Chapter 15 #2
Nathan notices. His gaze snaps down to my old wool coat, then to my neck. It’s only then that I remember that in the rush to leave my apartment, I hadn’t only grabbed my coat, I had grabbed a scarf, too. His scarf. It’s wrapped tightly around my neck, a soft barrier against the chill.
He stares at it for a moment, and I half expect him to ask for it back. But he doesn’t. He swallows, then looks away, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you inside.”
The warmth of the Yale Club envelops us as soon as we enter.
Not just the temperature, but the wood-paneled walls, the smell of pine in the air as we make our way through the crowd in the foyer.
I take off my coat and his scarf and give both to the waiting attendant.
Nathan does the same, then turns around, pausing as his gaze snags on my clothes.
“Oh God, what?” I ask, my tone only slightly panicked as I look down at my cream-colored sweater.
It’s cropped so it just grazes the high waistline of my blue pencil skirt.
The outfit looked great back in the mirror in my apartment, but now I’m not so sure.
He’s staring down my body, his expression unreadable. “Is there a stain on it or something?”
“No. No, you look…” His voice fades without finishing the thought. Then he clears his throat and nods to the staircase. “We’re upstairs.”
I hesitate, but his hand finds the small of my back, urging me forward. It’s barely a touch, but I can still feel it in every nerve ending, like an electric charge has passed from his body to mine.
There are a pair of double doors at the top of the stairs that open to a sprawling reception room. It’s already half full, dark suits and black dresses and the din of conversation wafting through. A few heads turn as we enter; I know some of the gazes are for me, but most are for Nathan.
I steal a glance at him as well. I don’t think I’ve seen this suit before—its blue is more vibrant than the navy ones I’m so familiar with—but it’s cut in a similar way, accentuating the broad lines of his shoulders.
I look away, working to keep my tone as even as possible as I say, “So what is this event, exactly?”
“You’re telling me you didn’t google Safe Harbor before showing up?” he asks, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and offering me one.
“Oh, I absolutely googled it,” I say, taking the glass.
In fact, I had googled it almost immediately after he invited me.
“Safe Harbor is one of the largest family shelters in the city, operating five buildings that not only house four hundred families, but also provides job training and childcare to their residents. This benefit is one of a few throughout the year that accounts for a majority of their private funding.” I mentally pat myself on the back for remembering the details.
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because Google didn’t explain why a bunch of lawyers would spend their Thursday night being altruistic.”
He smiles, then takes a sip of his champagne as he lets his eyes scan the crowd. “Well, it’s a good cause, and Marcie can be very… persuasive.”
I pause. “This is her event?”
Nathan nods. “She’s been on the board of Safe Harbor for a while now.”
“I… I didn’t know that.”
“She doesn’t publicize it,” he says. “It’s a personal thing. Her family ended up relying on Safe Harbor more than a few times while she was growing up. When she was in a position to give back, she did.”
I tilt my chin up to look at him. “How do you know all that?”
“I told you, she and I are friends.”
“Yes, but how are you friends?”
“I used to do pro bono work for Safe Harbor.”
My eyebrows knit together, and I know he can see me struggling to make the pieces fit.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m trying to connect point A to point B.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Most of the women there need help leaving bad situations, keeping their families together, just getting a break. And I practice family law. It’s why I practice family law.”
I pause as the memory of our walk after we left the hospital comes back to me. “Wait. Is Safe Harbor the nonprofit where you were going to work after law school?”
He nods.
“So why don’t you work with them anymore?”
His back straightens ever so slightly, and some of the openness in his expression dims. It’s almost like I can see the mask snap into place, shielding some unseen vulnerability.
“I’d like to, but after I made partner, the priority was to grow the firm.
I had to focus on our clients, and that doesn’t leave a lot of free time for anything else. ”
“Like taking over an L1 seminar for a friend, right?” I say, a wry smile on my lips.
He pauses, as if he hadn’t noticed the fallacy of his argument until now. Then his posture loosens again, and he smiles. “Right.”
I glance around the room, the growing crowd of New York’s elite.
Nathan said he not only did pro bono work with Safe Harbor when he was in school—it was where he met his ex-girlfriend, Rebecca.
I wonder if she’s here now, one of these statuesque women clad in an expensive black suit and pristine makeup, if Nathan is keeping an eye out for her, too.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I finally say. “But I guess it’s hard to find time to help people when you have to maintain your hourly rate, and your corner office, and your penthouse apartment—”
“I don’t have a penthouse apartment.”
“Shut up, I’m not done.” I wave him off and continue, keeping track by counting on my fingers. “And the magazine spreads, the designer suits, the expensive dinners, the caviar for breakfast…”
He shoots me a disappointed look, but one tinged with amusement. “I still help people, Bea. Maybe not in the same way, but I do. I’ve even had some clients get back together.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious.”
“Name one client that got back together with their ex, Nathan.”
“Vanessa Goodridge. She and her husband were in the office to sign their divorce papers and ended up having sex in the bathroom.”
I blink. “No.”
“They were so loud the receptionist had to take a mental health day.”
It takes a moment for my brain to process this. “How does that even happen?”
“From what I understand, Mr. Goodridge was trying to be romantic, so he sent her an apology text right before the meeting, along with an explicit photo.”
My mouth drops open. “Like a dick pic?”
He nods.
I cringe. “Ew.”
A wry grin starts at one corner of his mouth again. “What?”
“I know this might come as a shock to you, Nathan, but most women don’t find a photo of a penis romantic.”
A woman walking past us turns to look at me, her eyes wide. I don’t acknowledge her, even as Nathan offers her an apologetic smile.
“What constitutes ‘romantic’?” he replies once she’s out of earshot.
“That completely depends on the woman.”
“Okay. What about you?”
I scoff, even as a rush of heat bursts through my body. This conversation is veering into dangerous territory.
It’s all dangerous territory , a nagging voice says somewhere in my brain.
“I don’t know,” I blurt out. “A working water heater.”
He pauses. “You find utilities romantic?”
“No, but that’s the point. If someone went to the effort of getting the hot water fixed at my apartment, it’s because they know I really want a hot shower, and that’s romantic.”
“So if someone bought you a dozen roses, you’d give them back?”
“I’m not saying it’s not a nice gesture; it’s just…
” I sigh, motioning vaguely in front of me.
“Flowers and chocolate and jewelry, it’s all bought for the sole purpose of being romantic, and that automatically defeats the purpose.
” His blue eyes are studying me so intensely that my mouth snaps shut and I need to look away, take a moment to formulate my thoughts.
“If something is really, truly romantic, it isn’t self-referential. You know?”
“No.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, already regretting this conversation. But it’s too late to back out now, so I keep going. “Okay, take my mom. She’s been married six times.”
Nathan’s eyebrows bob up. “Six?”
I nod. “And every one of those husbands made these grand gestures: vacations and jewelry and cars. And yeah, my mom loved it. But there wasn’t much more to it than that.
Because none of that actually represented love, just the appearance of it.
Which is why she’s on husband number six.
But then you have my grandparents. They were married for sixty-two years and met when my grandmother’s Buick broke down.
It was one of the coldest nights on record, and she had to get it towed to the closest garage, which just happened to be my grandfather’s.
But she didn’t fall in love with him because he fixed her car.
In fact, after he was done and told her how much it was going to cost, she was so pissed she stood there berating him in front of all his employees. ”
“Imagine that,” Nathan murmurs with a smirk.
I ignore him. “Then, halfway through her tirade, he just walks out. Like, turns and leaves the room. Obviously, when he comes back a minute later, she’s even angrier.
Calls him the worst names you can think of before she just storms out.
And there, parked right in front of the garage, is her car, running with the heat on full blast. He had left in the middle of her meltdown to go turn on her car so that it would be warm for her when she was done yelling at him.
He didn’t do it to get her in bed, he probably didn’t even think he would see her again. But he still did it. That’s romantic.”
Nathan narrows his eyes at me. “I’m pissed that you’re making sense right now.”
I shrug. “Romance exists. It’s just so hard to define, we stopped trying and told ourselves we can buy it instead.”
He seems to think about it for a minute, taking a sip of his drink as he looks out across the room. “I still think Mrs. Goodridge enjoyed that dick pic, though.”