Champagne Problems Novels & Stories

"Jason insisted on only the finest vintage tonight." The liquid glowed gold under the chandeliers, bubbles rising like captured fireflies. My instincts screamed don't drink it. But refusing in front of dozens of watching eyes would look strange. Suspicious. Dangerous. "To new partnerships," Brittany said, her smile all predator and no warmth. I touched my glass to hers, let the crystal ring sing sharp in the air, and drank. The champagne was perfect. Crisp. Expensive. And wrong. Something bitter lingered on my tongue. Something metallic. Something that made Brittany's eyes gleam with satisfaction.

I had been running away from Lucas for three years, and it was time to stop. Before I could respond, the waiter appeared with an expensive-looking bottle of champagne. My eyes widened when I saw the label—Dom Perignon P3 Plentitude Brut. $5,000 for a bottle of bubbly? My gut instinct was to refuse, but the waiter smiled broadly, clearly expecting me to accept. “I didn’t order champagne,” I said, eyeing the waiter suspiciously. “You’re right, ma’am, but the gentleman over there did.” He gestured toward the table across from ours. A man sitting alone raised his glass toward me in acknowledgment.

"What can I get for you?" I looked at the menu. Everything was expensive and complicated. Names I didn't recognize with ingredients I'd never heard of. "What's good?" I asked finally. "Depends." He leaned against the bar. "Rough day?" Was it that obvious? "You could say that." "Then I recommend the French 75. Champagne, gin, lemon, sugar. Elegant but strong. Good for celebrating or forgetting." Champagne. Of course. I almost laughed. "Perfect. I'll take one."

Hashtag, birds of a feather flock together. "Just one glass Bella." He strictly warned as I was going to open my mouth and defend, the others decided to make there thoughts known as well. "One glass and no more. You shouldn't even be drinking." Marco added. "Not another one for the night." Kyle chimed in shocking me. If Kyle, which was the maturest one and somewhat a smarty pants now demanded that I stay away from champagne something was truly wrong. "B.." "Not another word Anna. You shouldn't be drinking any champagne and harming the child." Maurice scolded as if I was a child.

The soft leather creaked as I stood up and followed him to the kitchen. He was standing in his pantry, frowning at a bottle in his hands. He turned and held it up for me to see. "It looks like all I have is this champagne," he apologized. "I haven't been home for a while, and this is all I have." I noticed the repetition. He sounded a little nervous. I took the bottle and looked at the label. It was definitely something left over from a wedding or even a New Year's Eve party, but it still sounded good. I handed it back and smiled. "Works for me."

he continues, his tone deceptively casual, “going through everything from the day we opened, checking deliveries, invoices, that sort of thing, and something didn’t add up.” He folds his arms across his chest as he studies me, his posture relaxed but his eyes far too sharp for this conversation to be innocent. But I remain where I am, watching him carefully. What the hell does anything happening in that club have to do with me? He swallows. “Apparently, on opening night, the bar ran out of champagne at some point during the event. And from what I understand, the shortage caused a bit of panic behind the scenes.” His gaze flicks briefly toward my face before returning to its steady scrutiny.

I ask him, pushing his back with my two hands. "It's the delivery. I'll go get the door." He gets the doors and comes back with a box of pizza and a bottle of what? Wine? Alcohol? I thought he said he would keep off alcohol for tonight. "Alcohol?" I ask, pointing at the bottle as he puts everything on the table. "Champagne." What is champagne now? As he makes his way to what I presume to be the kitchen, I take out my phone from my purse. I need to know what this Champaign is, just to be on the safer side. He returns with two glasses and some Soviets.

Charming. I take it from him, bringing it to my own lips and taking a little sip. When I go to hand it back, though, Chase gives me a look of disapproval, so I raise it to my lips again, trying to take a bigger swig this time. Champagne isn’t meant for chugging. The bubbles tickle my throat as it goes down, nearly making me choke. My eyes water as I pull the bottle from my mouth and hand it back to Chase, but he’s completely unphased, immediately taking another long swig of the champagne. He must be impervious to the effects of the carbonation.

Over the main course—an exquisitely cooked filet mignon paired with all my favorite sides—I find myself unwittingly opening up more about past events I’ve catered, high profile clients I’ve served, and most importantly, the Alpha gathering. “Champagne often causes headaches,” I explain through a bite of tender steak. “So to keep my clients happy and feeling good, I always keep an array of various ginger ales stocked behind my bar.” Damon listens intently, his focus solely on me in a way that would be flattering if it didn't feel slightly excessive. It almost feels… intimate, the way his intense eyes barely stray away from my face.

Darren came to sit beside me while I was trying hard to process every single thing that was happening with his leg pressed against mine and his dark eyes watching the two as they kissed too. My breathing grew heavier. “Fuck, look at them,” he muttered in a low voice. “That is so hot.” Marcus let out a deep chuckle from the other side of the room. “I have to say, somebody spiked this shit because there is no way in hell this is normal champagne.” He had a point. I tried to speak in response even though my voice came out rough. “You think so?” Darren turned to me and his right hand landed right on my thigh. “It does not matter,” he said to me with a nod. “It feels good, right?”