Chapter 21
Besides work, browsing through Zillow was my favorite activity. And taking a bath. It also helped as a distraction while I waited on Jack’s email to say he’d told Mia to take a hike or drop the bomb on me that they were going on a private jet to Zurich.
Ugggghhhhh. Don’t think about them joining the mile-high club.
I stretched out on the plump purple couch in my oldest tartan flannel pajamas. Another Christmas present from Hailey. She knew I still wore the nightwear of a ninety-year-old man, even in the height of summer. Comfort over style tucked behind my front door. A can of Coke on the coffee table and a bowl of Cheetos in easy reach while I perused beautiful houses? Heaven.
I’d spend hours adjusting filters and searching properties all over the US. I imagined myself in a Florida villa overlooking a golf course or a sprawling estate in Beverly Hills, minutes from Rodeo Drive and Coldwater Canyon.
No matter what I found, my search always led back to the borough that flowed through my veins: Manhattan. The place I’d revered since I’d been a kid with nothing in New Jersey and even less in Staten Island. The filter shifted to town homes that matched the four-story brownstone I’d coveted in Mrs. Dundas’s first magazine.
I’d stood at the back of the crowd around her gravesite three years ago and sent thanks to the first adult who’d believed I could make it.
I flicked onto another page and logged into my bank account to check my savings.
The figure was half of what I needed it to be.
An email banner popped up on the right side of the screen, and I sped-read through it.
Munroe,
Emailed the A-lister and gave her details on the restaurant I mentioned. Also hinted that it would be unethical (white lie) to go with her. (Although I am disappointed at missing out on a free meal. She’s the movie star, so she’d pay, right?)
As luck has it, she didn’t take offense and still wants the place, so we can consider Penthouse Four gone. A thousand more to go (or so it seems).
She’s sending everything over to you in the morning.
Let me know if you don’t have it by lunchtime.
—The guy you love to hate,
Jack
I abandoned my search and went to bed, a little balloon of happiness floating in my chest.
* * *
True to her word, the contract with Mia sat in my inbox at nine the next morning. Right underneath an email from David. The subject line read, PLEASE RESPOND ASAP.
That didn’t bode well. With trepidation, I clicked it open.
I am having a birthday party this Saturday at the Rainbow Room. Black tie. Please bring a plus one.
David
“You look like you’ve seen the ghost of boyfriends past,” Viv remarked, placing a steaming mug of coffee from the kitchen into my hands. It poured with rain outside, and we both hated walking to the cart in the rain.
I blew the steam away and took a small sip. “I can’t figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing.” I handed her my phone, and she skimmed the message.
Sitting in front of me meant she could spin her chair around so we were opposite each other. She slid the phone back to me across the desk. “Sounds great to me. You’re going to a rich guy’s party at the Rainbow Room. You know the food will be incredible. Sneak me some lobster if you can.”
“Yeah, but bring a plus one? What about the people who want to be single? Do we get disinvited?” I whined. “Why should we be penalized for not wanting the trappings of a relationship?”
“He’s not asking you to marry someone. Just bring a date.” She grimaced at the brown sludge in her cup.
I choked mine down, desperate for the caffeine. “Who? Who the hell am I going to ask?”
Viv looked around the room full of women. “Can I just point out that if you were bisexual, you’d have endless possibilities.”
“What are you doing Saturday?” I asked. “Before you get the wrong idea, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
Viv raised an eyebrow. “I have a date. And you should be so lucky, honey.”
“Oh God,” I groaned, checking the recipients of the email.
“What now? Costume party? He wants you to come as a French maid?” Viv joked. “I have the outfit if you need to borrow it.”
I shook my head. “No. He’s sent this to Jack as well.”
“Duh, you are both working on his biggest building. Would be weird if he didn’t invite him.”
“Yeah, but that means he’ll be bringing a date,” I said, “and it’ll be some twenty-year-old airhead.” The thought that I could be the mother of someone that age made me feel even more dejected. Not because I’d missed out on a “love like no other” that parents harped on about, but because I felt so fucking old.
“So? You don’t like him,” Viv reminded me, a twinkle in her eye. “Why do you care if he shows up with someone else?”
I pushed my cup of black tar to the side. Note to self: Talk to Lacey about buying a new coffee machine. “I don’t care,” I stated. “I just don’t want to deal with his ridiculous date.”
“Maybe he’ll bring Mia.”
“He turned her down,” I crowed.
“He turned down a movie star?” she spat. “Man, he must be in love with you.”
“You are hereby banned from watching romantic comedies,” I told her.
She sighed. “Wouldn’t it be great if that kind of stuff did happen in real life though? Imagine if Matthew McConaughey did save Jennifer Lopez from that dumpster.”
I frowned. “The world would be full of people suing each other while being caught in over-the-top meet-cutes.”
My thumbs typed out an email to Jack.
Did you see David’s email about the party? Are you bringing someone or going solo?
—Scarlett
“You’re asking if he’s bringing someone, aren’t you?” She tried to peer over the desk, but I pulled my cell back.
“No, it’s a client.”
“That vein on your left temple throbs when you’re thinking about him,” Viv said, “so I know that’s false.”
I ignored the immediate ping. “Nothing throbs when I think about Jack Shane.” Except…
I clicked it open, and my heart slowed.
Yeah, already RSVP’d that I’d be bringing a date. You?
—The guy who hates wearing black tie
Jack
Viv rearranged the pens in my pencil holder. “He’s bringing a date, isn’t he?”
“I never thought I’d say this again, or ever,” I told her, “but I need a man.”
* * *
Leaving Viv back at the office to find me an eligible bachelor on short notice, I’d taken a cab to The Crystal to do a showing for the last person I felt like dealing with today.
Where the hell is she?My wrist began to sprain from checking my watch. I should have let Jack take this.
Viv sent me links to two financiers I’d sold apartments to in the past. Both were unpleasant in nature and looks, with stained teeth. Jack would pity me if they escorted me into a room. Maybe go so far as to recommend a dentist. Then he’d go back to feeding his date chocolate-covered strawberries or spooning caviar into her willing mouth.
Forty minutes late. I fumed, pacing the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the unfinished living room. The buyer appeared to be interested in a three-bedroom on the thirtieth floor still two months away from completion.
Under duress from the project manager, I’d placed a neon yellow hard hat over my ponytail before being allowed entry. I’d told him I was more worried about the live wires hanging from the sockets than a loose piece of crown molding to the head.
When I was about to call it quits and head downstairs, a brisk knock sounded at the door.
About fucking time. I opened the door to find a smug Clarissa and a disinterested-looking Asian guy in black-rimmed glasses. “Hi,” I greeted them. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yamamoto. Clarissa said you’re looking for a pied-à-terre for when you’re over here on business?”
The bored-looking eyes blinked at me. The thick lenses made him look like a frog. Clarissa didn’t bother introducing us, so I extended my hand. “I’m Scarlett.”
Nothing.
“Why don’t you go ahead and check out the view?” I pointed toward the living room. He glanced at Clarissa, who nodded, and he shuffled away.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Clarissa? Forty minutes late, and you can’t even send a text?” I couldn’t stay quiet when I wanted to scream my lungs out. “I have a schedule to keep to.”
“Traffic,” she answered, dead behind the eyes.
No apology, not even a fake one.
“Does your buyer speak English?”
“Of course he does.”
“So why isn’t he speaking to me?” I asked.
She studied me over the rim of her gargantuan glasses. “It might be your energy. He’s very sensitive to that.”
NASA could use those glasses to explore life on Mars from here. “Or you’ve told him not to.”
She scoffed in a way that was exclusive to private school kids. “Scarlett, I know how to be a professional. What you’re suggesting would be immature.”
But possible. “You better not be wasting my time.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she drawled.
Ten minutes and a full tour of the place later and I’d yet to hear Mr. Yamamoto’s voice. Even his breathing didn’t make a sound. But Clarissa more than made up for it with her backhanded compliments.
“I never knew they made a toilet this small.”
Mr. Yamamoto nodded in agreement.
“Is this the primary? What a nice view of that building across the street.”
Mr. Yamamoto didn’t step foot inside the room.
On and on until I’d wanted to muzzle her.
I ignored the barbs. “So what do you think, Mr. Yamamoto?” I asked as we headed back to the front door.
He gave a slight shake of his head to Clarissa.
“I think we’ll keep looking,” she answered for him, casting a disdainful eye over everything. “It’s a little… pedestrian for his taste.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. “Well, thanks for coming. Bye, Mr. Yamamoto.”
I took the hard hat he held out to me before he left. Clarissa shoved hers on top and followed, bowing her head to catch what he whispered as they strode down the corridor.
If we did have a reality show, this is the part where I’d slap her.