Chapter 14
Chapter 14
P iedmont was likewise having second thoughts. Not that Paley would embarrass him. Though she usually dressed down in jeans and hoodies, he knew she’d talked to Acacia who had set her up with a proper dress. What he regretted was the possibility that he had complicated and potentially messed up the odd relationship between them. They were boss and employee. They also had a budding friendship. Both of those things felt tenuous and in need of protection. In an era of #MeToo, was he some kind of fool for inviting his housekeeper on what could only be described as a date? And Paley was fragile right now. She said she understood this was an un-date, but did she really? Had he been clear that he had no intentions other than needing what amounted to an escort? And was it bad he had asked his paid employee to be his escort? Was there something unethical about that? He had offered to pay her extra, and she had laughed in his face.
He felt jittery as he stood at the base of the stairs, tugging at the seemingly too-tight collar of his tux as he waited for Paley to descend. She wasn’t usually late, but they had to leave in approximately thirty seconds, and she still hadn’t made an appearance. He stared at his watch, wondering if he was going to have to call her to come down, when suddenly she was there, standing on the bottom step and tapping his shoulder.
He turned to look at her with a smile that immediately fled as his jaw dropped and lingered. Except for the day he saw her in her sports bra and shorts, he had only ever seen her in jeans and an oversized t-shirt or hoodie. If he hadn’t seen her in her workout gear, he would have guessed she was much heavier than she actually was because he was used to seeing her in baggy clothing. Her hair was always up in a ponytail or bun, her face free of makeup. But tonight… If he didn’t know it was her, he wouldn’t have known it was her. She wore a floor-length spaghetti strap dress that showed off shoulders that had apparently been toned from so many hours on his rowing machine. Her hair was longer than he realized, falling below her shoulders in soft waves, looking richer and blonder than he remembered. And her face was…had her eyes always been green? Her lips always so full and pink?
“We should go,” he watched the lips say. Her voice was the same, and it brought him back from wherever he’d been. He snapped into focus and held out his hand to her.
“You look great.” Understatement. She looked incredible, as good as any woman he’d seen at any of these events. He had wanted a date who would blend in, would be an anonymous side note to him in order to keep him off anyone’s radar. But Paley would no doubt stand out, and he wasn’t at all certain how he felt about that. He glanced at her again, feeling a bit protective. Other men would see her and be attracted to her, and she was nowhere near ready for that. He would need to keep close to her, to ward others away.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your tux before. You look dashing,” Paley said, touching her finger to the bowtie at his neck.
“Bonvoy, Piedmont Bonvoy,” he said, adjusting his tie.
“I prefer Jason Bourne,” she said.
“Most women do,” he said, his tone sinking.
“Then most women don’t know what they’re missing,” she said, resting her hand on his and giving it a gentle squeeze. He kept the hand, tucked softly in his as they rode in the back seat on their way to the event. Otherwise they didn’t talk or have contact, each of them staring out a window, lost in thought.
Paley was nervous and trying not to be. Amelia had also coached her on how to behave, and she would be eternally grateful. For almost everyone a smile and polite hello will be enough. If you find yourself lost and grasping for topics, ask if they have a boat or a horse. Lots of rich people do, and they like to talk about them. When in doubt, ask a question. People of all walks of life like to talk about themselves. Paley catalogued a mental inventory of pertinent questions and hoped she’d be able to remember them when the time came.
For his part, Piedmont remembered how it was with Amelia, how they rode in this car the same cozy way, how she had so effortlessly charmed everyone she encountered. He thought he had found the perfect person for him, but for the first time in his life he hadn’t been enough. There had been someone better, and it stung. Deeply.
All too soon they were there.
“We have to get out of the car,” Piedmont said when neither of them made a move to leave.
“You first,” Paley said.
“Why am I nervous? I’ve done this before,” he said. He stepped out of the car and held his hand for her. She took it and eased out, taking a deep breath. “We only have to stay a little bit. If it’s bad, we’ll go.”
“It won’t be bad; it will be fun,” she declared.
“Clearly you’ve never been to one of these events if you think it will be fun,” he said.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s not a challenge; it’s a statement. These events are droll and boring, never fun.”
“Challenge accepted,” she said, and set her face toward the ballroom.
They were smiling as they walked in. Paley was unaware of the many, many eyes on them, but Piedmont knew. Curiosity about her would go into overdrive. He should have warned her, but there was no real way to prepare for it. Paley, oblivious to the new attention, glanced around the room and leaned in to whisper.
“I hoped for a karaoke machine.”
Piedmont snickered at the thought of DC’s elite belting Elton John on karaoke. “It’s in the shop,” he whispered in return. “I told you fun’s impossible here.”
“Unlikely does not equal impossible,” she said and resumed scanning the room. The crowd schmoozed. Even though Paley had never seen it before, she had no trouble recognizing it. Everyone tried to be the biggest, the best, the richest, the most important. Piedmont didn’t seem like that sort of person to her, but then she’d never seen him in a professional setting before. Maybe she was about to see a new side of him, a side she wouldn’t like.
He led her to a group of people who opened to them with calculated smiles. “Piedmont,” an older man said, sticking out his hand to shake. “And who is your lovely date this evening?”
“Paley Anderson,” she said, sticking forth her hand without waiting for Piedmont to make the introduction. Was she supposed to do that? No one looked at her askance for being forward. The man took her hand and shook it.
“Paley, this is Arthur Andrews, the senior partner at my firm,” Piedmont offered.
“Ah, the chocolate man,” Paley said, smiling.
Arthur blinked at her in confusion.
“Piedmont let me taste some chocolate you brought back to the office from Belgium, and it was incredible, so now you’re forever linked with chocolate in my mind. In case you can’t tell, that’s a good thing. Although, in telling you this story, I realize I divulged that Piedmont stole some of your chocolate and smuggled it home. Please don’t fire him on my account.”
Arthur laughed a bit uncertainly, as if not sure what to make of her. “Piedmont would have to smuggle a lot more than chocolate to make me fire him. And I’ll make sure and send you some chocolate. I bought too much of it.”
“Too much chocolate? That’s impossible,” Paley said.
“Paley’s a baker,” Piedmont said, linking his arm with hers.
“He’s trying to explain away my inordinate interest in chocolate, but I’ve always been this way,” Paley said, then realizing she was talking too much about herself, added, “Was this your first trip to Belgium?”
Arthur launched into a few stories about Belgium and someone else took over the conversation. Piedmont led her to another group of people. “I’ll try not to focus on chocolate,” she whispered.
“You’re doing fine,” he assured her and meant it. Arthur had been a bit baffled by her, but that was a good thing. He liked things that were unusual, and a woman who blurted passionate feelings on chocolate and made him laugh was definitely unusual.
He realized where he had led her and immediately almost led her away before the woman started talking. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.
“This is Paley…Anderson.” Apparently Paley was using her maiden name for the night, a fact he needed to remember. “Paley, this is Patricia Von Puffington.”
He could see the laughter building. Don’t do it, don’t do it, he mentally pled with her. She grasped his bicep and dug her nails painfully into his arm. “It’s so delightful to meet you,” she said at last, extending her free hand to Patricia. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him, and he was glad. If their eyes met, one of them would laugh. The way he currently felt, it might be him. He had always thought Patricia’s name was hilarious, but no one had ever shared his amusement over it. Instinctively he knew Paley would, and he was correct. She kept a straight face throughout the entire conversation, but after it was over she led them behind a heavy velvet curtain and laughed. Hard.
“I mean, seriously,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Von Puffington, come on. Did my mascara run?”
“A tiny bit,” he said using his thumbs to wipe away the faint smudges. When his hands touched her face, a buzz of electricity bounced between them, at least it did on his end. She seemed oblivious to it, to his touch.
“We should probably get back out there before anyone notices our disembodied feet sticking out beneath the curtain,” she said.
“They’d probably assume we’re making out,” he said.
“Do people do that at these events?”
“Last year I caught Patricia Von Puffington and Clouse McClownington going at it behind the punch bowl,” he whispered, and she doubled over laughing, her hand grasping his arm for support.
“Stop it, I just got it out from the last attack.” She straightened and took a few deep breaths. “No one is actually named Clouse McClownington, is there?”
“No, but there’s a Biffy and a Rover out there somewhere, so prepare yourself.”
She snorted but kept herself in check. “That’s going to be our game for the night, to make up rich people nicknames for everyone we encounter.” She touched his shoulder. “And go.” They emerged from behind the curtain, apparently undetected, and moved on to the next group of people to converse with. Halfway through, while conversation swirled around them, Paley leaned over to whisper in Piedmont’s ear. “Scheherazade Floofington and Bennington Fingerbiscuits,” in regard to the two people monopolizing the conversation. Piedmont choked and pulled Paley away to the drink table.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked.
“Did you see his hands? Guy had literal finger biscuits. His nail beds looked like drumsticks, and he kept motioning as he talked about yacht club. I got a sudden craving for waffles.”
“Why waffles?” Piedmont asked.
“Chicken and waffles.”
He gave her a blank look.
“You’ve never had chicken and waffles?”
“No, but it sounds disgusting,” he said, grimacing.
“Okay, lunch tomorrow, and you’ll see.”
They were still by the long bar when the next boring conversation found them. Once again it swirled around them as they nodded with forced politeness. This time it was Piedmont who leaned close and whispered. “Butterlicious Vanderbilt and Velvet Bordeaux.”
“Of the Louisiana Bordeaux,” Paley added, and they both had to excuse themselves to laugh.
For the rest of the night, they were lost in their own little world of nicknaming the boring people around them. It was, hands down, the most fun Piedmont ever had at such an event. By the time they piled back into the car, his face hurt from laughing.
“This feels like prom,” Paley noted.
“I wouldn’t know. I was twelve when I was in high school,” he said.
“I love how you can bandy that about without sounding pompous,” Paley said. “On the other hand, it makes me sad you never got to experience prom or after prom.”
“What’s after prom?”
“Pregnancy, for some,” she said, and he laughed, pressing his palms to his aching cheeks to stop the pain. “For me it was bowling.”
“This is the part of the evening where I sound like a total snob and reveal I’ve never been bowling.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you even…?” She leaned forward and gave Charles a new location. “It’s time to end this,” she added sitting back.
“Are you going to kill me? Take me to non-bowler’s prison?”
“No, but tonight you’ll lose your bowling virginity,” she declared.
“Okay, but I hope you brought protection because I didn’t come prepared,” he said.
“A little antifungal spray in the shoes, and you’re covered,” she promised.
“Somehow I feel I’m not the first man you’ve said that to,” he said.
“Well, I was married,” she said and frowned. “And I still am.”
“Basically you’re a bowling tease,” he said.
“Not hardly. Teases only talk. I always follow through. See, that’s actually a bowling term, so if you knew that, it would be funny,” she said.
“Somehow I doubt it,” he said, and she laughed. “Can I bowl in a tux?”
“There’s really no other way,” she said.
The bowling alley was surprisingly crowded for midnight. “Are you sure we can get a lane?” Piedmont asked.
“It’s okay, I have an in with the owner,” Paley assured him. She took his hand and wove him through the cars and to the entrance, standing aside so he could open the door for her. Once inside, he expected heads to turn at their overdressed appearance, but no one seemed to notice them, save the man in charge.
Mattie stood behind the counter, staring at Paley openmouthed. He leapt the counter with a surprising amount of gracefulness, as if it were a practiced move, and came to greet them.
“Paley Anderson, as I live and breathe. I thought you were too good for the likes of my bowling alley.”
“I am, but for tonight I’m setting aside my golden toilet brush, coming down from my third floor maid quarters, and gracing your establishment with my presence,” she said. She bestowed her hand royally to him. He bowed and kissed it.
“I’m extremely hopeful you’ve washed this since the last toilet you cleaned,” Mattie said.
“Some water splashed out, so it’s practically the same thing,” Paley said. She rested her hand on Piedmont’s bicep. “Prepare yourself for something shocking, Mattie. Piedmont’s never bowled before.”
“I could have guessed that about him,” Mattie said, turning to Piedmont with a blank expression.
“It’s not his fault. He grew up in Luzbeckistan, and they outlawed bowling in 1973. So really, this is like Footloose and you’re Kevin Bacon to his John Lithgow.”
“Stop it, you know my secret dream of being Kevin Bacon,” Mattie said. “Duty calls me, but help yourselves to whatever. Lane three is about to open.” He rested his hand on Paley’s head. “I take it you can teach him our ways.”
“I’ll do my best,” Paley promised.
“I have full confidence in you. Also, literally never seen you look better.” He kissed her cheek and disappeared somewhere within the building, Piedmont never actually saw where.
Paley took his hand. “Are you ready? Your life will never be the same after this. When you go to more of your fancy soirees, the Von Puffingtons of the world will know you’ve bowled, they’ll smell it on you, probably literally because it’s really hard to get this stench out of clothes. From this point on, there’s no turning back.”
He thought there was probably some truth in that, and he didn’t peer too closely into what it might be. Instead he gave her hand a squeeze. “Teach me your ways, I beg you.”
Paley put his hand on her shoulder and led him to lane three.