy’s requested dry, extra olive, martini.
From behind her, Bobbi could hear Ward’s speech start to, finally, wrap up. He was laughing at some joke he had made, but she could sense it was meant to be a part of his closing statements.
“Thank the heavens he’s finally shutting up,” Bobbi muttered. She could have sworn the bartender smiled, but was trying very hard not to. His bright blue eyes were cast back down to the jar of olives by the time she could try and analyze if laughter was in them.
He handed her the drinks with a kind smile and she took them gladly, thanking him for his rush. He had made them remarkably fast and she was eternally grateful. She still needed to get to the stage.
Drinks in hand, Bobbi turned and made a long stride over in the direction of Ward and his stupid ass speech. Her mind was already there, but her feet, however, were not. Too focused on her target, she didn’t see the waiter caught in the crossfire.
There was a crashing sound as his tray of hors d'oeuvres went tumbling off to the side, pigs rolling about the floor in their blanket. The true issue lied in the crimson wine that was now running down the front of the poor waiter’s crisp white shirt and the extra olives caught on his collar.
“Oh shit,” Bobbi gasped. Her hands were still holding the glasses and she was momentarily at a loss what to do. Quickly, though, she regained her senses and turned to place them back on the bar. There she also found the bartender, holding out a towel to her. He wasn’t even trying to hide his smile now. Bobbi didn’t understand what he was chuckling about until she turned back to the waiter and caught him lowering his middle finger. Ah, they must be friends.
The chuckling explained, Bobbi took the same quick stride she had originally taken back towards the now wine soaked waiter with extra olives. She missed the puddle at her feet and the pig in a blanket that was also lying in it and instead stumbled straight into the waiter instead.
“You’re not very steady, are you?” the man laughed, his London accent shining through his smile.
Bobbi quickly jumped back and thrust the towel into his hands. “Guess pouring wine all over the wrong target will do that to you.”
“Wrong target?”
“Was aiming for him,” she said, answering his raised brows by nodding towards Ward. He was waving at the crowd with a large toothy grin.
The waiter turned over his shoulder and grimaced.
“Well now your rush is completely understandable. Was ready to throw my tray like a frisbee if he didn’t wrap it up soon.”
Bobbi laughed, her chin falling to her chest. “You would have been carried out of here like a hero if you had.”
“Damn, should have done it then.” He shrugged, picking the olive out of his shirt.
“And I should have gotten him myself,” Bobbi sighed. She took the towel out of the waiter’s hand and dabbed it lightly on his chest. A little zing went down her spine as she realized what she was doing. His red stained shirt was clinging to his skin and making certain muscles more visible than they had been before. It was only him speaking that got her to draw her eyes away.
“Eh,” he said, a handsome smile playing on his face. “that could have gone worse then.”
“What? My plan?” She paused her mopping up. “Don’t see how it could have gone anymore off the rails.”
“Didn’t say it didn’t go completely off the rails. Sorry love, but I think your plan crashed and burned. Or crashed and splashed I should say. Doesn’t mean it couldn’t have gone worse.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said. He drew her hand off his chest, taking his time in removing the towel from her fingers. “You might have run into someone else. Lucky for me, you didn’t.” He tossed the towel over his shoulder and extended his hand. “I’m Hunter.”
She took his hand with a smile. “Bobbi.”
“Well, glad to run into you Bobbi. These bigwig parties are always frightening affairs, but I’m starting to rather enjoy catering this one.”
“Funnily enough,” Bobbi smiled, “I am just starting to enjoy myself as well.”
Never before had Bobbi actually had fun at one of the stupid parties she was so often forced to attend. The most fun she had had before that night had been the time that she and Daisy had hid in the women’s restroom and watched trashy television on one of their phones. However, the night that she would forever call the one she met Hunter had far surpassed Bathroom Bachelor Night.
Hunter had luckily had an extra shirt packed away--well his friend the bartender had had an extra shirt packed away and had been kind enough to loan it to him (Bobbi was sure some debt was made)--and had quickly gone out in the hall to change into it. She really didn’t know what possessed her, but she was following him out into the hall before she could think better of it. She couldn’t help but notice, though, that he didn’t seem to be pushing her away or raising any objects.
She wasn’t following him for any reason other than it seemed the right course of action. Really, it was only right that she made sure he was squared away and set to continue working. She would hate to have been the cause of any loss of payment. She was already the culprit behind his wine stained shirt. Did following him out of the ballroom also mean that she watched him change his shirt in the empty hall? Yes. Yes it did. And there were no complaints heard from her on that. The hint of muscle she had seen through the soaked shirt was only the tip of a very attractive iceberg.
“Well,” Hunter asked, doing up the last button of his shirt, “how does it look?”
“Good, considering it’s not yours,” Bobbi replied.
“Yeah, thank the lord Fitz wears his shirts work shirts a touch large. Keep telling him he’d look better with a slimmer fit, but it’s like talking to an unfashionable brick wall with him on the subject.”
Bobbi laughed. It was as her eyes flitted back to him that she noticed part of his collar needed fixing.
“Oh, here,” she said. She walked over and quickly folded down the wayward fabric. “There. Hate to let the King of Fashion walk out in disgrace.”
A very handsome and shockingly genuine smile lit up Hunter’s face and butterflies took flight in the pit of Bobbi’s stomach. She couldn’t seem to pull her hands away, letting them lay on his shoulders for far too long of a time.
“Thank you very much,” he said.
“Of course,” she said. She finally let her hands fall away.
They stood for a very long time in weighty silence before Bobbi finally took a step back towards the door to the ballroom.
She looked over her shoulder and then back to Hunter. “I better go find my friend.”
He startled. “Oh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Enjoy the rest of your party.”
“Is it a party? Hmm, not what I would have labeled it.”
“A wine spilling event then?”
Bobbi snorted and covered her forehead with her hand. “That actually might be more accurate.” She tucked a long blonde curl behind her ear and gave Hunter a parting smile. “Well, nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “nice to meet you as well. But Bobbi,” he said, catching her hand before she had made it back into the ballroom. “Can we make this more than just a nice meeting?”
She quirked a questioning brow, a smile playing on her lips. “What would you like to make it?”
He casually raised his shoulders, dropping them down with a sharp exhale. “Dunno. Was thinking a nice beginning of sorts.”
“A beginning to what?”
“Not sure yet,” he said.
Bobbi grinned. “Then I guess we shall just have to find out.”
“Yes,” Hunter smiled, walking to open the door for her, “that we shall.”