Chapter 39
E mma
I’m still pondering the dilemma the next morning, when Marcus and I meet Kendall for brunch in the West Village—at a popular, very pricey place Marcus chose, which means I’m going to have to let him pay.
I thought about arguing for a cheaper alternative, since he already paid for one dinner out this week, but my heart wasn’t in it and I let it slide.
Besides, Kendall just about had a stroke when she heard that Marcus got us a Saturday brunch reservation at the place.
Apparently, it’s a celebrity hotspot, and for non-billionaire mortals, there’s an eighteen-month wait for even the least popular weekday time slot.
As we approach the restaurant, a man jumps out in front of us, fancy camera in hand, and snaps a picture, then scurries away before either of us can blink.
“Hold on,” Marcus says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll get my PR team on it. They’ll squash it.”
“Was that a paparazzi?” I ask incredulously.
“Looked like it,” Marcus says, glancing up from his screen. “They tend to hang around this place. But don’t worry; my team will keep us out of the gossip rags. They’re mostly after actual celebrities, anyway.”
“Right, okay.” A paparazzi, for real? How is this my life? Before I can ask Marcus how exactly his PR team does their magic, his phone pings, and he turns his attention back to the screen.
“Ashton just texted to invite us out for lunch,” he says, looking up. “Do you mind if he joins us here?”
“Of course I don’t mind, and I’m sure Kendall won’t either.” My bestie’s always game to meet good-looking men. “Do you think he’ll get here in time?”
Marcus grins down at me. “He lives a block away, so I assume so.”
“Okay, then.” I give my nicely styled hair a shake as he opens the restaurant door for me.
I can’t wait to see what Kendall says about my new haircut and clothes.
In a typical male fashion, Marcus didn’t notice anything about my hair when I came home yesterday, only commenting at dinner that I “look very pretty”—though he did compliment my new outfit this morning.
And hey, at least he noticed that I looked pretty, even if he didn’t realize why .
We’re a few minutes early, but Kendall is already waiting for us at the table in the back, shamelessly gawking at the other patrons.
I look around as well, and to my surprise, recognize a few people.
The two women in the corner are popular reality TV stars, the guy by the counter is a big-name actor, and if I’m not mistaken, the pretty blond man next to a beefy middle-aged guy is a famous male model.
A couple of other faces are familiar as well, but I can’t place them.
Either way, almost everyone here looks like they’ve stepped out of the pages of Vogue and GQ , the waitstaff included.
The restaurant must hire them based on their style and looks.
The old me would’ve cringed, feeling horribly out of place, but not this new Emma with the hipster-cool dress-and-booties combo and nice hair.
I’m still nowhere near as glossy as most of the women here, but as our gorgeous blond hostess leads us through the restaurant after taking our coats, I hold my head up high, like I’m exactly where I belong.
And with Marcus at my side, the bluff totally works. Several women—and the male model—eye me enviously, no doubt wondering who I am and how I snagged the tall, handsome billionaire whose palm is resting possessively on my lower back and who’s glaring at every man who dares glance my way.
“Ems!” Kendall jumps to her feet as we approach the table, her hazel eyes widening as she takes in my appearance. “Wow, look at your dress! And your hair! What did you do and when?”
Now that’s two X chromosomes for you. “Got a haircut at a new place yesterday and did a little shopping,” I say, beaming. “You like?”
“I love it!” She hugs me, then turns to Marcus, who’s watching us in bemusement. “Doesn’t she look absolutely stunning?”
His gaze travels over me, lingering on my lips. “Yes. Always.”
I blush. I can’t help it. His voice has that husky note in it that makes it all deep and rumbly, and I know if we weren’t in public right now, he’d be pulling me to him for a kiss that would inevitably lead to more. Also, the carnal gleam in his eyes is not restaurant appropriate. At all.
Kendall must think so too, because she clears her throat and sticks out her hand at Marcus. “Kendall Bryce,” she says a shade too brightly. “I don’t think we’ve ever formally introduced ourselves.”
Marcus tears his eyes away from me and shakes her hand. “Marcus Carelli.” His tone is wry; he must’ve realized he was eyeing me like I’m what’s on the menu. “It’s nice to formally meet you, Kendall.”
“Marcus’s friend, Ashton, is joining us for lunch,” I tell her as we all take our seats and the waiter brings a pitcher of water for the table. “I told Marcus you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not. The more, the merrier.” She waits until Marcus looks down at the menu, and as soon as he does, she pantomimes swooning.
I smother a laugh before stealing a glance at my companion.
Yep, definitely swoon-worthy. Even among all the glitterati, he stands out as the most attractive man in the place, his strong features and powerful build drawing the eye of many women here—and quite a few men.
And who can blame them? Even in his casual weekend outfit of dark jeans and a light blue button-up shirt, Marcus looks like a million bucks—or rather, a billion. Or is it several billion?
I have no idea what his net worth actually is.
“So, Marcus,” Kendall says when he looks up from the menu. “Emma told me the two of you are doing a trial run of living together. How is that going so far? Are you surviving the feline invasion?”
His white teeth flash in a grin. “For the most part. I did wake up the other morning with a furry butt on my face, but Emma assured me that the cats clean themselves thoroughly—and that Mr. Puffs didn’t sneak into the bedroom and try to smother me on purpose.”
“Oh, no.” Kendall laughs. “I’d be careful if I were you. The things I’ve heard about that cat…”
“All true,” Marcus assures her. “He may indeed be of demonic origin. Luckily, his siblings are quite harmless, and I largely get along with them.”
“He’s being modest,” I say, laying a hand on his sleeve. “Cottonball has fallen head over heels in love with him. He follows Marcus around like a puppy.”
Before Kendall can reply, the waiter comes around to take our drink orders—just the water on the table for me and a hibiscus iced tea for Kendall and Marcus—and by the time he leaves, Ashton comes up to our table, looking movie-star handsome in another casually cool combo of jeans and a light-colored cashmere sweater.
“Great call on the place,” he says to Marcus as he takes a seat next to Kendall. “I’ve been meaning to try it, but you beat me to it.” With a megawatt smile, he turns to my friend. “Ashton Vancroft,” he says, his smooth, deep voice dropping another octave as he extends his hand. “And you are?”
To my surprise, instead of looking dazzled, my friend is outright glaring at him. “Kendall Bryce,” she says through gritted teeth, ignoring the proffered hand. When he lowers it, she flips her sleek dark hair over her shoulder and pointedly angles her chair so she’s facing partially away from him.
I gape at her in disbelief. I’ve never seen Kendall be so rude to anyone, not even that time in college when a drunk guy kept hitting on her throughout the entire party.
What’s even stranger is that instead of taking offense, Ashton looks entertained, his smile widening to a wicked grin as he leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee in the ultimate man-at-ease pose.
“So,” he drawls, as if Kendall isn’t a block of ice at his side, “what’s good here? ”
Looking just as puzzled as I feel, Marcus says wryly, “Everything, I assume.” Then he cocks an eyebrow. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” Kendall snaps before Ashton can get a word out. Her perfect features are arranged into the closest thing to a scowl I’ve ever seen on her face. With a jerky motion, she flags down our waiter, and when he hurries over, she orders a pitcher of sangria.
“Are you going to share that?” Ashton asks, glancing at her rigid profile. His eyes are gleaming with the same wicked amusement. “Or are you planning to drink the whole thing by yourself?”
I clear my throat. “So, Ashton, how is your business going?” I figure it’s best to step in before Kendall can deck him—because she looks like she really, really wants to. “Any luck slowing down that revenue growth?”
“Afraid not.” He grimaces, shifting his focus away from my fuming friend. “It’s like a snowball rolling down a mountain—just keeps gathering momentum.” His dazzling grin returning, he looks from me to Marcus. “How about you two lovebirds? How’s everything? Is the wedding date already set?”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, yes. It’s tomorrow night at Disney World. Six o’clock. Be there or meet Mickey’s wrath.”
I expect Marcus to join in the fun, but when I glance over at him, there’s zero amusement on his face. Instead, he’s looking at Ashton like he’d like to kill him. Slowly. After a few hours of torture.
Ashton must realize his joke didn’t go over well because he clears his throat and also motions to the waiter, who comes over with the same record-setting speed.
“What have you got on tap?” he asks, and the waiter rattles off a list of beer names, most of which I’ve never heard of.
Ashton orders one, and Marcus gets one too, leaving me the only one at the table without an alcoholic beverage—or a clue as to why everyone’s so tense.
To my relief, Marcus shakes off whatever mood came over him and takes over the conversation, asking Kendall and Ashton about their Christmas plans—both intend to go home to their families—before skillfully steering the conversation back to my cats and their shenanigans.
By the time we’re done telling the story of Queen Elizabeth stealing a piece of steak from under Geoffrey’s nose, all of us are laughing, and most of the tension is gone—at least on the surface.
Kendall is still avoiding looking at Ashton, and he seems to derive great enjoyment from her behavior, as if she were a sulky but cute toddler.
They must’ve met before. I can’t think of any other explanation.
When the appetizers come out, Kendall excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I follow her there, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. But it’s a single stall, so I end up waiting outside, and Kendall avoids my questioning gaze as she comes out and hurries back to the table.
Fine. I’ll have to interrogate her after.
“Any luck?” Marcus murmurs in my ear when I return to the table, and I shake my head with a rueful grin. Clearly, he’s as curious as I am—and has had just as little luck getting answers from his friend.
As the meal proceeds, Marcus and I employ every conversational gambit in our arsenal to keep the tension from returning, and we succeed—mostly because after three glasses of sangria, Kendall seems to forget about the man at her side and becomes her normal friendly, bubbly self.
Laughing, she describes the ridiculous errands her boss sends her on before launching into a hilarious story about a recent date gone wrong.
“He was determined to show me his ex-girlfriend’s picture,” she says, her hazel eyes sparkling as she cuts into her Eggs Benedict. “No matter what I said.”
Marcus and I are both whooping by this point, but when I look at Ashton, I notice that his smile seems forced, his hand clenched tightly on his fork.
It’s not until the conversation shifts to our favorite shows and movies that he relaxes, his easy charm returning as we debate the pros and cons of Avatar and Game of Thrones.
With skill and effort, we manage to keep the conversation flowing until the waiter brings the check, at which point the collective sigh of relief is almost audible.
In a typical alpha male fashion, Marcus and Ashton argue over who pays before deciding to split the bill in half, with Marcus effectively paying for me and Ashton for Kendall.
I fully expect her to be okay with that—my friend has never had a problem letting men buy her food and drinks—but she whips out her credit card and, glaring at Ashton, plunks it down into the waiter’s hand, instructing him to charge her portion there.
“This isn’t a double date,” she explains tersely when I look at her with eyebrows raised. Then she chugs the rest of her sangria, and as soon as the waiter returns with the credit cards, she grabs her card, signs her check, and, with a rushed goodbye to me and Marcus, runs away.