Warren & Gabriel - Favors

[x-velocidad.livejournal.com]

Warren asks Gabriel to do him a favor, then treats Gabriel like dirt. So Gabriel has some fun at Warren's expense.

Desperation was an ugly thing. Worse when it made him beholden to someone whose motivations he never could quite understand.

His father had sprung this black tie event on him at the last minute, providing him with a guest list and a ‎date three days later. Easy. Jolene had the whole affair organized and ready to go within a matter of hours, and Warren promptly forgot about it.

That is to say, until the bartender came down with an unfortunate case of chicken pox. After cursing the poor man up and down(and making choice comments about the man's anti-vaxxer parents), Warren was left in a bind.

Which led to this. Gabriel, behind the bar of a very elite, very 1% black tie dinner. No amount of alcohol could loosen Warren up.

Not that Gabriel wasn't trying. The benefit of a rich soiree like this is that when people weren't ordering scotch, they were ordering fancy cocktails with top-shelf liquor, and Gabriel knew the more generous the tipples, the more generous the tips.

The money was the only reason he'd agreed to Warren's request, although the chance to throw on a bow tie was a welcome change from his summer wardrobe. But as he stood behind the bar, watching Warren march across the room toward him, Gabriel was starting to regret not asking for more up front.

His arm reached out with a scotch on the rocks before Warren opened his mouth, and though the bartender didn't say anything, the look on his face very clearly said "what now?" for him.‎

Frowning, Warren took the drink without even a thank you and emptied it in one drink. A shame to treat expensive liquor that way, but his nerves were shot. "Hugh Grady just walked away from here, shaking his head. He didn't look happy, Gabriel. What did I tell you about making people happy?"

Gabriel stared at Warren in disbelief for a few seconds. "I can't remember, Warren," he said evenly, because he couldn't resist an opportunity to grind the other man's gears. "What did you say about making people happy?"

"That your paycheque is directly correlated to the amount of smiles in the room, and frankly, it's looking dismal." Warren plastered his own fake smile before returning the glass. "I don't care how real those smiles are, but I have a lot of money riding on this event so let's turn some of these frowns upside down, alright?" He reached out and tapped Gabriel's cheek lightly. "There's a good boy."

Conscious of the others around them, Gabriel just gave him a strained fake smile back. "Sure thing, boss." His eyes darted toward a bottle of red wine on the bar then immediately back at Warren. This was not a drinking on the job event, but the temptation to spill half a bottle on the man was pretty high. Still, he behaved. "That silver-haired woman in the pearls is trying to get your attention."

The change in Warren was noticeable. The smile brightened and his eyes gained depth as he turned around. "Virginia," he cooed, moving into the crowd, "You came. I'm so thrilled. Here I thought I'd lost you to the Maldives." His interaction with Gabriel was already forgotten.

Gabriel's eyes followed Warren briefly, until he rolled them and shook his head. There was hardly time to consider whatever the hell had just happened, since a pair of 60-somethings stepped up to the bar.

"What'll it be?" Gabriel smiled.

"I'll take a Tom Collins," the woman ordered as she fiddled with the brooch on her dress, "and Barney will have a Manhattan, but only if—"

"Can you make a good Manhattan?" Barney raised a large gray eyebrow. When Gabriel nodded in assent and started grabbing bottles, he glanced at his companion. "Good. You never know at things like these, and Eunice says she hasn't seen you on the fundraiser circuit before. And you don't seem like the usual type for these events," he sniffed. "A little young, I mean."

"Oh, I'm just doing someone a favor." Gabriel shrugged as he grabbed the gin for Eunice's drink. "I mean – no, I'm a bartender by day. Or by night, anyway. Warren—" He looked up to see the heir apparent schmoozing with his father's guests. "That's Mr. Worthington, I mean. He asked me to fill in."

"Oh," Eunice nodded and exchanged a look with Barney. "Clearly none too pleased with you, the way he stomped over here." Bernie nodded in assent, leading his wife to scoot closer to the bar. She placed her handbag on the bar as she leaned toward Gabriel. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. "What'd you do?"

Gabriel looked up, keeping the same service-ready smile on his face. "Oh, nothing. I think he just likes the show. You know, storming over here, looking important." He was tempted to tell this nosy septuagenarian to mind her own business, but the thought of his empty wallet kept him grounded. Instead, he glanced from side-to-side and leaned toward her. "I don't really mind either," he grinned, pretending to take the woman in confidence. Visions of Andrew Jackson came to mind. "Between us, he's cute when he's mad."

At that, Bernie guffawed, while his wife simply raised her eyebrows at Gabriel, glanced at Warren, then looked back with a nod in agreement. Just as Bernie's laughter turned into loud coughs, Gabriel was ready with his Manhattan.

The coughing from the bar unnerved Warren, but he couldn't escape the conversation. Catching Jolene's eye, his assistant nodded and headed for the bar.

"Mr. And Mrs. Wheeler," Jolene said, reaching out to rub Bernie's back. "Are you alright? Can I get you anything?"

Eunice shook her head and gently removed Jolene's hand. She'd never liked the young blonde. "We're fine, dear. Bernie just had one of his coughing fits. All he needs is his drink." Handing the Manhattan to her husband, Eunice couldn't help to give a smile to the bartender.

"I hope it all works out for you, young man," Eunice said with a cheeky glint in her eyes. "Anger means passion."

Jolene watched the couple walked away, her brow furrowed.‎ "What does that mean? You're not being paid to talk to people, you know."

"How should I know?" Gabriel shrugged and busied himself by putting ice into glasses. "What is it I'm supposed to do, anyway?" He grabbed a bottle of vodka and began pouring it into a glass. "They talk to me," he looked up at Jolene, staring directly into her eyes, "and I talk back." After a healthy slug of vodka, he grabbed the club soda and started filling the glass to the top. "I'm not a — this isn't Downton Abbey or whatever. Here." The finished drink - which she hadn't even asked for, but there was no doubt Warren's ice-queen blonde assistant drank anything else - was plopped down in front of her unceremoniously.

Glaring, Jolene snatched the drink and took a sip before pushing it away. "It's not cold enough‎." Standing up, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I'm watching you."

As was Warren. It hadn't escaped the attention of several of the attendees that Warren kept looking at the young bartender throughout the evening.

With Jolene gone from the bar, a pair of younger men approached the bar with matching smirks. "Alright, what goods do you have on Worthington," asked the taller one. "Brett here thinks you're blackmailing him, but I think you're fucking." He stretched out the last word, grinning.

Brett rolled his eyes. "Chad can be so crass, but let's be real -- something's going on."

Gabriel glanced at the two guys, hoping to appraise them. But he was distracted by the sense that Warren (who had been accosted by Eunice and Bernie) was shooting daggers at him from across the room. Unable to shake the feeling that the winged mutant's eyes were boring holes through his skull, he called an audible. It was time for Warren to get his.

The boys were still staring at him expectantly, but Gabriel just looked down at his cocktail shaker and then toward the floor. "Well," he shrugged, playing coy, then looked up with a smile. "What'll it be, boys?"

Chad patted his friend on chest, huge grin on his face. "Come on buddy, don't leave us hanging." Pulling out his wallet, he placed a $100 in the silver bowl masquerading as a tip jar.‎ He motioned his head toward Warren. "I want what he's having."

Gabriel laughed. "In that case, you better write your number on that bill." He grinned before turning around and grabbed two highball glasses filled with ice and another bottle of vodka. "I don't have any peach schnapps, I'm afraid, but..." Orange juice went into both drinks. Cranberry juice soon followed. "Here we go." He picked up two orange slices and set one on the rim of each glass before picking them up and gently setting them in front of both boys.

At their perplexed looks, Gabriel's grin widened. He grabbed a pair of tongs and dropped a maraschino cherry into each glass. "You gentlemen have clearly never had the Sex on the Beach before."

Brett ‎had been watching Gabriel and missed what he had said. "Sex on a beach sounds messy," the man replied, not noticing the drink in front of him.

"It's the drink, moron," Chad responded, pushing it closer to Brett, who promptly blushed. "Don't mind him," he then said to Gabriel. "He's not too experienced ."‎ Fishing out the cherry, he popped it into his mouth. "I, on the other hand...." He reached up and pulled out the cherry stem, deftly tied into a knot.

"You're what?" Warren had sneaked up behind the two and ‎clapped their backs, causing Brett to choke on his drink. Warren had never liked the two. Trust fund assholes who had no involvement with their companies, but if he wanted their money he had to play nice.

"I hope you're treating my guests right, Gabriel."

"Sure am," Gabriel turned his attention away from Chad's cherry knot to give Warren a million-watt smile. To the best of his knowledge, he'd never once smiled at Warren before now. "Here." He grabbed a bottle of scotch that was near empty. "I saved the last of this bottle for you. Don't say I don't know what you like."

This was a trap, but Warren ‎couldn't risk it. Not in front of investors. "A glass then," he said, his eyes following Gabriel's movements. "Straight."

Brett choked on his drink again, followed by Chad's laughter. ‎ Warren felt like he was the butt of the joke.

Gabriel looked at the trust fund kids for a second, meeting Chad's eye before looking back to Warren with a shrug. "Sure." He grabbed a clean tumble and poured scotch into it. "Whiskey, neat." He smiled as he handed it to Warren. "Straight, even."

With a nod by way of thanks, Warren took the drink and excused himself. He made a mental note to ask Brett and Chad what they had been talking about.

Chad watched Warren walk away, and grinned. "Good luck with that one, bartender. You're a first for him. That we know of," he added after a pause.

"Yeah?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow and a smile appeared on his face that suggested he might want to say more. He watched Warren walk away, drink in hand, and shook his head. "You sound a little jealous, but trust me. Plenty to go around."

Brett simply laughed as Chad nonchalantly placed his business card on the tray. "I may not have Worthington money," Chad began, "but I assure you -- I'm definitely more fun."

"Good," Gabriel laughed. "I could use some more fun." He glanced down at the tray and picked the business card up. "Expect a text." He glanced over at Warren, who was chatting with a thin, wavy-haired blonde. Then he looked back at Brett and Chad. "Not tonight, obviously."

"Obviously," replied both men, leaving the bar.

The rest of the evening passed with minimal ‎interference from Warren. It seemed as if the older man had finally relaxed enough (or drank enough) to stop worrying about Gabriel.

Near the end of the evening, the same blonde girl who was chatting Warren up sidled her to the bar. "I want something pretty," she exclaimed, her blue eyes clouded by alcohol. "Not wine. Pretty."

"Pretty," Gabriel repeated back, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Well," he said, grabbing a clean class and a bar towel, "what kinds of things do you think are pretty?"

"Me! Cynthia! I'm pretty," she exclaimed happily. Looking around the room, she tried‎ to find another example. "Ooh!". Pointing a finger at Warren, she gave a dreamy sigh. "He's so pretty. His wallet too."

Gabriel's eyes followed Cynthia's gesture to Warren. He looked at her, then back at the man, then back at her. Warren hadn't bothered him for a while, but watching the man stand around adjusting his cufflinks still pissed him off. He wanted to like Warren, at least for harmony's sake. But...

So, he once again looked at Cynthia, glancing up and down her body as if he were studying her form. "Oh, so you're..." His face fell in one exaggerated motion. "Oh. Okay." He grabbed a few bottles and started pouring.

The blonde struggled to sit up straighter at Gabriel's actions. Casting a worried look at Warren, she leaned forward. "What do you know? Everyone knows bartenders know everything."

"Oh, no, it's nothing." Gabriel shrugged, looking down at the highball glass he was pouring orange juice into. As he finished pouring and moved to pick up a bottle of tequila, he sighed and looked up at her. "I mean, he's great. Really, he's..." Gabriel looked back at Warren, an admiring smile creeping onto his face. Then, in a second, it was gone, replaced by a slightly nervous expression. "I shouldn't have said anything, really."

The girl gave him an incredulous look. "No. Nonono.". She scoffed. "You are not -- you're not saying you?" Cynthia looked over her shoulder. "No. I don't believe you. That's impossible."

"I'm not saying anything," Gabriel shook his head and reached for the grenadine. "I mean, I..." He looked up as he poured the grenadine into the drink. It sank to the bottom of the glass. "Please, don't say anything," he feigned a plea. "I'm—he's not ready for it to be... I don't think he meant anything."

The girl's mouth opened, her alcohol hazed mind finally understanding what Gabriel said. "But he promised me a pair of Laboutin's...” She never had learned how to pronounce the designer's name.

"I'm sure he'll make good on that." He wasn't, but Gabriel had a part to play, and so he was tried reassuring her by patting her hand. "Here," he placed the drink down in front of her. "Something pretty, for someone pretty." He gave her a smile, which he tried to make look like a nervous smile. "Please," he said quietly. "Don't say anything. I would hate to think I..."

The girl recovered from her shock with an easy smile. "Don't worry about it," she giggled. "I'm open-minded. And I knew he was too good looking to be straight. Anyone with a million girls is obviously compensating for something."

Leaning forward, she planted a messy kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick imprint. "Who am I to stand in the way of true love."

Without taking her drink, she walked back to Warren. From the bar, all that could be seen is Cynthia reaching Warren and pulling him into a tight hug.

Warren hugged back, but when he tried to kiss her, he was rebuffed. She said a few words, a happy smile across her face, before hugging him again. She left then towards the door‎, leaving a perplexed Warren.

Warren then headed to the bar, eyes still glued to the door. "What was that all about?," he asked Gabriel, tapping his fingers on the countertop. "She made a comment about not standing in the way of rainbow love and left. I can honestly say that's never happened to me before."

"Dude, I dunno." Gabriel shrugged. He grabbed the untouched Tequila Sunrise off the bar, took a sip and winced. "Honestly, she was pretty drunk when she came over here. Not really sure what she was talking about, man."

"Huh."‎ The drink Gabriel had seemed to be an odd choice, but Warren hadn't really come over to criticize.

Strangely enough.

"I had a lot of feedback," Warren started, a small smile tugging on his lips. "Old ladies love you. Mrs. Wheeler practically accosted me, demanding your contact information. I told her I'd pass hers on.". He gave Gabriel a business card, noting the few that had accumulated ‎on the serving tray. "You're popular. I have no idea why, but I suppose this is the part where I thank you for helping tonight."

"I suppose this is the part where I remind you about the check you'll be writing me later." Gabriel soon had a small smile to match Warren's. He glanced at the business card in his hands, then down at the serving tray. "But you're welcome." He looked back up, his smile a little wider in a way that he hoped would disarm Warren. "I had fun."

It worked. This was the second bright smile he'd received, and it made Warren feel uncomfortable. There had to be a trick.

"Yes, well, that wasn't the intent, but I suppose that's good. I'll have Jolene mail your cheque, unless you'd prefer cash."

"Actually," Gabriel took another sip from his cocktail, "I would." With his free hand, he grabbed the rim of the silver bowl from the front of the bar. He wouldn't count the tips in front of Warren, but he wanted to make sure the other man knew they were there. "And while we're being honest, I'm texting your friend Chad. Will I spark an international business incident?"

"Don't blow him in Saudi Arabia and I think you'll be fine," Warren responded dryly, pulling out his wallet. Counting out ten $100 bills, he handed them to Gabriel. "And he's not my friend. We went to university together. He's an acquaintance."

Gabriel took the bills with a laugh. "Good." He counted them again, his smile widening when he finished. "Good to know that he and I have something in common." The bartender pulled his own wallet out and stuck his pay inside. Then, he grabbed the cash out of the tip jar and began putting the bills into a neat stack. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Sure." Warren stood up and gave a brief nod. ‎ Although his plans with Cynthia fell through, there was always Jolene. She was an acceptable substitute, and her fiancé was out of town. "See you around."