Chapter 24
“You look gorgeous,” the bagel guy, Ricky, told me for the fifth time since the cab ride, pulling at his bowtie. My fear of him looking like a little boy in his daddy’s suit had disappeared when he’d stepped out of his bathroom an hour ago looking like Superman in the tux I’d rented.
I’d remained standing by the open window and kept my elbows at my sides. His studio apartment smelled of rotting cheese mixed with tuna, and the floor felt sticky under my gold YSL sandals. He’d known I’d be coming in, and he couldn’t even pick up the pennies littering the floor?
If this had been a first date, his living space had ensured there wouldn’t be a second. Superman or not, I couldn’t deal with smells and dirt.
My eyes didn’t move from the door. “Thanks.”
“You waiting for someone?”
“Huh? No, no,” I told him, tearing my gaze away from the flurry of activity at the door. Every face that came through made my pulse race a little faster until I registered they weren’t him. Half an hour into the party, and he still hadn’t turned up.
Neither had David, the birthday boy.
My chances of getting him alone without Jack being present were becoming slimmer and slimmer.
Ricky clinked his glass against mine. “You sure? ’Cause you’ve been too busy watching that door to even drink your champagne.”
What is Jack doing? Ruffling his hair to make it look spikier?“Sorry, hectic day,” I explained, taking a sip of the champagne that had been handed to me on arrival. It was so dry it made my tongue stick out. People in New York expected you to love expensive champagne and overpriced wine whenever they handed you a glass. I preferred vodka and Diet Coke in a dive bar. Cheap and unpretentious. I’d love to meet someone who kept a twenty-year-old can of Diet Coke chilling in their cellar for a special occasion.
Ricky took the glass from me. “Not a champagne lover?”
I pulled a face. “That obvious?”
He chuckled. “Screwing your face up kind of gave it away,” he said, negotiating the wallet from his trouser pocket. “What do you want, and I’ll go to the bar?”
“It’s a free bar,” I explained. “I’ll have a Martini.” Clear liquids in cocktail dresses were my rule. It eliminated my chance of ruining the off-shoulder satin A-line dress I’d splurged on for the occasion. Can’t go to a multimillionaire’s party in any old dress, I’d convinced myself. Important people would be there, and I needed to make a good impression. But the satin waistband had started to press into my flesh, creating a red, angry line that would be visible long after I removed the dress.
“Awesome.” He loped away toward the bar on the far side of the room.
A musky smell drifted up my nose. God, I hated smelling like biscuits. It’s why I tried to avoid wearing self-tanner. Although that could be because the bottle had looked questionably old with a peeling label. When I’d woken up this morning to a light golden glow and not a Shrek-like pallor, I’d danced another jig. Note to self: Watch a YouTube video on how to do the Irish jig.
To mask the cloying scent, I reached for the perfume stashed in my blue-and-gold clutch, and it tickled the skin of my neck on landing. I remembered the label of the self-tanner bottle still sitting on my bathroom counter. Coconut fragrance for twenty-four hours, my ass. Smelling my best mattered as much as looking good. Didn’t want high society—or the people I worked with—to think I smelled of body odor and biscuits.
At least three hundred people milled around the room, their jewels and watches catching the light of the chandelier suspended above us in the center dome. Crystal wall sconces and brass railings gave the room a feeling of being aboard a 1930s cruise liner. The Empire State Building twinkled back at us through twenty-four-foot windows.
In the middle of the circular dance floor that could rotate sat a table holding a three-foot-high birthday cake. Black and silver roses trailed from top to bottom.
The line at the bar looked two deep already. Ricky would be a while.
Pinching my heavy skirt like a queen, I moved to get a better vantage point of the door. The dress train rustled when I moved. This must be what a wedding dress feels like.
I kept a smile on my face and nodded as people I’d met in passing, or never, called hello and complimented my dress as I glided by. From my new space to the left of the door, I could catch Ricky’s attention at the bar and get a profile view of everyone entering.
Five minutes later, David still hadn’t appeared. Or Jack. Or my drink.
Then the silver hair and jawline entered. With a date clinging to his arm.
Monica Landry? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Jack moved with stealth through the crowd, pulling Monica’s wrist as she giggled. Her red ruched dress had ridden up so high, I could give her a Pap smear from over here.
So much for being too obvious. And he appears to be enjoying it. Dick.
Any second, Jack could spot me, and I’d become very aware that I stood alone in the middle of the room. No date to make small talk with or champagne to sip while avoiding eye contact.
Then my savior, Ricky, elbowed his way through the crowd, my drink sloshing over the glass. “Thought I’d lost you. Sorry it took so long. The bar’s jumping.” He wiped the side of the glass on his tux jacket before handing it to me.
“Sorry, I felt too claustrophobic on that side.” I took a large gulp, letting the Martini linger in my mouth before swallowing. Much better.
Jack nipped out of view, and I took a second to breathe. Ricky scanned the room, looking dazed. Looking for a more exciting prospect, I imagine.
“I’m gonna hit the whizz palace,” he told me, placing his beer on the table next to us.
Who calls it that?“Okay.”
He loped away in the opposite direction, and the lights of Midtown lured me to the nearest window. I would never get bored of this city. Below us, millions of people were living, dying… loving.
I felt a burning sensation at the nape of my neck that urged me to turn around.
Jack’s bottle-green eyes met mine. Gotcha, they seemed to say as they moved from my tousled updo down to my sandals. Monica no longer hung from his arm like an eager puppy.
Man, this guy can fill out a tux. He’d left a light sprinkling of dark stubble along his jaw, making him look edgy and groomed at the same time.
He walked toward me, stopping short of touching distance.
“You look… Your dress brings out your eyes,” he breathed, as if he was gluten intolerant and I was the big bowl of pasta he craved.
The cornflower-blue material matched the shade of my large eyes. It’s why I’d chosen it. Gotcha right back.
“I hadn’t noticed.” Combined with the ebony tendrils framing my face, it made me feel like a Disney princess. Although, I don’t remember Cinderella having to ruin Prince Charming’s reputation in the kingdom. “You’re looking pretty sharp yourself. I’m sure your date must be thrilled.”
Our eyes flicked to the left, where Monica held court in a group of four men, waving her arms as she told some undoubtedly outrageous story.
“Where’s your date?” he asked.
I caught myself before I answered with whizz palace. “Bathroom.”
Jack looked up at the chandelier. “How much do you reckon this place is worth?”
“Priceless,” I responded. “Rockefeller Center is a landmark. Look at the details in this room alone.” I pointed to the curtain of crystals hanging in the windows that made rainbows dance on the walls. “And that view.” The Empire State Building and all of New York twinkled below. “Breathtaking.”
In the window’s reflection, I could see him staring at my shoulder. “It is.”
His breath made the hair on my neck tickle, and I shivered. Move out of the danger zone. I turned around and made a show of puffing out my skirt. You shall not pass. “Have you seen David?”
He stopped fiddling with his bowtie. “Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. I saw him when I walked in.”
“I’m back, babe,” Ricky announced, fresh beer in hand.
Babe? Might as well run with it. “Ricky, this is Jack. Jack, Ricky.” I rested my head against Ricky’s arm to test Jack’s reaction.
Jack’s lips pressed flat as he held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
Ricky grasped his hand. “You too.”
A couple of seconds passed and they still hadn’t let go, gripping each other in some silent battle.
Ricky pulled away first. “So how do you two know each other?”
Jack wiggled his eyebrows. “We’re partners.”
“No we’re not,” I corrected. “We’re working together on a deal.”
“Yeah, Munroe here loves to break my balls.” His right dimple deepened.
“They are very fragile.”
Jack’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Big though. I better go grab Monica a drink. Have fun, you two.”
“Have fun,” I called, not meaning it.
Ricky watched him go. “Nice guy.”
“Yeah, the best. Will you be okay for a couple of minutes? My turn for the bathroom,” I said.
“Go ahead. I’m gonna check this place out.” Ricky’s mouth hung open as he examined the ceiling.
The bathrooms were as stunning as the ballroom itself. A constant stream of women in rich scents and red lipstick came through as I stood at the sink, tousling my hair.
Monica emerged from a stall behind me. “Love the dress,” she told me in the mirror.
“Thanks,” I said, dusting powder onto my forehead to combat the shine. I couldn’t tell if the fake tan or nerves made me more sweaty than usual. “I love your earrings.”
She chose the sink next to me, taking the time to lather her hands in the expensive soap. “Jack told me you’re here with a new man. Anybody I know?”
Another three sprays of perfume to mask the fake tan. “No, he’s not in the business.”
Monica rinsed her hands and dried them on a white monogrammed towel that would be thrown in the designated bin after a single use. “Thought you’d keep it in the family,” she said with a laugh.
You have no idea.
“So, what’s he do?” She clicked open her diamante clutch and pulled out her vivid red lipstick.
The pink berry lipstick in my hand looked anemic in comparison. Why does she care about my date? We’re not friends. “He’s in the food business.” I applied another layer to avoid talking.
“Restaurants?” she guessed.
I nodded and wiped a smudge using my pinkie. It’s not like she would run a background check.
She fluffed her shoulder-length orange curls. “Good for you.” She dug a hand through the neck of her dress, hoisted her breasts up one at a time, then smoothed the material over her hips. “It’s so hard to find a decent guy. Hot and employed? Sign me up. When Jack invited me to this, I almost passed out.”
Satisfied with how she looked, she turned and leaned back against the counter.
That’s how I felt when he showed up with you. “Yeah, but life’s a lot simpler without a man.” I checked my phone and saw two missed calls from a client and a text from Viv.
Viv: Don’t throw anyone off the terrace or let bagel boy in your apartment x
Monica licked her lips, and a tiny bit of lipstick rubbed onto her front teeth. “I know, but Jack Shane? He is next-level fuckable. How do you work with him and not jump in his lap?”
“He makes it easy by talking,” I quipped, trying to make my escape.
She followed close behind. “Don’t worry, he’ll be screaming my name so loud tonight he won’t be able to talk for a week,” she cackled.
The noise of the ballroom enveloped us as we walked back inside.
The lipstick was a crimson smudge on perfect white enamel. I could tell her. Or I could be petty. “I heard he’s into feet stuff.”
She winked. “Good thing I got a pedicure.”
“No, I mean, he likes stuff getting done to him.” I held a finger to my lips. “But don’t let on that you know. Surprise him. He’ll love it.”
Her overplucked eyebrows furrowed as the information that she may have to suck a man’s toes traveled from her ear to her brain.
I patted her on the back. “Have fun.”