Chapter 7 #2
“It’s my fault your book won’t have any of the Bronx Bombers, Liz.” He stirred more sugar into his coffee and sighed heavily. “He’s screwing over both of us.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked carefully.
“It’s because of me that Darcy told them not to talk to you.” His sad eyes bored into hers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Man, it’s a beautiful day.” Rich pointed toward the white sails skimming across Conservatory Water in Central Park. “Bet you ten bucks that skiff wins the race.”
His cousin laughed quietly and eyed the pond. “That skiff? Can you be more specific? You mean that tall white one or that tall white one?”
“You simply will never be a New Yorker if you don’t learn to bet. No sport is complete without a wager.”
“Vegas is for betting, not to mention debauchery. I’m happy to wager, but I prefer there be realistic odds.” Darcy pointed at a squirrel. “Let’s see if Coco chases it. I’d lay down five dollars that she won’t.”
Rich snorted. “Ha, that’s just because you know she’s given up the chase and would rather chew on some store-bought toy than flea-bitten Central Park vermin.” He looked at his own dog. “Young Studley could take that squirrel in thirty seconds.”
“For God’s sake, give that dog a normal name.”
“He has a normal name. He just doesn’t answer to it. He prefers Studley.” As if on cue, the Doberman pinscher turned and looked up at the men.
“The truth hurts.” Darcy nodded. He glanced down at his dog, her brown coat laced with gray and her steps slower as they neared the boat pond. He pointed to an empty bench. “Let’s take a breather, all right?”
He pulled a wadded nylon bowl from his pocket and unfolded it. Setting it on the ground by Coco’s nose, he poured water into it. “There you go, girl.”
Rich held back Studley and watched Coco slowly lap up the water. “Coco looks great. Good call on the surgery.” He cleared his throat. “She still the only lady gracing your bed?”
“From gambling to dogs to sex, eh?” Darcy pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. “Your multitasking mind is in a rut, Rich. You still dating your way alphabetically through the delegations? Was it the Maldives or Ukraine you so enjoyed exploring?”
Rich snorted. “I’m a professional. I’m not in the habit of sleeping my way around the UN.” He sat back on the bench and crossed his arms. “Michelle is off to Mumbai, and my happiness might be at an end.” He sighed. “Though I had a lovely lady beside me yesterday at the game.”
“Ah, opening day. How was it?” Darcy leaned over and scratched Coco’s ears.
“You mean who was it? You already know how it was—the Yankees won eight to three. But who it was—that was Elizabeth Bennet. The one at Annabella’s fiasco.”
Darcy froze as Rich’s words slowly sank in.
How? Her? Him? He sat up and stared at the sails on the miniature sailboats whipping around the pond.
So they hit it off that night, he realized.
While trapped by his aunt’s recital of complaints against him, he’d kept an eye on Rich and Elizabeth and grimaced when he saw Rich hand her a business card.
Bloody hell. He never stops charming pretty girls.
“How did that come about?” he asked in a flat voice.
“She’s a Yankees fan. Never had good seats before and was thrilled to sit in the box.” He glanced at Darcy. “You never told her we have a suite?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Darcy let out a breath. “I don’t know her well enough to have had that conversation.”
“Really? That’s not the impression I had. She seemed to know you pretty well. She’s met Coco and knew Georgie named her.” He looked carefully at Darcy.
“Are you going to see her again?” Darcy missed Rich’s expression shift from confusion to amused incredulity.
“Tragically, no. I believe she found me dashing and brilliant and a helluva fun guy, but I’m not the man of her dreams.” Rich glanced over slyly. “Her BFF, Charlotte, on the other hand, might be a good time.”
Man of her dreams? She’s had quite a selection from which to choose. “Charlotte was there too?”
“Yes. I didn’t want Elizabeth to feel like it was a date or anything.”
Darcy continued to stare into the distance, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
“We had a wonderful time. Her book project sounds pretty interesting.”
“Whose? Charlotte’s?”
“No, Elizabeth’s.”
“What are you talking about? She’s in marketing. She just earned her master’s.”
“Yes, but she’s doing a book project for her boss.”
Darcy squinted his eyes, thinking back. A vague memory from his Christmas Eve visit to Queens crept in. “A love story.” That book? He cleared his throat. “What book?”
“I don’t think they’ve settled on the title yet.
Something about athletes and their childhood heroes.
There’s a bunch of Olympians, some football and basketball players, soccer gods.
She played in college; did you know that?
Oh, and get this,” Richard barked in outrage.
“She has a Dodger and a Brave, but no Yankees! What the hell? I would have offered, but the book is basically done.”
Athletes. Huge guys with rippling muscles. Of course.
He’d felt terrible about his comment at the gallery. His parting shot. “Yes, I’ve noticed you know a lot of men, Elizabeth.”
He hadn’t meant for it to come out the way it did, but she kept showing up everywhere with a different man.
What was that about? The book? Was she dating them?
Is that why she wouldn’t talk about the elephant in the room—their night together, five long and confusing months ago?
Because of them? Darcy hated, hated that he might be just like those other guys: Briefly interesting. Disposable. Forgettable.
What he couldn’t forget were the unkind words he’d said to her at the gallery.
Elizabeth was unlikely to forget them too.
So he asked Charles where in New Jersey she and Jane lived and sent flowers to their apartment.
Just a simple spring arrangement of wildflowers.
Those seemed appropriate; she liked to walk and explore nature, after all.
He hoped she liked them. He didn’t expect her to call and thank him, but he hoped his peace offering would smooth things when they next met.
It would likely be next weekend. He’d already bought a table for a dinner and passed on a few tickets to Charles while hinting that he’d like to know Jane better.
Now he felt like a stalker when all he really wanted was some closure.
That’s all. He also wanted to know how Elizabeth knew George Wickham.
He winced. What was that prick doing near her?
Not even Rich knew that story. What could he say to warn her away from him?
“Darcy? Earth to Darcy?”
“Hmm? Sorry. I think I’m a bit jet-lagged.”
“Well, I was saying that our mutual friend seems quite lovely. I’m sorry I won’t get to know her as well as I’d like to.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t think I’m her type.” He paused and added in a dramatic voice, “Shame, really. She truly knows the game.”
It was supposed to be an intimate gathering for a few dozen foodies, but this pop-up restaurant had grown into an unwieldy event for triple that number.
The crowd milled about the former Hunsford food court in the shuttered South Street Seaport mall, ready to shell out three hundred dollars each for a seven-course meal cooked by one of New York’s top chefs.
Elizabeth wasn’t too sure about her escort for the evening—one of Charles’s deep-pocketed clients needed a date—but she was excited to once again see how the other half lived, this time by joining Charles and Jane at the members-only roving dinner club.
However, dressing up for free gourmet food at the possible expense of her dignity had become a questionable tradeoff.
She glanced at her “date,” Bill Collins.
Apparently, ,he was a programming genius, but he also exhibited every bad stereotype of such a guy: pale and balding with thick glasses and hunched shoulders.
The glasses, he earnestly assured Elizabeth, would be gone in another month when he had Lasik surgery.
And the Rogaine would kick in soon. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.
She glanced up at the oversized clock. I’ll be long gone before then.
In precisely two hours. As long as she didn’t watch him chew, she could handle his company.
The food smelled so good and the Seaport looked so beautiful, it was worth it.
The four sat at their table, making small talk and awaiting the two other couples due to join them.
The Knightleys, a handsome couple from the Upper East Side, soon arrived and quickly began bickering about the opera they’d attended the previous night.
Bill snorted and leaned closer to Elizabeth, muttering “love birds.” Elizabeth immediately bent her head to Jane’s and whispered, “You owe me dark chocolate. For a month.”
“Elizabeth, my dear, I’ll go fetch us a plate of those little crusty noodle things. Would you care for anything else?” Bill stood up and smiled at her, blinking rapidly as his eyes focused on her chest. “Another cocktail, perhaps?”
Elizabeth dismissed her date with a wave and glared at Jane. “He’s trying to get me drunk,” she whispered furiously. “Make that two months of chocolate. And a massage.”
“Hello, darlings,” a voice squealed. Elizabeth froze and turned around slowly, looking first to the floor for the telltale Jimmy Choo heels.
Oh yes, it was Caroline, accompanied by a familiar pair of expensive black loafers.
Her eyes drifted upward as her ears tried to drown out Caroline’s effusive praise for the event.
“Oh my, Eliza Bennet. Don’t you clean up…well.” Caroline smiled weakly and peered closely at Elizabeth. “That dress looks nearly as nice this year as it did on the racks two years ago.”
“Well, thank you, Caroline. As does yours. TJ Maxx, right?”
Various snorting sounds were heard behind Charles’s napkin.
“Hello, Elizabeth.”