Evan went off to rope Hannah into their group, and Reba wagged her finger at Devon. “What did you say to him? I saw his face. I leave you for one minute. It looked like you two were about to throw down over here.”
Devon looked into the remnants of his drink, turning the glass round and round in his hand. “He’s annoying as fuck.”
“Agreed, but a brawl with your co-worker isn’t going to work in your favour.”
His head snapped up. “You agree with me?”
Everyone in the office loved Evan because he championed so many ideas for fun, or so he kept hearing, but the man had rubbed him the wrong way from day one. They couldn’t be more different, and Devon supposed it was just his serious nature that clashed with Evan’s always cheerful exuberance.
“Oh, I clocked him as a kiss-ass from the minute he opened his mouth. We’re going to take him down. I tried to pick his mouth about the bake-off, but he’s too good to spill to the competition’s friend. But I’ll wear him down.”
It was the oddest feeling to have Reba in his corner. She was here because he was paying her, but that wasn’t supposed to extend beyond the baking tutorial. He didn’t know what she was getting out of this. Maybe she simply enjoyed flitting about and having everyone fall under her spell.
Not him, though. He was immune. Had to be. Reba didn’t factor into his life plans in any way, and that’s how it had to stay. Once this bake-off was over, he could go back to ignoring her and her meme messages.
“Everyone loves him. I’m the bad guy for thinking otherwise,” he muttered. He hadn’t needed them to like him. Once the work got done, he didn’t care, but now he had to re-evaluate everything.
And after Evan had annoyed him tonight, he was more than ready to beat his ass in this bake-off. Which meant trusting that Reba would be able to help him win.
Reba tossed the ends of the boa over her shoulder so it fell like a scarf. “That’s why I’m here. We’ll revamp your image just a tad. Bring out your fun side. Maybe one day, you’ll get up there and sing.”
“No.”
She pouted, which made her look cute, and alright, this was his last drink. Puppies were cute and could be disciplined. Reba wasn’t the type to do anything unless she wanted to.
“You don’t need to be able to sing. You saw me up there. I dazzled with my performance, so they all didn’t realise without all the smoke and mirrors, I’m more wailing cat than lounge singer.” She reached for the straw in her cocktail.
“I never said I couldn’t sing. I said I’m not going to.”
Reba sputtered around the mouthful of her drink. “Excuse me, what?” Eyes wide, she tilted her head to the side, the movement causing the ends of her wig to brush her shoulder. He still couldn’t get over that she’d named the thing. “Are you telling me you can actually sing?”
“I can carry a note. I just choose not to.” Yeah, he was done with alcohol for the night. His lips were a little too loose tonight.
He’d been caught singing along to his father’s old records a couple of times as a child, and since then, his father had been behind him to make something of the smidge of musical talent he had. Devon had been more interested in putting his blocks together in unique shapes. His love for architecture outweighed any desire for a music career.
“I can’t believe this. Has Keiran ever tried to get you to sing on a track?” She shook her head. “Wait, what am I saying? He knows better than to ask because you would never. Although…” She tapped her nail against her jaw. “He did convince Cherisse. Perhaps he could work another miracle.”
“Reba.”
“Yes?” Her wide eyes didn’t make her look the least bit innocent. It just reinforced his earlier thought that she was some out-of-this-world creature who would gladly devour his entire soul after she had corrupted it completely.
“It’s not happening.”
“Of course, yes. I know. A girl can dream, though.” A small sigh escaped as she pursed her lips. “I’ll just add it to the rest of my fantasies.”
Devon drained the rest of his drink, refusing to ask what other fantasies she might be referring to. That was obviously a trap, and Devon was no fool to open that Pandora’s box. He looked over to where the team was currently trying to hype up Dax, who was doing his best impersonation of Frank Sinatra.
“I promise you’re not missing anything. I’m no Nat King Cole.” He did sing along to his favourite songs when he was home alone, though. Another thing he wasn’t revealing.
Her nose scrunched up. “Who?”
Devon blinked at the confusion apparent on her face. She couldn’t be serious. “You don’t know who Nat King Cole is?”
Reba shrugged. “I’m assuming someone vintage since you listen to him.”
“Are you joking? You really don’t know?”
She spread her arms before digging into her purse to pull out her phone. “I’ll Google him, but it’s not ringing any bells.”