The drive stretched out in relative silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the car and the faint buzz of the city outside. Sasha sat quietly, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed out the window. The soft glow of streetlights danced across her face, making her look almost serene—until she broke the silence.
"Did you really just grab a cake and champagne to appease Anne?" she asked, her tone a mix of amusement and curiosity.
I glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road. "Would you rather I show up empty-handed and listen to her pick apart my existence all night?"
Sasha broke into a chuckle, her laughter light and fleeting. "No, that'd be a huge red flag. I don't know what kind of look she threw at you, but it would be rather interesting to note."
"Yeah, Anne's the type of woman who doesn't need words to offend anyone. Her eyes do the heavy lifting," I replied, recalling her sharp, assessing gaze. "Maybe it's just her face—intimidating by default."
"True," Sasha agreed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Her features are sharp enough to cut glass."
My eyes wandered to the small gift she was holding—a box wrapped meticulously in red paper, tied with a neat ribbon. It stood out in stark contrast to the casual vibe Sasha usually exuded.
"What's the gift for?" I asked, gesturing toward it.
"Oh, this?" She held it up, almost bashfully. "Just a small token of appreciation."
I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you already give Sam that artificial bonsai on Christmas?"
"Yeah," she admitted with a slight laugh, "but this isn't for Samuel. It's for Anne."
"For Anne?" I repeated, surprised. "What's in there—a peace treaty?"
Sasha rolled her eyes. "It's just something simple, Hoffman. A gesture. I figured it wouldn't hurt to stay on her good side."
"Her good side?" I echoed with a skeptical laugh. "Does that even exist?"
"She's not as bad as you think," Sasha said, defending Anne in her calm, measured tone. "You just have to know how to handle her."
"And you think a wrapped-up bribe is the way to do it?"
"It's not a bribe," she said firmly. "It's thoughtful."
I decided not to argue further, though the idea of Anne reacting graciously to any gift felt like wishful thinking. Still, I couldn't help but be curious about how this "gesture" of Sasha's would play out.
"Well," I said, smirking as I opened the car door, "this should be interesting."
I knocked on the Waltzmans' door, and Anne herself opened it, standing tall with that ever-impeccable posture of hers. Her eyes flickered between Sasha and me, a quick, sharp scan, like a metal detector at an airport—sweeping, assessing, and ever so subtly judging.
I held up the champagne bottle and the cake, forcing a polite smile onto my face as I extended them toward her.
"There's no need for this... pleasant gesture," she said, her own smile tight, as though glued on with effort. Her voice carried that trademark mix of politeness and a faint undertone of dismissal.
"No, no," I said firmly, pushing the champagne into her hands before she could protest further. "It was indeed needed."
Her fingers closed around the bottle, her painted nails gleaming under the foyer light. She glanced down at the cake, her lips pursing ever so slightly. "Well, I suppose Samuel will appreciate this," she said, her tone hinting that she herself might not.
"Happy New Year's eve.," I said, my voice overly cheery, as Sasha stifled a chuckle beside me.
"Happy New Year's eve," Anne replied, stepping aside to let us in, her gaze trailing us like a hunter watching its prey.
As we entered, I leaned toward Sasha and muttered under my breath, "I think we passed her inspection—for now."
"Barely," Sasha whispered back, her lips twitching with amusement.
The Waltzmans' home was as pristine and curated as Anne herself, every piece of furniture and decoration carefully selected to convey wealth and sophistication. Samuel appeared from the living room, his grin as wide as ever.
The Waltzmans' living room was glowing with warm light as Sasha and I stepped inside, greeted once again by Samuel's booming laugh. Anne was seated gracefully in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, her wine glass poised in her hand as if she were holding court. Samuel had been watching something that instantly caught my attention—giraffe fights. The narrator's voice was calm and informative, though the scene was far from it.
"The giraffe's neck is not only unique but also serves as a weapon during sparring," the voice explained as two giraffes squared off on the screen. One of them swung its neck like a wrecking ball, landing a solid hit that sent the other stumbling back.
The startled giraffe quickly recovered, retaliating with a powerful swing of its own. The back-and-forth of their slow-motion neck-battle was oddly hilarious. I glanced at Samuel, who was watching with rapt attention, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Hoffman! Sasha! You made it!" Samuel boomed, pulling us into quick, enthusiastic hugs. He barely spared the cake and champagne a glance before focusing on us. "Come on in, make yourselves comfortable!"
"Hoho, quite the fascination," I commented, glancing at the TV where giraffes were swinging their necks at each other. "I never knew Sam had a thing for giraffes."
"I was just flipping through channels and landed on this," he said, grinning. "Giraffes are like you—tall and weird-looking."
"I'm still short for a German," I shot back, smirking.
Anne lingered near the doorway, the champagne bottle still in her hand. "I'll just... put this away," she said, her tone neutral, before disappearing toward the kitchen.
"Well," Samuel said with a laugh, clapping a hand on my shoulder, "looks like you've already impressed Anne. Not an easy feat!"
I forced a smile, thinking about how fleeting that "impression" probably was.
Sasha clutched her gift tightly, her fingers brushing over the ribbon nervously. As we approached, Anne's sharp eyes flicked toward us, and her lips curled into a smile—a smile that, while polite, still carried that familiar edge of scrutiny.
"Sasha," Anne said, her voice smooth and calculated. "Lovely of you to join us."
"Thank you for having us," Sasha replied, her tone steady. Then, she extended the neatly wrapped box toward Anne with both hands. "This is for you, Anne. Just a small token of appreciation."
Anne's eyebrows arched slightly, her curiosity piqued. She set down her glass and accepted the gift, her manicured fingers deftly untying the ribbon and peeling back the wrapping paper with precision. The room seemed to pause as everyone watched her.
Inside was a beautifully crafted, silver-plated jewelry box, its lid adorned with delicate floral engravings. Anne studied it for a moment, her expression unreadable, before finally speaking.
"Well," she said, her voice unusually soft. "This is... lovely. Quite exquisite, really."
Sasha smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad you like it. I thought it might suit your style."
Anne ran her fingers over the engravings, her sharp edges momentarily softened. "You have an eye for details, Sasha. A rare quality these days."
Coming from Anne, it was practically a standing ovation.
Samuel, sensing the shift in mood, clapped his hands together and announced, "Well, looks like someone's finally cracked the Anne code! Let's drink to that."
As glasses were raised and the tension in the room eased, I leaned toward Sasha and whispered, "Well played. Didn't think it was possible, but you actually got her to smile. That's historic."
Sasha grinned, whispering back, "Told you, it's all about handling her."
Anne placed the jewelry box on the table beside her and took another sip of her wine, her demeanor noticeably lighter. For a moment, I almost believed that Sasha was right—Anne wasn't so bad when approached the right way.
The evening carried on, and though Anne's sharpness never entirely disappeared, it softened enough for the rest of us to breathe a little easier. Sasha's gift had done the impossible: made Anne almost pleasant.
Anne's smile lingered a moment longer than usual, her sharp eyes scanning me with approval. I stood there, clean and polished, smelling of expensive cologne—everything designed for her judgment. She noticed.
"Quite the change," she remarked, her voice softer than I'd expected. "I'm impressed, Hoffman. You've cleaned up well."
I gave a modest smile, savoring the rare compliment. "Thank you, Anne. Thought it was time to present myself properly tonight."
Her eyes softened slightly before she turned away, a faint approval in her expression as she moved toward the kitchen.