Chapter 13
S CARLETT
“Oh. Look at you,” she murmurs, checking my attire as I slide off my coat and put it on a hanger in a coat room in the back.
“Is it too much?”
Her eyes beam with delight.
“Too much? It’s perfect.”
Her long dark tresses are pulled back into a sophisticated ponytail. Big dangling earrings move every time she moves her head and a dense hue of red sets off her lips.
Shorter than me, she rocks a crimson dress that looks stunning on her.
“How have you been?” she asks, a bright smile lighting her face.
Of all my friends, Sammy is the most vivacious and optimistic. I wish she and I could keep in touch and talk more often. She’s always been a great inspiration for me.
And she’s always had my back.
“I’ve been good. Just keeping busy. How about you?”
We exchange a few words––I share a few tidbits about my professional life and she does the same–-before getting to our favorite topic, money.
She’s as driven as she is pretty, and her energy is contagious.
In passing, she asks me about Joachim, and I fail to relay the incident from Friday evening.
Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t heard from him after that night. He’s not the one to hold a grudge, but there’s unresolved anger left in him, and I expect that he’ll soon lay out his grievances against my new friend’s behavior.
New friend, right?
A smile blossoms on my lips.
“What’s that all about?” Sammy asks, perceptive as always.
“Nothing. I’m so happy that Joachim and I are over.”
“That’s the spirit, girl. Now, let’s go make some money.”
We put our little aprons on–their only purpose is to indicate that we are the servers–and get going.
The first hour is tough.
I haven’t worked an event like this since the last one––a wedding in Great Neck––this past summer.
But I soon get the hang of it, find my mojo, and move flawlessly between the tables, imagining that the guests are nothing more than first graders who are now grown-ups and are allowed to drink.
More people arrive at eight o’clock, and Sammy directs me to one of the bigger tables.
Clutching a cute little tablet, I prance in that direction, sashaying through the tables and avoiding the servers carrying the trays of food.
I’m mostly responsible with taking the drinks orders, which works perfectly fine for me.
My smile brightens as I move closer to the table.
It’s a large oval table for eight. Four people sit at the table, men and women, when a group of guests inches closer to their seats.
I slow down so everyone claims their seats before I casually let my eyes rove over the newcomers when my heart stops and my eyes go wide.
Abruptly halting, I almost make the server behind me stumble. I apologize profusely and move swiftly to the side, letting the other people walk by.
Am I seeing things?
This can’t be the man who kissed my lips on Friday night, and sent me into a tailspin ever since.
I tried to ignore his kiss and talked myself out of the idea that it was more than a random thing.
Besides his kiss was the puzzle piece that didn’t fit.
After all that banter and sexual undertones, getting a pure kiss from him made zero sense.
It was a goodbye kiss, I could tell.
He didn’t want to stay. Had no reason to do that.
Besides, he had mixed feelings about me and being there, while I had mixed feelings about him.
Despite all that, I’d invited him in and offered him coffee. I’d probably hoped that maybe we could figure out what our irresistible attraction to each other was all about.
Maybe his semi had nothing to do with me, and he is sporting one whenever he wears red pants.
But maybe it had to do with me as I truly affected his body. For sure, he affected mine, although my reaction to him has been dismissed by that part of my brain that wanted everything to be clear and safe.
There is nothing safe about Ewan.
Seeing him here now makes me breathe with difficulty, which only confirms that.
I don’t even know who he is, I realize, staring at him.
He rocks a sleek, slim-fit, fashionable suit with a starched dress shirt and a big smile that is not directed at me. It’s not overly flirtatious or charming, either.
It’s the smile of someone who is spending some time with his friends in this expensive, posh place.
As baffled as I am about his presence here, in an unexpected moment of clarity, I glance around the table, anguished at the idea that I might find a woman paired up with him.
I count five men and three women. Some men have brought their women with them. Two haven’t. And he is one of them.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I attempt to learn more about their gathering by looking at them.
The women.
Are they their wives?
Girlfriends?
Hired for the evening?
The women are friendly with each other, which makes me think this isn’t the first time they’ve gone out as a group. Could they be escorts supplied by the same agency?
It’s not entirely out of the question. But why would I think about that? Because they all have something in common.
They’re young and pretty.
And while they aren’t the model type, they do know how to rock a dress and hold the men’s attention.
The men seem enthralled with them without losing their heads over them.
And the man who renders me breathless?
He seems to be the focal point of the entire story.
Whatever happens around the table seems connected to him.
Men look at him, and women are reverential to him.
His eyes exude power.
His gestures are imbued with it.
They’re clipped, confident, and poignant.
His words are scarce but carry the weight of a hammer. People don’t talk over him, and whenever he asks a question, the answer arrives promptly.
The more I study their dynamic, the more I think he holds power over them.
Can he be their employer?
It’s not unusual for corporate employees to celebrate the holidays here.
What else can it be?
Are they family?
No.
They don’t look alike.
Although the men are all his type.
Athletic guys with piercing eyes. People who possess tactical knowledge. Are they former military? Hard to tell.
They could be.
There’s one interesting fact about this, though.
The vibe I got from him two nights ago was that he was more of a lone wolf.
I couldn’t place him anywhere.
He seemed to have the freedom to react with honesty and wasn’t bound to anything or anyone.
The dynamic around the table says he’s a boss.
Although, if you ask me, I got the impression he hated being bound to structured environments and hierarchy.
Things don’t make sense.
Someone bumps into me, and I steady myself and turn around.
“Oh. It’s you,” Sammy says as she pivots to face me. “Sorry about that.”
Smiling, she assesses the situation.
“Why are you frozen in the middle of the room? Is something wrong?” she asks, visible concern pushing her eyebrows up.
“No. Everything’s fine.”
“Did you take their order?”
She flicks her chin toward Ewan’s table.
“I was about to do that but I waited for them to get seated.”
Her eyes move to their table.
“They all sit now. Go now before someone else does. This is historically one of the best tipping tables.”
I can’t argue with that, so I flash a smile, turn around, and stride to them, trying not to dwell on what might happen next.
What could happen, anyway?
The man might not even remember me.
Okay, we kissed, so he might remember me, but that might not bear any relevance to him.
My ex-husband forgot he was married to me while still being married to me.
So, I muster enough courage to pull up next to the table, but not near him. Although my eyes are trained on the table, my focus is solely on him.
His eyes lift casually, a smile warming his looks, but that moment is brief, an ice storm taking over his eyes.
Surprise glimmers in his gaze, though, and tension claims his shoulders.
I thought I was nervous about meeting him again.
Turns out I have completely ruined his evening by being here, and we haven’t even talked.
I pretend I don’t know him, thinking it’s the best course of action, anyway, and introduce myself and take their orders, dutifully flipping my tablet over and lodging them in so the bartender can start working on them.
All this time, I keep my focus on the person I am talking to, but even so, a microcosm of thoughts forms in my head, and inappropriate heat lines the inside of my dress.
I wish I could fan myself with the tablet. I’m that hot.
Eventually, I get to him.
“What about you, sir?” I ask, a smile on my lips, talking to him like I’ve never seen him in my life.
His stare is more intense than a sword sliding through the air with the clear intent to kill.
I hold his gaze with a stubbornness I never thought I had while he pilfers my brain with his blue-gray eyes, looking for a crack in my facade.
Ultimately, I pass the test, and he lets his gaze dip, even so, igniting brushfires along the neckline of my dress and making a delicious pull tighten inside my abdomen.
This was the stare of a man who had spared me once.
And these are the eyes of a man who also wants to know whether I’m a friend or a foe.
Whether I like to blabber about stuff and create some awkward situations. Or I do know my place and know how to read the room.
Had he wanted to make a public announcement about our last encounter, he would have done so.
The silent exchange between him and me doesn’t register with the people around the table.
“Whiskey neat, and ice cold water.”
I spend a second putting his order in, my smile tattered like an old garment that has seen better days, yet I tilt my chin up in the end, holding my ground.
“That would be all?” I ask, his eyes moving over me and taking me in with renewed interest.
All of me.
My eyes, my lips, my cheekbones, and my red lipstick. My bouncy hair and my face, overall.
He likes what he sees, my instinct tells me, although he looks like someone who would like to kill me just about now.
Maybe only metaphorically, but still, that’s what I get from him.
“Perfect,” I say, moving my eyes away from him and talking to the entire table. “Your drinks are on the way,” I say, and I’m not joking.
Most of the time it takes five minutes for the order to arrive.
Wearing my fake grin with unwavering pride, I turn around before my face swiftly collapses.
My smile vanishes, my gaze tipped down as a thought spins in my head.
Aside from everything experienced at his table, a few other things have caught my eye, like the tattoos on these men and their rugged faces, which are perfect for some mugshots.
I have no idea what business he is in, but a shudder sweeps through me as I move away from him and them as fast as I can.