Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
DIXIE
I thought I’d spend the evening comparing my life to Pamela’s—her perfect Manhattan townhouse, her perfect career husband, and her perfectly curated housewarming party. Instead, I found myself sitting across from Hayes Bancroft, sipping wine so expensive it would make Pamela’s eyes pop out of her head. I had been worried I was going to be that person. The kind of Bitter Betty that hated everyone for their successes. I was so glad I wasn’t wallowing and making a fool out of myself.
I was trying to keep myself from staring at Hayes. I couldn’t believe I was actually sharing a meal with him, at Edge of all places. His dark eyes kept meeting mine from across the table, somehow managing to look both intense and amused. Sitting here with him in this restaurant that practically dripped opulence felt like stepping into someone else’s life. I’d fully expected to spend the night watching Pamela’s polished friends fawn over her impeccable taste in decor and her adorable pregnancy glow.
I hadn’t expected this— him .
After a bit of initial awkwardness, conversation with Hayes flowed surprisingly easily. We started with safe topics: Pamela and Ryan’s house, for one. “The artwork alone probably costs more than three of my cars,” I said, swirling my wine. “And let’s not even talk about the chandelier.”
He laughed. “Your car might not be the best metric to use for what’s expensive. No offense.”
I wasn’t bothered. “Do you want to know how much I paid for it?” I asked with a grin.
He smiled back. “Tell me.”
“A thousand dollars,” I said proudly.
Hayes choked on his wine. “A thousand dollars? Total?”
“Total,” I confirmed. “And she runs. Most of the time.”
His laughter was deep and genuine. “Most of the time? That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. You might have overpaid, actually.”
“Hey, she’s reliable. Mostly.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “I named her Betty. She’s temperamental, but we understand each other.”
“Betty the Toyota Tercel,” he repeated, shaking his head.
I found myself relaxing, forgetting about the earlier tension of the party. Hayes was nothing like I expected. Sure, he was clearly wealthy—the Bancroft name wasn’t exactly unknown in New York—but he didn’t carry himself with the pretentiousness I’d anticipated.
“So, I’m guessing you know the artists that did those paintings,” I said. “I’m a little uncultured. It looks like ink blobs to me.”
Hayes chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy confidence. “It’s a little much, isn’t it? All the expensive artwork.”
“You mean the showboating?” I raised an eyebrow. “I get it. They want people to know they’re doing well. Ryan’s head of marketing now. Good for him. But come on, matching cheese knives?”
He took a bite of his pasta and nodded. “He wanted every detail just right.”
“And the chandeliers,” I went on. “Like we get it. You’re rich. But it’s not a ballroom. Who’s going to clean those things? Do you know how much dust collects up there? And forget about changing the lightbulbs. It would cost a fortune just to pay someone for the upkeep of those things.”
“They actually have a chandelier guy.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never hired him, but all he does is clean and maintain chandeliers all throughout the city.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head.
“Someone’s got to do it. Might as well hire an expert, I guess.”
“Sorry,” I said, setting my glass down. “That was rude. I don’t mean to sound bitter. It’s just…” I hesitated, wondering how much I could reveal without sounding pathetic. “Growing up, I used to walk by that townhouse Pamela lives in now and I imagined living there. The brick exterior, the dark trim, the way it seemed to whisper New York dreams. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Hayes tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was some sort of fascinating puzzle. “And now?”
“Now it’s even closer than it’s ever been,” I admitted, “but also more out of reach than ever. Pamela and Ryan will be there forever, with their perfect little family and their matching cheese knives. Meanwhile, I’m still figuring out how to keep my car running.”
His expression softened, but he said nothing, giving me the space to ramble on.
And ramble I did.
I knew I sounded like a jealous crazy woman. It was like I could hear myself but I couldn’t shut it down. The words and many complaints just kept falling out of my mouth. Being poor was frustrating and it was all boiling over for some reason. To his credit, he didn’t seem put off by it.
“Anyway,” I said, waving a hand. “Here I am, drinking ridiculously expensive wine and complaining about people with opulent lifestyles. Sorry for the hypocrisy.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “Besides, I like listening to you.”
I paused, suddenly aware of how intently he’d been watching me. The way his eyes seemed to hang on my every word sent my mind racing down dangerous paths, awakening warm feelings inside me. But a sudden thought made me freeze over.
This was a game, wasn’t it? I knew men like Hayes—charming, devastatingly good-looking, and entirely too good at pretending to care. He was humoring me, playing along until he could steer the night toward a different kind of ending.
He was going to let me pour my heart out and then swoop in and be the knight in shining armor ready to give me a night I couldn’t forget. A night he would forget the second he finished.
“Oh, I get it,” I said, pushing my chair back as I stood. “You’re just waiting for the part where I swoon over how charming and attentive you are, and then we go back to your place. Classic.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but I pressed on. “Look, it’s fine. I’m not mad. It’s just not my thing. Thanks for the wine, though. Tell your brother the food is great. Definitely worth the wait.”
I grabbed my purse and turned to leave, but before I could take a step, Hayes was on his feet too.
“Wait,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “I don’t know where all that came from, but you’ve got it all wrong.”
I looked at him, half expecting some polished line about how different he was from other guys. That he really cared and I was worth it.
“Maybe I just wanted to get to know you,” he said, his gaze steady. “No ulterior motives. No expectations.”
“Right,” I said, my tone dripping with skepticism. “You’ll forget my name by tomorrow. Which is cool. You do you, but that’s not me. But thanks for letting me vent. Good therapy.”
He stepped closer, his presence somehow making the entire restaurant fade into the background. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had fun like this,” he said. “Don’t call it quits so early.”
I stared at him, torn between my instinct to retreat and the inexplicable pull he seemed to have on me. His sincerity caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, I found my lips twitching into a reluctant smile.
“Fine,” I said, sitting back down. “I’ll stay.”
His grin was instant, and he settled back into his seat with that effortless confidence of his. “Good choice. And for the record, if I took you to bed, I wouldn’t forget your name. You would.”
My jaw dropped, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You did not just say that.”
He laughed, a low, wicked sound that made my heart stutter. “Relax. I’m joking. Mostly.”
“I bet you’ve got a lot of lines just like that,” I said and reached for the wine glass once again.
“I don’t have any lines. We’re just talking.” He sat back. “So how long have you known Pamela?”
“Forever,” I said with a laugh. “We went to school together. I wouldn’t say we were best friends, but we’ve stayed friendly. We just drifted apart, like people do.”
“I think that’s pretty normal. But you seem… bothered.”
“Bothered?” I questioned.
“You didn’t look comfortable at the party,” he clarified.
“I wasn’t. I knew a lot of the people at the party. We went to school together. We were friends.”
“Ah, there it is, past tense.”
“Yes, past tense.” I sighed. “I guess it’s just strange, seeing how different our lives have turned out. I mean, we all started in the same place, right? But now it seems like they’re all part of this other world—one that I just don’t fit into anymore.”
Hayes nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “I get that. It’s easy to feel left out or left behind when everyone else seems to be on a different chapter.”
“That’s exactly it,” I said, feeling a little relieved that he understood. “It’s like they’re all on chapter twenty and I’m still stuck somewhere around chapter five. You know when you start a difficult book and you don’t get it and you have to reread it over and over and end up feeling like an idiot because you still don’t get it?”
Hayes chuckled softly. “Or maybe you’re just on your own book entirely. Something entirely unique and perhaps more interesting than you realize.”
I smiled at that, the idea somewhat comforting. “Maybe you’re right. It would be nice to think there’s some kind of grand adventure written in my pages yet to come.”
“I would say you’ve got plenty of story to write. Although, with the way you drive, your story might be very short.”
“Hey,” I said with a laugh. “My driving is just fine.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith in those brakes. Let me just say that.”
His teasing made me laugh. “At least I keep things exciting.”
“You definitely do that,” Hayes agreed with a grin. “I haven’t had that kind of near-death experience since I went skydiving.”
“Glad I could get your heart pumping.”
“So what’s your dream chapter? You know, the one where everything turns out just the way you want it?”
I thought about it for a moment, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Honestly? It would be simple. A small place of my own, maybe not a townhouse in New York unless I win the lottery, but somewhere that feels like home. Success in a job that doesn’t make me dread Mondays. Friends who stick around. Maybe a dog.”
“A dog seems like a solid choice.” He chuckled. “What kind would you get?”
“I’ve always wanted a big one. Maybe a Saint Bernard. Friendly, loyal, always happy to see you.” I smiled at the thought of a drooling beast greeting me at the end of the night.
“A Saint Bernard? Like the kind that wear beer kegs?”
I laughed. “They don’t actually wear kegs. That’s just in the cartoons, I think.”
I couldn’t help but study him. The way he held himself, the casual authority in his tone, he was clearly used to getting what he wanted. And yet, there was something disarming about him, something that made me feel comfortable talking to him.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, swirling the last of my wine in the glass.
“Good,” he said with a smirk. “I’d hate to be predictable.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re dangerous, aren’t you?”
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “Stick around, Dixie. You’ll find out.”
There was a challenge in his tone, a spark of something electric that made my pulse quicken. This guy was the definition of a panty-dropper and mine were already on their way down.