Chapter 22 #2
I make my way through the Palm Court and enter the Grand Ballroom.
It’s absolutely breathtaking. There are marble pillars and arches surrounding the space, as if we’re in a historic theater without the rows of seats.
There are dark burgundy velvet curtains with gold tassels and the live band is playing a jazz rendition of “On the Street Where You Live.”
There are well over two hundred people at this event, and it’s hard to find a familiar face.
Except there’s a silhouette that’s almost too familiar to me in the distance.
It’s like being transported back to one of Chloe’s many parties as I spot him in a sea of people, as if it was a skill.
Adam’s leaning against the bar, talking to two other men.
When we were roommates, there had never been an excuse for us to get all dressed up.
I almost miss a step, because I’ve never seen Adam look like this in all the years I’ve known him.
Wearing a black suit with a matching black shirt, he is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
I now understand what the word swoon means.
His hair is subtly pushed back, highlighting his freshly shaved face, and I have to literally bite my tongue right now to hold it together.
As if he has felt the same magnetic pull, he glances up at me, then back to his conversation, quickly followed by a double take. His posture straightens and I see him nod to one of the men and pat his arm before he starts walking towardme.
“Wow,” he says, eyeing me from head to toe.
“You clean up good, Harper,” I say as I walk toward him.
“You look—” he starts, and I turn around, showing him the full view of my dress from behind. “Jesus Christ.”
“You like?”
“I don’t think like is the right word,” he says. The way Adam looks at me makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive. “Would you like a drink?” he asks.
“I’d love one.” I smile, and he gestures for me to walk toward the bar.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks the bartender. “I’ll have a Macallan 12. Neat. And she’ll have a…” He looks over at me and squints. “Vodka soda with lime.”
“You got it.” The bartender taps the wood and turns around.
“You remembered my drink,” I say, amused.
“I have a good memory,” he says.
I shouldn’t open this door. I shouldn’t go too far into the past, but I can’t helpit.
“What else do you remember?” I ask.
“Everything,” he says, passing me my vodka soda when it appears and tossing a ten into the tip jar.
“Like?”
“Ask me something.” He takes a sip as we start walking nowhere in particular.
“What’s my favorite color?” I ask, and he coughs out a laugh. “What?”
“Nothing, I just didn’t know we were in fifth grade.”
“Hey, if you don’t remember, then—”
“Purple growing up,” he answers. “But in college, you changed it to forest green because you felt that was more mature .” He looks atme.
Okay, he gets that one.
“What was my first acting role?” I raise my eyebrow.
“The Christmas Nativity play,” he says without missing a beat.
“What part?”
“The angel.” He smiles.
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes. “What’s the first movie we ever watched together?”
“Sleepless in Seattle.”
“Wrong.” My lips curl into a devious smile. “ My Best Friend’s Wedding. ”
“Trust me, it was Sleepless in Seattle. ”
“Adam.” I shake my head. “Remember that night you came home late, and I was like ten minutes into the movie—”
“Of course I remember,” he says, deadpan. “What you clearly don’t remember is the night you felt sick after we went to that baseball game…and watched Sleepless in Seattle. ”
I shake my head. “That was way later!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Oh my God, Adam,” I laugh, more amused by his stubbornness than anything else. “Just admit you’re wrong!”
“June, that night you were wearing those pink shorts and said you wanted to watch something with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. I remember thinking there’s no way I can get through an entire movie without touching her. ”
I open my mouth and then close it, stunned.
“You thought that?” I say.
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his Macallaster 12 or whatever the hell it is—why is it so attractive that he ordered a drink I’ve never heard of?
Why is it turning me on that this is a black-tie event and he’s the only person not wearing a tie?
Adam has the first button of his shirt undone and somehow looks like the most put-together person in the room.
Why does this sliver of information—that he wanted me eleven years ago—make me replay our entire history together?
“June!” I feel Theo’s hand on my arm. She’s standing beside me, holding a champagne glass. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, and turns to Adam. “Hi, I’m Theo.” She extends her hand out to him, and he shakesit.
“Theo, this is my…friend Adam.” I hesitate on the word for a moment, but he doesn’t seem fazed. “Adam, this is my agent, Theo.”
“Very nice to meet you, Theo.” He smiles.
“June.” She pulls me in a little closer. “Would we be able to chat for a second?”
“I’ll leave you ladies to it.” Adam tips his glass to us and disappears into the crowd, but not before giving me a subtle wink. I want to tell him to wait, but Theo is holding on to my arm.
“Okay, he’s hot as fuck.” Theo’s eyes follow Adam and then look back atme.
“Oh. Yeah, well—”
“June, Dan Sackler is here.” She continues, “I think you should talk to him.”
“I just saw him this morning,” I say. “I don’t want to bother him.”
“Trust me, you’re not,” she says. “This will only help.” She nods to the opposite side of the room. “Look, he’s over there. Say hi.”
Theo pretty much pushes me in that direction. When I turn to look back at her, she gives me a big thumbs-up. There is nothing subtle about Theo. She’s a powerful woman in Hollywood and she knows it. She works her ass off and knows what’s what, so when she says jump, I will ask how high.
Somehow, the crowd keeps growing and the music gets louder. Dan’s about twenty feet away still but he catches my eye and waves me over. As I get closer, he steps aside from his group and gives me a big hug.
“June, oh my God,” Dan breathes out. “You look absolutely stunning.”
“Oh, thank you, you look incredible too!” I say, eyeing his full-blown tuxedo.
“Look, you did an amazing job today,” he says. “We were all really speechless.”
My cheeks become flush, not used to receiving this kind of praise after a performance. At least not in a very long time.
“Thank you, Dan,” I say sincerely.
“I’m not sure if you know”—he leans in closer—“but we cast Philip Summers as our Valjean.”
“I heard.” My eyes widen. “Which is absolutely insane. I’m a big fan of his.”
“This revival is going to be a big deal, June. It’s been fourteen years since the last run and there’s already Tony buzz.” He narrows his eyes. “And it would be our pleasure if you join us on this journey as our éponine.”
I’m positive I haven’t heard him correctly, because I have no immediate reaction. But he’s staring back at me with a smile on his face, and I feel like a bottle of carbonated soda someone shook, a wave of euphoria bubbling up within me, about to explode.
“A-Are you serious?”
“Yes!” Dan laughs and pulls me into a hug. “Congratulations, June, and welcome back to Broadway!”