18. February
eighteen
One of the worst feelings in the world was not being able to talk to anyone about your hurt pride. There was a fine line between being used to getting a certain amount of respect and being an egotistical prick, and the last thing I wanted was to be mistaken for the latter.
When February rolled round, I made it a point to pretend to embrace the ridiculous holiday—in my opinion—in a less conventional manner. Still aching from the sight of Sophie and her boyfriend kissing right before my eyes, I decided to throw a single-only party at my place. Naturally, the hedonistic theme I’d suggested instantly prompted Chad to strike off all of his ideas and join in the planning of mine.
Before we got together to brainstorm the points, we were going to brief the party planner, Chad called me on his way over.
“Dean’s in town,” he said with excitement.
“The more, the merrier.”
“He’s with me in the car. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Hey, man! Perfect timing.”
He chuckled. “So I heard.”
“Still single, I hope?”
“Free as a bird,” he confirmed.
“Awesome. Put your thinking hat on, because I’m briefing the planners in the morning.”
“Already have a few ideas that can work.”
“Perfect. Waiting for you.”
When they arrived, I was sitting in my study with a bottle of great whiskey and my raging thoughts. I wanted my party to be the story on everyone’s tongues the day after. To defy everything that Valentine’s Day stood for and…
“How about a matchmaking game?” Chad grinned before excitedly downing a sip of whiskey.
I pulled down the corners of my lips. “Isn’t that a little… speed-date-y?”
Cocking up a finger, he chortled and slowly shook his head. “Not what I have in mind, my friend.” Dean and I kept our attention on his face as he elaborated, “I’m thinking blindfolds and a random matchmaking technique.”
“Please, don’t say car keys,” Dean objected.
“No, no.” Chad quickly wagged his finger. “That’s where I’m stuck, though.”
Dean then suggested, “How about numbers given at the door?”
“Very… library?”
“Colors!” I said. They both looked at me with wide eyes as I laughed and quickly explained, “Of underwear.”
“What?” Dean snickered in disbelief.
“Oh, I love it!” Chad hollered as if his favorite team had just won. “But how do we get the guests to wear something other than boring black or boxers with little hearts on them?”
“The invitation?” I suggested. “The disclaimer will be something like… make your unmentionables exciting or whatever. The planners will handle it.”
“Where were these ideas when I needed them?” Chad forged comical disappointment as he shook his head.
And so we went ahead with it, and the planners made it even better. Lace curtains, sexy lights, velvet love-seats in every corner and the most inspiring soundtrack in the background. When they were done, I almost didn’t recognize my own place.
“I can’t believe Abel’s missing this.” Dean shook his head the second he stepped in.
“I’d choose this over an engagement party any day!” Chad joked, chuckling like a high school kid.
I wanted to say that I wouldn’t, and that I would much rather spend the night with Sophie. But then again, what part of me was so self-loathing and masochistic as to want that after what I’d witnessed? Adamant on forgetting all about her, I grabbed another beer and examined the flawless decorations with a keener eye.
A couple of hours later, my guests started pouring in, each one excited about the prospects that the evening held. At the door, masked ushers handed them their masks and blindfolds with an elegant card that had the game instructions on it.
After a couple of cocktails, I was matched with the gorgeous, red-haired Stephanie Gibson, socialite and heiress of a multi-million-dollar business. After we were both blindfolded, a hostess placed what she had described as ‘a heart-shaped cookie’ between our teeth, advising us to try to break it in half so we could go into the next phase of the game. If one of us took a bite, leaving the rest of the cookie to the other person, we would have to repeat the step again with a new cookie.
With some focus, I tried to position myself properly so that I wouldn’t ruin the game for my partner. My attempts to also convince myself that I was having a fantastic time were in line with my efforts, letting out grunts and noises as if to say to the world, “I’m very invested in this.”
In reality, I thought the whole thing was absurd.
However, it was too late now.
That was when I felt a hand suddenly land on my shoulder and heard the hostess’ antagonizing voice say, “Excuse me, who are you?”
Without hearing a response, I felt the blindfold being yanked upward and off of my face. It took my eyes a second to acclimate before I recognized that the person towering over me was Sophie.
“Miss, you’re ruining the game,” the hostess said before turning to me, then quickly looking away, yelling, “Security!”
“No, no.” I stood up, and in that instant, my match pulled away her own blindfold.
“Excuse me? You’re not playing anymore?”
Realizing that some of the other couples and their hostesses were starting to pay attention, I leaned over to Sophie and hissed from between my teeth, “How did you get in here? This is a private party.”
Just by having her here to look at, I felt that my night had significantly improved. It was an incredibly surreal sight, since she was the only one here without costumes or the promise of exciting underwear. She was standing there in a floral dress, a cotton cardigan and a bomber jacket on top. On her feet, she was wearing her usual day boots over black tights.
She didn’t look like she belonged, and I absolutely loved it.
“I’m here to fight, Mr. Wright,” she said with determination in her eyes. “Would you rather do it here or someplace more private?” She spoke quickly, enunciating every word as she did. She was rushing, yet deliberate. Angry, yet for some strange reason, also inviting.
I knew she wasn’t going to like my next move, but I did it all the same. I lifted up my hand and grabbed her arm, gently tugging on it as I pulled her away from the stunned guest with her parted lips and wide eyes. “Come with me,” I commanded.
She let out a brief giggle. “Oh, she’s hot.” She then turned to me, making her body heavier than it should be to stall our movement. “What were you gonna do to her, tiger?” She continued to giggle.
“Are you drunk?” I strained from between gritted teeth, tightening my grip around her arm.
“Watch it, pal. You’re this close to a lawsuit!” She held up two fingers, signaling half an inch.
“Oh, you mean my hand?” I instantly lifted it up. “That’s nothing compared to fifty witnesses, who will testify that you broke into a private party.”
“Lighten up, Wright. People crash parties all the time,” she mocked, following it with a snort. “Especially low-lives like me.”
“Seriously, what are you on?” I was running out of patience, and it showed in my tone.
“I told you. I’m here to fucking fight you, Nathan,” she insisted.
Looking around, I realized that the corner we were now standing in wasn’t even remotely private. Sure, we were feet away from everyone and the music was doing its part. But Sophie seemed like a ticking bomb ready to blow at any minute. I wasn’t going to risk a scene—not after all the money and time I’d invested in putting together this elite event. Besides, judging by her appearance, Sophie could have easily been mistaken for one of my pro bono case beneficiaries. A part of me didn’t want anyone to think that.
Instead of grabbing her arm, this time I put my hand in hers, tightly yet gently tugging it as I pulled her toward the stairs. She let out a vibrant laugh, and a part of me wished it was genuine, even though I knew it wasn’t. As my foot touched the first step, I heard her say, “Scandalous. You”re ditching your date for poor little me!”
I glanced in her direction before looking straight ahead. “What the fuck do you want from me, Jones?” Climbing quickly, I felt all eyes on us. Luckily, we disappeared as we went upward, gaining some semblance of privacy. In the hall, I let go of her hand and abruptly turned around. “What do you want? Answer me!”
“Let’s go in there?” She raised her eyebrows and nodded, pointing to the open door of my study.
“Fine!” I strained before I watched her march in there, moving her arms like a soldier.
The moment we were both in the room, I closed the door and turned to her, taking a deep, calming breath. “Now what?”
“Now I get to tell you that you’re a child.”
“Excuse me?”
“Who storms out like that without demanding an explanation? Weren’t you the least bit curious?”
I knew exactly what she was referring to, but wanted nothing more than to irk her. I lazily blinked, shrugging and throwing my arms in the air. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked calmly.
“You know very well.” She pointed a warning finger at me while her eyes shot a glare in my face. “Don’t play dumb with me, Wright. I know you better than you think.”
Leaning against my desk, partially seated, I rested my arm on my bent leg, smiling. “Oh, you do.”
“You’re the rich, coddled attorney who was born with a gold spoon in his mouth and everyone saying, ‘yes, sir,’ and ‘okay, sir,’ to his every whim. And when one thing—one thing—didn’t go your way? You threw a fucking tantrum and disappeared!”
“Oh, one thing.” I scoffed, looking away as my smile revealed how little I thought of her theory. “No, Jones. You seem to be forgetting the number of times I’d looked the other way—”
“Look at how you talk!” The pitch of her voice grew higher, as if in disbelief. “Looked the other way? Who made you king of the world?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about who rules the world.” Standing up, I raised a finger. “But when things are in my realm? Concerning my life and my respect? I have a few demands that can’t be overlooked.” Pausing, I stepped closed, looking her dead in the eyes. “And you have no idea how much effort it took so I could overlook them… for you.”
Narrowing her eyes, she enunciated, “I am forever grateful, Mr. Wright.” Her lips then stretched into a thin line. “But guess what? It was my respect that took a hit that day when you watched Travis kiss me and instead of doing something… you just ran away.”
Widening my eyes, I took a step away and gestured with my arm as I shouted, “You fucking kissed him back!”
“No I didn’t!” she snapped back. “I was in fucking shock, you idiot!”
Now was the time for me to either admit that I was wrong, or use every reason for doubt in the book to push back. I wanted to believe her—of course I did—but what if she and that Travis were simply playing me for some end game?
I didn’t know what to trust; my gut feeling or what I saw with my own eyes. I had to choose what to believe; what she was saying and the look in her eyes, or the fact that the most heinous crimes were committed by harmless-looking people.
Seeing her roll her eyes, I listened as she whispered, “I’m sorry. You’re not an idiot.”
There was nothing left to do but to ask the one question that was on my mind.