Chapter 5
“Are you sure you’re gonna drink?” I ask.
“Just a sip. I need to relax. What do you suggest?”
“A cocktail. Something really girly, nothing too strong.”
“You’re the bartender, babe. Pick something for me.”
I know this will be the first time she drinks a full cocktail. Taylor’s incredibly responsible for her age, but I think the combo of her father’s death anniversary and that heartbreak she went through pushed her to her limit. She needs to let loose.
A few minutes later, once the bartender hands over our drinks, I give her a Cosmopolitan.
She rolls her eyes.
“This is such a cliché. Are we channeling that old show Sex and the City?”
“Why not? We’re single and we’re in Manhattan. Let’s drink in honor of the queen herself—Carrie Bradshaw,” I say, referring to one of the show’s leads.
Just as she reaches for her drink, her phone lights up with a new message.
She shows me the screen. It’s from the hot doctor.
I grab the phone and read aloud:
“Have dinner with me tomorrow. Oh my God, Taylor! Subtlety is definitely not his thing.”
She repeats the message under her breath, as if processing it.
“What do I say?”
“What do you want to say?” I ask.
“Nothing appropriate.”
“Like… yes, absolutely?”
“Exactly. But I know I shouldn’t.”
“Send him a photo of your drink, thank him, and tell him you’ve moved on.”
“I can’t do that.” She pauses. “I don’t want to do that.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know… but I won’t lie. I haven’t moved on.”
“Then show him the drink and invite him here.”
“What? Are you insane?”
“No, I know exactly what I’m doing, baby. Send him a picture of the drink, drop the name of the club, and make your doctor sweat a little. If he’s really into you, he’ll come.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’re lucky to get rid of a loser, Taylor. Anyone worth having will make at least some effort.”
She takes a sip of the cocktail before following my advice.
She snaps a picture of her drink, attaches it, and types: At Vanity in Manhattan, having the time of my life. Hope you’re enjoying your night too, Mr. Marshall.
She hits send—and I’m pretty sure it’s just to keep from chickening out.
God, I love this girl.
Wait a second…
“Mr. Marshall? Is your William by any chance the grandson of your employer?”
“Yeah. I know what you’re going to say—we come from different worlds.”
“That’s as obvious as the sunrise, but if the jerk’s already stolen your heart, what’s the harm in losing a few more pieces of it? Now let’s dance. Soon you’ll find out whether he feels more than just desire.”
“Coming after me actually means something?”
“Oh, you better believe it. Guys as rich as I assume he is don’t chase women. They have them falling at their feet by the dozen.”
She checks her phone again, not fully believing anything will come of it.
“Take me dancing, Jackie, or I’ll end up staring at my screen like a psycho.”
Over an hour later, as we stop by the bathroom, she shows me three new messages.
“If I had heart issues, I’d be dead right now,” she says after reading the first one.
“From William?”
“Yeah.”
I give her a high five.
“What do they say?”
“He’s waiting for me in the VIP lounge—third floor. I’ll tell him you’re with me.”
“Absolutely not. I was not born to be the third wheel, baby. Don’t worry about me—I’ll figure out a way to get home.”
I guess my destiny is spending the weekend with a tub of ice cream and Netflix.
Well… at least one of us is getting lucky tonight.
She texts him back saying she’ll be up soon, then asks for directions and gives me a quick goodbye kiss.
“Going back to your ex again?” she asks.
God, I wish. If only she knew there’s no ex.
“Oh, no. I don’t make the same mistake twice. If he were good for me, he wouldn’t be an ex. Have fun—and don’t forget the condom.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t be such a small-town girl,” I say, half teasing, half serious—because I’m pretty sure she’s still very innocent. “Go on and tame your tycoon, but if he acts like a jerk, come back to me. I’ll be on the dance floor for at least another hour.”
I’ve just made up my mind. I’m not giving up tonight. Maybe this is the night he finally shows up.
Or maybe I’ll meet someone, fall in love, and forget my obsession for good.
“Okay. Got gum? I think I have cocktail breath,” she says.
I pull a mint gum from my bag and hand it to her.
I watch her walk away until she disappears into the crowd.
Neither of us had any idea, in that moment, how much our lives were about to change.
Just over two years later
God, I’m dizzy! How long has it been since I went out alone at night?
I have no idea. What I do know is that today is the anniversary of my brother’s death, and I don’t want to be alone. That was Taylor’s advice for days like this—something she does to cope with her father’s loss—and I’ve followed it religiously: don’t feed the depression. Starve it.
Ever since my friend was kidnapped[5], I’ve been more cautious about going out. Even now, long after her rescue, I take precautions.
But little by little, I’m learning to relax again.
“I’m getting spoiled by your protection, Lucifer,” I whisper. “So much that I forgot I shouldn’t get drunk in a place full of guys looking to hook up.”
“You just say you wanna hook up, babe?” some creep asks, coming at me.
Jesus—what kind of hearing is that?
I thought I was talking to myself!
“Back off,” I growl, pushing his chest.
I’m heading to the dance floor when that familiar chill hits the back of my neck—the one that tells me he’s near.
I look back and see no one, but I’m not backing down tonight.
You want to keep watching me from the shadows? Then I’m going to set a trap for you.
I know exactly where to go to corner him.
Maybe it’s the alcohol giving me courage.
Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to be alone tonight. But I’m done just waiting. It’s time to make a move—or to finally let him go.