Chapter 21 Toxic Ménage à Trois
TOXIC MéNAGE à TROIS
“What was the name of the charity, again?” asked Sasha, crushing her table assignment in her palm.
“Two Tunics,” responded Wes.
They were slightly uncomfortable. After recovering from the sensory shock of seeing each other looking Oscar-night elegant, they fell into silence.
The echo of last night reverberated between them.
Sasha felt something final in the air. Teo was in this room.
When Wes found him, it was the end of the case—and them.
If the stakeout at Film Forum was the beginning, tonight was the ending.
“Two Tunics,” she repeated, trying to ground herself in the conversation. “What does that mean, I wonder?”
“It’s a biblical reference. Something about if you have two tunics, you should give one away,” explained Wes, somewhat clunkily. “To a person who, you know, doesn’t have one.”
“Got it. This reminds me, I got the chicest embroidered tunic in Seville with Destiny.” She fidgeted with her bracelet. “I wonder where that is.”
“You think these people know they’re here for a charity?” wondered Wes. “Or this just a rich person version of meeting at the spot.”
A man walked by, then, accidentally stepping on the back of his date’s heels. She playfully slapped his arm, saying, “These heels were six hundred dollars, Craig!”
Eyes wide, Wes whispered to Sasha, “For a pair of shoes, though?”
“I’ve spent close to that on a gorgeous heel,” admitted Sasha. “But those aren’t even good. Polka-dot suede?”
“No amount of money can unlame you,” he surmised.
“What should we do, now?” Sasha fluffed her hair, eyes darting around the room. “Hit the dance floor?”
“Nah, it’s a little early to put my pinkie ring up to the moon.”
“Fair. So, what’s the plan?”
“Separate. Circulate. Interrogate. Meaning, we’re going to go our separate ways, and strike up conversations with partygoers. See if you can ask leading questions that would bring us to Teo’s whereabouts. Nothing too obvious.”
“No, I’ll be so subtle,” she assured him.
“Just remember, we can hear each other in our buds,” said Wes, “so if you get into trouble, just holler. I’ll give you some direction. Tell you what to do.”
He’s good at that, she thought, her cheeks blazing.
Goddamn it, she had to rid such thoughts from her mind.
But how? Wes was too beautiful. And the night was too gorgeous.
Every sensation felt heightened. Even now, she and Wes were standing so close together, their pinkies unbearably close—the memory of his touch thrummed under her skin. She stepped away.
This is killing me, he’d told her. Their toxic ménage à trois might’ve been killing him, but it was slowly torturing her.
She couldn’t see a way out. Wes Dane consumed her thoughts!
But he very clearly said he wasn’t an option.
So, there was nothing left to discuss. If she’d learned anything from her mother, it was that chasing a man is an invitation for them to run in the opposite direction.
You could blink and miss twenty years of your life, saving yourself for a man.
But Sasha couldn’t shake off how she felt in his orbit. Right now, she was pretending to care about what a stranger spent on her shitty shoes, while her heart beat outside of her chest.
The world tilted on its axis when they were together.
“Should we separate?” he asked, turning to face her.
“Yes, I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
“How’s your anxiety right now? Are you okay? With all the people?”
She wanted to say, With you here? Of course I’m okay. You make me feel invincible, like nothing scary is allowed to happen to me. You’re my layer of protection. My grounding force. My good guy in a room of wolves.
In bocca al lupo. Stay safe in the mouth of wolves. Sasha sucked in air, sharply. Teo had said that on the flight, hadn’t he? It was an odd line to remember now, of all times.
The truth was too complicated, so she pretended to be fine. “You know what? I feel pretty un-anxious right now.”
Sasha glanced up at Wes. He was already looking at her. Quickly, he began concerning himself with his cuff links.
“Just tell me if you need me,” he said, “and I’ll come find you.”
“Got it.” Sasha nodded. “See you on the other side.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed into the crowd. Somehow, she could feel his gaze warming the bare skin of her back. Was Wes watching her? She was dying to look back.
Hell yes, Wes watched her walk away. He drank her in—the slinky grace of her body, the liquid sheen of her gown, the luminous bronze of her bare shoulders.
Fuck. A vein in his temple throbbed. Basically, he was watching her glide off like a goddamn swan into someone else’s arms. And it left him in near-physical pain.
Good thing she hadn’t looked back. Because he would’ve called this all off.
Which would’ve been a mistake. He needed to find Teo tonight. His only goal was to make it to the other side of this fun-house mirror investigation. And move on.
Once Sasha was out of sight, he wandered over to a floral bouquet display.
Just to stand and collect himself. A wild spray of flowers fell out of the floor vase, spilling over.
Forever the kid who, even after being told not to touch anything at the department store, knocked over mannequins and clothing racks—he gingerly ran his fingers along a petal. He wondered what kind of flower it was.
“An impressive arrangement, isn’t it?”
The voice was coming from the other side of the flowers. Wes leaned forward a bit and saw a guy who looked a lot like him. They exchanged an African American Nod of Solidarity.
“You the florist?” asked Wes.
The guy chuckled a little. “No, my wife is. Ricki Wilde, of Wilde Things Harlem? She’s a genius with perennials.”
The guy looked so proud, he was practically levitating. Wes smiled at this. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but your wife’s talented, man. I’m Roland Weiss.”
“The name’s Ezra Walker,” he said in a deep, rolling Southern drawl. “You involved with the charity?”
“No, I’m just a donor.” He stood up straighter. “I run a hedge fund.”
“Reckon I enjoy seeing a Black man run a hedge fund.”
“Appreciate you. Yeah, it’s a lot of pressure. Nice to get out for a night like this. Even though I’m, uh, not here solely for pleasure. I’m meeting a business associate, Teo D. Scera. We have some . . . we have a few . . . hedge topics to . . . iron out.”
Wes was glitching. If he hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours trying to figure out how to get unobsessed with a woman, he would’ve invested more time researching finance buzzwords. He was walking into this disguise cold.
“You know him?” asked Wes, innocently.
“Never heard of the fella, no.” Ezra sipped a whiskey sour. “Hold on, you said his name’s Teo? Come to think of it, I did overhear someone introducing himself with that name. Over by the bar.” He gestured with his glass. “Eye-talian accent, sounded like?”
“That’s him.” Wes neutralized his expression. “Well, I should make my way over there. Good to meet you, man—”
“If you don’t mind me saying,” interrupted Ezra, “you look familiar. Does someone in your family run a food truck?”
“My cousin! That’s hilarious. Yeah, he’s trying to perfect a brisket.”
“I was visiting a friend in Prospect Park and saw him. Brisket, huh? I’m an expert in South Carolina barbecue.
You tell him the secret is orange juice in the marinade.
” Then, Ezra’s phone buzzed. “My wife’s calling me over to the table.
Pleasure to meet you, young man.” Ezra slapped Wes on the back and disappeared into the crowd.
Young man? They were about the same age. Orange juice, though. That was smart.
Wes pressed a button on his earpiece. “You hear that?”
No response from Sasha. He tried again.
“Teo’s here,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
No answer from Sasha. But he was picking up environmental noise from her end. Was her input mic on? He could hear her, but she couldn’t hear him. He peered over the crowd but didn’t see her. So, he texted her a message, instead.
Inspector Gadget. Where u at? He’s here. If u get this, turn on your earpiece with the small orange button.
Sasha didn’t answer. Wes didn’t want to think the worst.
That she’d gotten to Teo before he did.
Sasha wasn’t having any luck. She’d sidled up to a couple at the bar, dropping Teo’s name.
Nothing. Then, she’d gone back to the check-in desk, to ask if he’d checked in, but the woman said she couldn’t give out that information.
How did Wes make investigating look so easy?
She wondered how Wes was faring. She adjusted her earpiece but couldn’t hear him.
Feeling restless, she made the executive decision to head to the ladies’ lounge.
Refresh her lipstick. Give herself a pep talk. Reset.
Sasha strode across the room, weaving in between the tables, till she reached the lavish lounge.
It was almost the size of her apartment.
The art deco sitting room featured a circular velvet settee in the center of the room, surrounded by several vanity stations for touch-ups.
Automatically, Sasha scanned the room for windows.
There were two on the back wall. And this was the first floor, an easy escape, if needed.
Exit strategy planned, Sasha strode over to one of the vanities. In the midsummer humidity, her waves had frizzed a little. With an impatient sigh, she tried to smooth the fuzz with her fingers, to no avail.
“I have anti-frizz spray if you want it?” said a woman in the mirror, next to her. Draped in red satin, she was an elegant beauty, with glowing, golden-brown skin. Her hair fell in rippling, jet-black ringlets to her clavicle. Yes, she’d borrow serum from this woman.
“You just saved my life,” said Sasha, running a small dollop through her hair.
“Please, I feel your pain. My Dominican stylist gave me this stuff, and I swear by it.”
“They truly are all-knowing,” said Sasha.