Chapter 3
CLARA
“Okay. Tell me why the hell you were so late last night.”
Emily picks up a fry from the basket between us and points it at me as though it's some sort of weapon.
“I told you already. I made a mistake on the puzzle and ended up somewhere across town.”
“Bullshit.” Emily waves another fry at me.
“You love puzzles as much as I do, and you're better at them than me.
We've been through way too many escape rooms together for me to believe that you somehow—” she sticks the fry in her mouth and raises her hands in air quotes, “—made a mistake on the puzzle and went somewhere across town.
Come on, Rachel got there before you. Even Leah got there before you, and Leah can't find her way out of a paper bag. I was afraid she was going to end up in Boston or something.”
We giggle at the thought.
I down a quarter of my Bloody Mary, then stuff another French fry in my mouth, so I don't have to answer yet, buying myself some time. Damn it, I was hoping my best friend was drunk enough that she wouldn't remember all the details, would accept my excuse without thinking anything further about it.
“So, who did you fuck?” Emily asks nonchalantly.
“Shhh! Jesus, you don’t have to tell the entire world,” I grumble, my cheeks heating as I try to avoid the attention turned our way.
We're in a hipster brunch spot in Manhattan, and most people here probably did that, and worse last night.
But it doesn't mean they're not interested in some gossip. I’m sure I'm going to show up on a few of those “Overheard in New York” social media posts.
“Then tell me who it was. By the time you showed up, Aragorn didn't have any pants on, but he was still pretty damn amazing. You know, I picked him out just for you. I was seriously impressed by the costume work. He says he makes everything himself and even sells cosplay on Etsy. I might have to check him out.”
“I thought he was there for me to check out?” I give her a wink.
I dunk my chicken tender into the homemade ranch dressing. Between the greasy food and the Bloody Mary with the accompanying olives, strips of bacon, and celery, my hangover is beginning to fade.
It also helps that there's a nice breeze blowing through the vine-covered patio, which makes the sun almost bearable with my dark sunglasses on.
“He was,” Emily insists. “But you needed to get out there and have some fun.”
“I was having fun. It was your bachelorette party, though.”
“So? It doesn’t mean you couldn’t have, at least, given him a shot.
He didn't have any freaking underwear on, for fuck’s sake.
You could have at least danced up against him or something.
Don't think I didn't see you dancing on the outside of the circle, as far away from him as you could get. He was your type, Clara.”
“Yeah, back in high school.”
“Oh, that's right.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Now, your type is a controlling, raging asshole, who makes you feel bad about yourself.”
The words sting, and I drop the french fry that was in my hand, unable to cover the sudden wash of hurt.
Emily cringes. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” She wipes her hands quickly on her napkin and reaches across the table to hold mine.
Her green eyes are intently focused on me.
“Look, I'm sorry. I'm just so angry at he-who-shall-not-be-named. He treated you so badly, and you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who will treat you well, who will worship you for the goddess you are: a kickass lawyer, who can hold her own against seasoned partners in the firm and prosecutors alike.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hands before letting go and take another sip of my Bloody Mary.
“And I am taking steps that way. I'm fielding several corporate offers from headhunters who have contacted me so I can leave the firm.
Dean's been bothering me too much there.
And I'm tired of defending low-life assholes who make bad decisions and expect me to save them.”
A smile curves Emily's mouth. “So by going corporate, instead, you'll be defending rich assholes who make bad decisions and expect you to save them.”
I laugh. “Among other things.”
“Oh yeah,” Emily huffs and rolls her eyes, “because you're not making enough money already.”
“Hey, I tried to get you to come to law school with me. But no, you wanted to go into art restoration, instead.”
She shrugs. “Someone has to do it. You don't want to lose all that art in the museums you love to visit, do you?”
“Take me to the Louvre next time you're working there, and I'll see.”
Emily throws a french fry at me, and we giggle as I throw one back, except it flies past her and narrowly misses the shoulder of the guy sitting behind her, landing on the ground at his feet. He turns around to glare as a sparrow pounces on the now dirt-covered fry.
“Sorry!” I give a little wave before Emily and I both break out in giggles again. It takes another few minutes before we manage to get ourselves under control.
“Seriously, though,” Emily says. “What the hell happened to you for an hour? Actually, it was more like an hour and a half. You just… disappeared.”
“It was Aragorn,” I joke.
“No, it wasn't. How could he have been with you when he was already at the party? Are you going to tell me the truth, or am I going to have to drag it out of you? You know, I know how to get information.” There's a gleam in her eye I recognize and don't like.
“Can we just focus on you right now? Last night was your bachelorette party; it was about you.”
My best friend continues as though she didn't hear me.
“Oh, come on. I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk.
This wasn't like the crazy concert night during our sophomore year in college.
Firstly, you were flushed, and you had that glow.
You seemed like you were in another world all night, dreamy-like.
I know the signs. I know you had sex. Don't tell me you randomly hooked up with Dean?”
“Eww, no.” I flap my hands as if trying to get rid of a particularly disgusting smell. “I'm done with Dean. He is my asshole ex, and he is staying that way. Again, eww.”
I shudder at the thought.
“Then who was it? Who the hell did you hook up with between Lex and 43rd and the hotel?”
“Fine, it wasn't Aragorn.” She rolls her eyes. “It was,” the words don't want to come out, and I have to force them, “it was some random guy on the twelfth floor.”
“What?” Emily squeals. “Some random guy on the floor above us? That sounds incredibly sexy… and dangerous.”
“Keep it down!” I look around again, embarrassed.
“Don't blame me. It was your game. I thought I was following the clues and was at the right place.
I thought it was some practical joke you'd slipped in there for me until things started to get hot and heavy.
I even had the blindfold on, but by then, I wasn't going to stop.”
“Shit, why didn't I think of that?” Emily pouts. “I should have booked a room upstairs and sent Aragorn there first to meet you. You could have gotten hot and heavy with him, instead of some rando. Was this guy any good?”
I don't say anything. Instead, I bite my lip at the memory of what we'd done in that room on the twelfth floor, all the things he’d done to me, all the ways he'd brought me to an orgasm over and over, until I was screaming so loud, I'm surprised they didn't hear me downstairs.
There must be something in my expression, because all humor drops from Emily's face. “Are you serious? He was that good?”
“He was better than good,” I admit. “If I didn't know any better, I’d think it was some wild dream, because I've never experienced anything like that before. Even now, it's kind of hard to believe it happened.”
Emily gives a low whistle. “So are you going to see him again? Did you get his number? What's his name? What does he look like?”
“No way.” I shake my head, regretting the action immediately, as my headache momentarily sends piercing knives through my skull.
“I'm not ready for any type of relationship.
I'm not sure I will ever be at this point.
I didn't get his number or his name. It was just an hour of sex, mind-blowing, amazing sex.”
Emily stares at me, torn between two reactions before she finally grins and sits back, taking a bite out of her eggs Benedict and chewing slowly. “Honestly, good for you. You deserve it. Was he hot, at least?”
“His body definitely was. I only saw his face briefly when I first arrived, before I put the blindfold on. I really thought he was part of the bachelorette party. But to answer your question, I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I had my blindfold on the entire time we had sex. All I know was that he was huge, he had tattoos on his hands, and his body felt like he works out all the time. Oh, and I caught a flash of blue eyes.”
Emily's eyes go wide as she stares at me. “You had the blindfold on the entire time? And by 'big' what do you mean exactly?”
“Everywhere.” I grin.
We dissolve into giggles again, sharing a look that means she knows this was a onetime, one-night stand that will go into our vault and never come out again, even if I can’t get the guy—or the sex—out of my head.
“Damn it, you did have more fun than me at my bachelorette party. My plan worked too well; you ended up at a completely separate penthouse.”
“That was entirely up to chance.” I munch my way through another french fry, adjusting my sunglasses against the glare of the sun creeping in between the vines above us.
“Maybe. But it was my treasure hunt that led you there. I'm taking credit for it,” Emily says.
I throw another french fry at her, and this time, it beans the guy behind us right on the back of his head.
“Sorry!” We both say, unable to avoid dissolving into laughter again.
Nine weeks later, I land the cushy corporate lawyer job I’d been seeking. I no longer have to see Dean at the office, and hopefully ever. I’m so nervous and excited that I’m nauseous.
Really nauseous.
Thankfully, nothing has surfaced because I haven’t eaten anything since last night, and I’ve been chugging ginger ale. I even have a bottle in my purse, just in case, the strap of which I have clutched in my hand in a death grip.
“Where did you work before this?”
I look over at the PA, a woman in her early fifties. Her blonde-gray hair is swept up into a tight chignon, her suit elegant, and her smile warm.
“At a small firm in Midtown. Criminal defense. But I specialized in finance and corporate law in law school, so I’m very excited about this job,” I add quickly, hoping the PA doesn’t think I’m ill-fitted for the role they hired me for.
“Smirnov Corporation is one of the most prestigious in the city,” she says, a note of pride in her voice as she smiles at me. “If they hired you, I’m sure you’ll be a good addition to the team.”
The compliment sparks a warm little glow inside me. I’m beginning to think it might be a good day after all, and a good start to my new career.
That is, until a voice echoes across the stretch of the executive floor. At first, it’s a faint rumble in the back of my mind as the PA and I continue to chat. But it soon becomes a familiar sound that pulls at my attention until I’m having a difficult time concentrating on the woman’s words.
“This is Mr. Smirnov’s office,” she says. “The head of the law department, John Messina, whom you should have already met, is inside.”
I knock lightly, and an accented voice calls out, “Come in.”
It’s that voice.
Holy shit!
I look back at the PA, who is urging me inside, her smile growing tighter the longer I hesitate. Finally, I stumble in, the door opening onto a pair of ice-blue eyes—the same ice-blue eyes I’d seen as the elevator doors were closing.
The world tilts, and I steady myself as a smile spreads across those full lips, sharp, predatory, desirous.
Am I trapped in a nightmare? Or is it a fantasy?
Or perhaps both?
“Close the door,” the voice says.
My stomach flips.