22. Whitney
22
WHITNEY
T he past week has been a whirlwind. I put in the paperwork for the rental space in Williamsburg, and Sharon agreed to come on board as my CFO. Turns out she hated working for a bunch of tech bros as much as I did, and she’s been looking for a new job for a while. It’s overwhelming. There’s so much to do, and I feel like it’s all happening so fast. It’s exciting, but scary.
Speaking of scary, it’s the day of my not-date with Liam when I realize I have nothing to wear. I figured I had something in my closet that would work, but all I have are cocktail dresses and miniskirts, and I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that the event is more of a gown sort of thing.
I don’t own a gown. I am gownless.
I text Abbi.
Whitney: SOS. Going to a fancy gala with Liam and have nothing to wear.
It’s a few minutes before she responds.
Abbi: A fancy gala? What happened to ‘pretending it never happened’?
Whitney: It’s not a date.
She sends me back the eye-roll emoji.
Abbi: I’m at work late today, but Saks is having a sale. Good luck!
Guess I’m on my own for a shopping spree.
I take the subway to Soho and go through a few different stores, not finding anything that really appeals to me. I decide that I’m being too picky, so I get my fix of caffeine and then go to a few more stores with a better attitude. Eventually, while trying on a few different dresses at Reformation, I find it. An open-backed V-neck red satin dress with a slit up the side. It hugs me in all the right places, accentuating my soft curves and making me feel beautiful in a way I haven’t since…
Since I was in Liam’s arms.
After I check-out, I head back home. I only have a couple of hours to do Liam’s hair and get myself ready.
“Liam?” I call out as I let myself into the apartment.
“In here,” he calls from his room. I find him bent over his laptop, his scruffy beard even longer than the last time I saw him.
“I swear that thing grows an inch an hour.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I cough awkwardly. “Go shave and shower. Now. I’ll do your hair after.”
He grins. “I didn’t realize you were so bossy. I think I like this side of you.”
I turn away and head to my room to gather my supplies. I haven’t cut hair in a few months, but I’m excited. I’ve been missing it. I get set up in the living room, and a few minutes later, Liam saunters into the room.
Shirtless.
He’s done as I asked, his face clean and his long, wet hair is matted against his neck. Without the beard, the sharp line of his jaw is even more clear. Avoiding his gaze, I gesture towards the chair for him to sit.
It’s quiet as I get started, the air thick and awkward between us as I run my hands through his wet hair.
“Don’t do it too short,” he barks out as soon as I start.
I roll my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
He’s quiet. “Whatever you think looks good. Just don’t do it too short.”
Hiding a smile, I continue cutting at pieces of hair. As I run my hand along the nape of his neck, tugging his hair upwards, he lets out a small groan, halting my movements.
“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, then clears his throat. “What got you into cutting hair?”
I hesitate for a moment, unsure how much more to reveal about my upbringing and where this dream started.
“My mom and I were really close when I was a kid. It was just the two of us, and we never really had roots anywhere. We basically lived out of our van, driving from place to place whenever my mom got bored or followed a new guy she was seeing.” I slide my fingers through his hair, trimming off a few more stray pieces. “Anyway, like I told you, whenever we’d roll into a new town, she’d drop me off at some strip mall while she went to work. Eventually, I found that a lot of the salons would let me sit inside when it was hot outside. I’d watch the ladies do haircuts and nails, and I’d see the way people’s faces would light up, how beautiful they felt afterwards, and I wanted to make people feel like that.
“The salons were the only place where I could forget about life for a moment, and just feel connected to other people. Being on the road was lonely for me. My mom thrived on that energy, on the spontaneity and never knowing what came next. But as I got older, I couldn’t stand it. I just wanted to have roots somewhere. To have friends and feel stable. You can probably tell I’m a little obsessed with staying organized.”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “You? Obsessed? Never,” he jokes.
I hold up the scissors. “Don’t make fun of the woman who currently holds your fate in her hands.”
He holds his hands up innocently. “Kidding. Please don’t take it out on my scalp.”
“I make no promises.”
He chuckles, and it’s quiet for a moment. “So,” he continues, “you’ve wanted this for a while, then?”
“Pretty much since I was a teenager. I never thought it would be possible.”
I finish the last of his hair, brushing stray strands off the back of his neck. Stepping in front of him, I lean over, holding his front pieces to compare the lengths. I feel his gaze on my face, and my eyes wander to meet his. My mouth parts slightly, my fingers brushing gently against his pulse point on his neck as my hands fall to my side. A shiver runs through me, desire sparking low in my stomach.
“You’re all done,” I announce, stepping back to put some much-needed distance between us. “Go look in the mirror. If you hate it, don’t tell me, please.”
“I’m going to love it,” he tells me, standing. He squeezes my arm. “Go get ready, too. I’ll meet you out here in a few minutes.”
Realizing we’re running low on time, I get ready quickly. I don’t want to be the reason Liam is late, so I grab a clutch purse and rush out to meet him in the living room. His brown hair is tucked behind his ears, short and styled, and his suit hugs him in all the right places. His muscles strain against the tight material, and just the outline alone is enough to make me falter in my step, but I manage to stay upright as I approach him with a nervous breath.
“Hi,” I breathe out.
He looks up, his eyes widening as he takes me in. He takes a slight step back, and I watch as his gaze falls down to the hem of my dress, scanning me from head to toe and sending a flush through me. His throat bobs, and I watch the muscles on his neck strain against the movement. When he meets my eyes again, his brow is furrowed and his mouth downturned.
He clears his throat, blinking. “You look… nice.”
It’s hard to stop my eyes from narrowing.
Nice?
The word hits me in the stomach, and I swallow the lump in my throat, keeping my expression blank. I don’t know what I expected. This isn’t a date. This isn’t anything.
“So do you,” I say, flattening my lips into a polite smile. His frown deepens, and I gesture towards the door. “Should we go?”
He nods, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket. We’re quiet on the car ride over. Our banter and connectedness from the haircut seem to have evaporated into thin air. When we pull up to the venue, he slides out first, giving me a hand as I exit. As we enter the sprawling ballroom, I take in the decor and the bustle of the crowd. There’s a lot more people than I was expecting.
Liam presses his palm to the base of my spine, sending another rush through me, this one filled with warmth. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say as he guides us over to the open bar and orders a beer for himself and a glass of champagne for me.
When our drinks arrive, I turn to Liam with a teasing smile, lifting my flute. “No tequila shots?”
He smirks, bringing his glass to mine. “Don’t tempt me.” He glances over my shoulder and waves, his smirk growing into a smile. I turn and see a couple approaching us.
“Liam! You made it.” A tall blonde guy clasps Liam’s shoulder and shakes his hand, turning to the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Emily.”
Liam shakes her hand and nudges me closer. “I’m Liam. This is my wife, Whitney. Whitney, Tim and I went to uni together.”
Emily throws her arms around me in an unexpected hug, and I manage to wrap my arms around her before she pulls back with a wide smile. I’m trying to focus on making a good impression, but I’m stuck on the word wife and how easily it slipped from Liam’s lips. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that. Being someone’s wife. It should feel wrong, but instead my body rushes with warmth as I imagine introducing Liam as my husband.
“It’s so nice to meet you both,” Emily says. “Tim told me about your foundation, Liam. It sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Liam rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture I’ve come to recognize. I slip my hand into his without thinking and give it a soft squeeze. His eyes flash up to mine.
“Thanks,” he breathes out. “It’s not much so far, but I’m hoping tonight might change that.”
“Absolutely,” Tim agrees. “Let me find Rebecca and introduce you.” Tim turns to me. “Mind if I steal your husband away?”
“He’s all yours.”
Liam shoots me a grin as Tim leads him towards a group of people standing by a table nearby.
Emily turns to me. “Is this your first event like this?”
“Is it totally obvious?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. I just saw you looking around the room in interest rather than disdain. Tim only brings me around to talk to the plus ones while he schmoozes.” She shrugs. “It’s not so bad, I guess. Open bar, free food. It’s the company I usually abhor, but you seem normal.”
I can’t help but laugh at her bold honesty. “Well, thanks, I guess.” I lift my flute to her wine glass. “To free food and being normal.”
“I will drink to that.” She clinks her glass with mine and takes a sip. “How did you and Liam meet?” she asks.
I shift on my feet. We’ve never discussed what we would tell people. Should I lie and make up some romantic story? I decide to go with the truth. Or at least, the partial truth.
“We were roommates first, and everything sort of just went from there.”
She smiles. “It’s always good to be friends first.”
I nod in agreement, but our conversation is interrupted by a red-haired guy stepping up next to us. “Emily, darling. You’re looking stunning as always.”
Emily’s smile drops into a scowl as she turns to greet him. “Michael,” she says icily.
He smirks, but instead of the sexy dimple that Liam usually sports, Michael’s is a smarmy, arrogant one. “Babe, how many times I have told you to call me Mikey?”
She crosses her arms. “How many times have I told you not to call me babe ?”
His smirk only grows as his sharp gaze turns to me. “Who’s your friend?”
“Michael, Whitney. Whitney, Michael Sullivan. Biggest asshole in this city.”
He presses his palm to his chest. “You flatter me.” He reaches his hand out to shake mine. “Great to meet you. I thought Emily was the most beautiful woman in the room, but you’ve proven me wrong.”
“Thanks,” Emily mutters as I raise my eyebrows.
Wow. This guy is a dick.
“What do you do, Michael?” I ask with a polite smile.
“I’m a project manager at the Department of Education. What do you do, beautiful?”
“It’s Whitney,” I correct him. “I’m a business owner.”
He nods like he doesn’t quite care, his eyes roaming my face and lower.
“What does your job entail?” I ask.
“I oversee a variety of organizations and functions within the Department of Education.”
It sounds like he could really help Liam out.
“Really?” I beam up at him, giving him a wide smile. “That’s great. My husband is actually starting a foundation to expand access to higher education.” Mikey’s only half-listening, so I put my hand on his arm. “You must meet him. He can tell you all about it.”
He smirks, bringing his arm up to touch my shoulder. “I’d rather you tell me about it in someplace more private than this.”
I glance across the room to where I see Liam talking to a tall woman with long curls. She’s talking animatedly, and I can almost make his expression out from here. His whole body is stiff and radiating with what appears to be anger.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I interrupt whatever Mikey is saying and step away from him.
“Sure thing, beautiful.”
Just as I turn to find Liam and see what’s wrong, a hand grips around my arm. I blink up at Liam, baffled that he managed to get over here so quickly.
“I need to borrow my wife,” Liam growls at Mikey and pulls me from the group, his hand pressing at my back firmly. He nudges me, his scowl deepening.
What the hell is his problem?
He yanks me further from the ballroom, moving towards the exit, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out.