Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
PETRA
Present Day
I stand at the window in the living area of the hotel suite, sipping my coffee as I take in the view of the southeast corner of Central Park. I can see across The Pond to the Nature Sanctuary, and beyond that, the buildings of the Upper West Side rising above the opposite edge of Central Park.
When my coffee is half gone, I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for—the rustling of the sheets. I pick up the second cup of coffee off the windowsill and head back into the hotel bedroom.
He’s propped up on one elbow and his muscles bunch up in ripples across his abdomen. Yep, he’s as fit as he felt in the dark last night.
“Wow,” he says, sleep clinging to his voice as he looks me up and down. I’m in nothing but a T-shirt, and I’ve spent the past twenty minutes fixing my curls from their post-sex messiness.
“I made you coffee,” I tell him as I hold up the to-go cup. “To have on your way home.”
“Ouch. I was ready for round two. You kicking me out already?” His voice is teasing, like he thinks I’m going to say Oh, round two? Yeah, let’s go for that.
“I don’t do this whole next-day thing,” I say, picking up his dress shirt off the floor and tossing it to him.
The only reason I didn’t kick him out last night was because I fell asleep, exhausted from a day of travel between Park City, Utah and New York City, combined with some pretty decent sex.
It wasn’t a terrible way to end my day, but waking up with a stranger in my bed is never my favorite way to start a new one.
His face is screwed up into a mask of confusion as he catches the shirt, but he slips it on. As his fingers work at the buttons, he says, “Just so you know, usually I’m the one gently ushering someone out the door the next morning.”
I hold in my Not this time comment, because there’s no reason to rub salt in the wound. Instead, I say, “I had fun last night.”
“Me too,” he says, swiping his pants off the floor at the edge of the bed. He slides his legs into them as he stands and looks at me while he zips and buttons them. “Maybe we can do it again tonight.”
“I’ve already got plans tonight,” I lie.
“It was worth a shot,” he says. I wait while he gets his socks and shoes on, then I head to the hotel room door, which I hold open for him to indicate it’s time to go.
I hand him the to-go cup of coffee on his way out, shut the door behind me, and lean against it, relieved to have the space to myself.
I have a lot to do to get ready for this meeting today.
With a courtesy smile for the doorman, I step out the hotel doors and let the crisp, April air wrap itself around me.
The bright midday sun hits the buildings and reflects off the windows and limestone, making it feel like the city is lit by a spotlight.
People stream past me, muttering their frustration as I stand on the wide sidewalk and take in my favorite city.
As much as I’ve tried to ignore and deny it, I have missed New York more than I imagined I would.
I walk along the concrete, my heels pounding the pavement as I head toward the restaurant Emily picked out. It’s only four blocks from my hotel, a luxurious building on Fifth Avenue. I’ll have to figure out who booked my hotel room and thank them.
Emily is waiting outside the restaurant when I arrive, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and the loose pieces framing her face blow freely in the breeze.
With her perfectly peachy skin and matte pink lips, she looks like she’s shooting a makeup ad—which makes sense given that she’s currently the face of one of the leading makeup brands in the country.
Every single person who passes gives her a second glance, like they’re trying to figure out how they know her.
She opens her arms wide when she sees me and gives me a kiss on the cheek as she pulls me close. “I’ve missed you. It’s been way too long.”
“I know,” I sigh, pulling back and getting a good look at her. I promised I wouldn’t be that girl who moved away and never visited. “It’s just harder to get back here as often as I planned.”
“I know, and I understand.” She pulls open the restaurant door and ushers me inside.
As soon as the waiter has taken our drink order, Emily says, “So tell me everything. Why are you here? And how long are you staying?”
“I don’t actually know,” I tell her as I slide my cream wool jacket off and hang it over the back of my chair.
Her brows furrow. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“My assistant, Morgan, got a call about a week ago from a lawyer here. His client is interested in hiring me for a big event, and wanted to meet with me privately to discuss it. But I don’t know who the client is.”
“You flew across the country for this meeting and you don’t even know who it’s with? That doesn’t sound like you.” Emily furrows her brows as she takes a sip of her water.
She’s right on a hundred different levels. Walking into any situation where I don’t have control of all the moving parts is akin to walking into a pit of snakes.
“According to Morgan, what they’re willing to pay will make it worth it. Besides, a trip to New York was long overdue. It’s all on them, and I get to see you. Win-win. So, I’m headed to that meeting this afternoon.”
“I thought events planned by Petra Volkova were booked a year or more in advance.”
“Usually that’s true. But I had a high-profile society wedding in Park City planned in a month, and the whole thing fell through.
I have other smaller events scheduled here and there, but that was the big thing we were working on, and so now I have some room in my schedule.
” I consider this a win because I kept the deposit money so if I fill that time with another event, it’ll be like getting paid twice.
“I’m not at all surprised that event planning has turned out to be the right fit for you.” Emily’s smile is the small, private kind—not the dazzling one she flashes for the camera. “If you ever did want to get back into modeling though, let me know. My agent is taking on new clients.”
I shake my head immediately. “There is no way that will happen.”
“She’s not like Ryan,” Emily assures me. The sound of that man’s name is like someone dragging a razor blade down my spine. “She’s wonderful. Supportive of her clients, tough as nails when it comes to negotiating a contract.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I assure her. “But my modeling days are long past. It’s been five years. No one gets back into modeling when they’re thirty.”
“Things have changed,” Emily says. “There are so many more avenues into modeling now. It’s not all catwalks and photoshoots. I make as much money on social media as I do in my official modeling gigs—I only do those to stay relevant.”
“I prefer working behind the scenes. Give me a big fashion show to plan, and I’m your girl. Walking in that show, however . . . those days are over.”
“You belong in front of the camera,” Emily says, shaking her head. “A face and a body like yours? They deserve to be seen.”
“And they are. But only by the people I choose to see them.” Since leaving New York, I’ve built myself a small army of supporters—friends who are like family, employees who would protect and defend me at any cost. However, that small security blanket will get ripped off when I report to LA in a month.
But I can’t tell her that because the show I’ll be hosting won’t be announced until we’re well into filming, and according to my contract, I can’t tell anyone about it other than immediate family. In other words, I can’t tell anyone.
After the waiter delivers our drinks and takes our lunch order, Emily holds up her glass. “Well, here’s to you building a new life you love.”
I raise my glass to her toast, even though it’s odd to hear her refer to this as my “new life.” I only modeled for a couple years, then left to do event planning here in New York.
After visiting my friend Jackson in Park City during the Sundance Film Festival, I started looking into the event planning market there and recognized a good business opportunity when I saw one.
I moved there four years ago to start my own company and have never looked back.
It wasn’t the first time I’d reinvented myself, and it won’t be the last.
“And to you,” I tell her. “For sticking with the thing you love, and being even more successful at thirty than you were in your twenties!”
Emily blushes, her cheeks pinking just the perfect amount. “Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. I thought I’d be irrelevant by now. A suburban housewife looking back on the glory days, you know?”
I laugh. “No. I’ve never even pictured myself married, much less as a suburban housewife.” I tilt my glass to hers. “Here’s to not letting men define us.”
She tilts her glass toward mine before we both take a sip of our drinks, but her lips pull down at the sides.
“What is that look?”
“Hmm?” she asks, looking up at me as if she’s not really seeing me.
“Why do you look sad?”
“How could I be sad, Petra? I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I pause and take in her expertly highlighted brown hair; the big brown eyes, thickly arched eyebrows, long lashes, and the high cheekbones that have made her face perfect for modeling; the elegant column of her neck and the slope of her slim shoulders. “What’s missing?” I ask.
The quick intake of breath flares her nostrils—the only indication that I’ve hit on something she doesn’t want to talk about. She doesn’t reply.
“I’m here if you want to talk, okay?” I tell her.
“Everything is fine.” She shrugs and gives me a small smile. “But thank you.”
I wonder what she’s not telling me, but then I think of all the things I haven’t told her. This woman I lived with for years when I first moved here, someone who was like a sister to me, is almost a stranger now. And that’s mostly my fault.
“I’m here for at least a few more days,” I tell her. “One lunch is not going to be enough time for us to catch up. What other plans are we making?”