Eddie grinned. “Don't worry, sis, I've got this.”
I saw Asher enter the bar as I looked over Eddie’s shoulder. “Here he is now! Act normal!”
“Uh, I am, Peanut. You on the other hand . . .”
“Shh! Don’t call me that.”
Asher approached our table with a smile. He was wearing jeans and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was the first time I'd seen him out of a business suit, and he almost looked like a different person—although the sense of effortless style was undeniably his.
Eddie stood to greet him, offering him a hand, which Asher shook firmly.
“Edward Maxwell,” Eddie said. “But my friends call me Eddie.”
“Asher Sinclair,” said Asher. “My friends call me Ash. Pleased to meet you! I hope I don't sound too dorky when I say this, but I'm a huge fan of your music.”
Eddie grinned.
“Thanks, man! Never thought I'd have a CEO of a Fortune 100 company saying that to me!”
Asher laughed. “I was a teenager once,” he said with a smile, “and I still have a soft spot for punk—although I don't know if that's what I'd call your latest offerings.”
“Yeah, we've been playing around a lot with folk chords and melodies in recent years. Going for a more mature sound, I guess you could say.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say, we really appreciate it,” commented Asher. “It shows a deep musical understanding and . . . how you guys have evolved as a band over the years—I mean, the latest album has such a great, organic feel . . .”
I stood which interrupted them. As nice as it was to see them hit it off so quickly, I didn't want to sit around all night listening to them jabbering on and on about music.
“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but how about we get a few beers, huh?”
Asher smiled. “Of course. We are here to celebrate, so let's get on with it. First round is on me. What are you two having?”
“Guinness for me. Thanks, man,” replied Eddie.
“Make that two,” I said.
“Ah, Guinness drinkers, huh? Is there Irish blood in your family?” asked Asher.
“A fair bit of it!” Eddie replied with a laugh.
Asher went off to the bar to get the drinks, and I leaned over to Eddie.
“So? What do you think of him?”
“He seems like a good dude,” he remarked, “as far as first impressions go anyway. It's still hard to believe that a suit like him is a big fan of my band.”
“Come on, Eddie. He's not your average suit, you know.”
“I know, I know. You know what I mean, though—corporate types aren't exactly what make up the majority of the punk rock fan base. Still, seems like a nice guy so far.”
Asher returned carrying three pints of Guinness, so Eddie and I paused our conversation.
“Thanks,” Eddie said as he took a beer from Asher. “I'll get the next round.”
Asher sat down and raised his pint.
“Here's to Lilah,” he said, “and her amazing presentation today, which I firmly believe is not only going to salvage my firm's reputation with the Harry Winston Company, but will also make us a very decent profit in the process.”
“To Lilah,” Eddie repeated as he clinked his glass against Asher's.