4
I dare say you will find him very agreeable. —Pride maybe they had a change of heart. But then again, if that were the case, I don’t think he would have mentioned the kissing comment in a work-related text.
Liam
How have you been?
Lettie
No complaints. And you?
Liam
Good enough
Okay, this is feeling less and less about work. The obvious conclusion would be that he’s asking me out. But there’s no way Liam Darcy would ask me out. I glance at Jane, who is busily talking to a customer on the phone.
Liam
I have this thing next Saturday. It’s a fundraiser for the hospital
Would you want to go with me?
This makes no sense. Liam Darcy is not asking me out. Is he?
Lettie
As a date?
Liam
Yes, I’m asking you out, Lettie.
Does Mr. Darcy have a sense of humor? I picture his half-smile. I think he just might.
Lettie
I’ll go
As soon as Jane ends her phone call, I blurt out, “Liam Darcy just asked me out!”
“Finally!” she gets up from her desk, which backs up to mine. Our office is in a second-story octagonal tower room with faded 1980s wallpaper covered with various mood boards.
“Finally? So you knew about this?”
“I sent him your number a few days ago. It’s been so hard to keep this secret. I’ve been dying to tell you.” She climbs up to the window seat, obviously settling down for a chat.
“But why is he asking me ?”
“He needs a plus-one to some fancy party,” Jane says matter-of-factly. She looks like a Disney princess sitting in the window seat we’ve fixed up with thrifted pillows.
“Even though I’m barely tolerable?”
“Give the guy a break. What was he supposed to say, ‘I burn for her?’”
“That would be acceptable.” I lean back in my chair. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“He had no idea you were listening, and he has some rule about not dating employees.”
I consider this; it makes sense. But technically, I wasn’t his employee. Thinking it over, what he said to me after that incident was quite flirtatious. If he were any other guy saying stuff like that, I’d be confident he liked me. But Liam, how to explain? He gave off this aloof vibe. He didn’t seem interested, except for that brief charged moment outside the pantry.
“How do I know this date isn’t something Charlie talked him into?”
“It isn’t. I was with Charlie when Liam texted, asking for your number. He was completely shocked. Thrilled, but shocked. Ever since the party, Charlie has insisted Liam has a thing for you. He feels so validated.”
“This is something you guys have discussed?”
“Ad nauseam.” Jane opens a box of Girl Scout Cookies. She always keeps a stocked snack basket on the window seat. “I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“My hopes aren’t up. I don’t particularly like the guy.”
“Why not? Liam’s a catch. He’s much nicer in small groups.” Jane starts her second cookie.
“This whole thing feels like a joke. Why me? Do you think he’s asking me out because he feels guilty about the whole ‘tolerable’ comment?”
“No, silly. He likes you. Whenever I talk about you, he pays attention and asks follow-up questions.”
I have to admit this feeds my ego.
Another text comes in:
Liam
The gala is black tie. I hope that’s okay?
No! Of course, I don’t have anything to wear. Why would I have clothes for a black tie anything? Still, I bet my cousin has an evening gown I can borrow; we are about the same size.
Lettie
I’ll manage
Liam
Wonderful!
***
I plan not to tell anyone else at work that Liam (our wealthiest client) has asked me out. I don’t think Priscilla could handle the news. At the very least, it would derail our monthly planning meeting, which is held in the old Victorian’s formal dining room. An eclectic selection of chairs representing various furniture styles and eras surrounds the long rectangular table from IKEA. I’m late because I called my cousin, April, asking to borrow a dress for the gala.
I sneak into an empty seat, a French cafe chair between Jane and a new guy with shaggy ash-blond hair. Wearing a flannel over a wrinkled T-shirt, the new guy is scruffily handsome. He looks me up and down, then smiles a slow, sexy smile. He leans over. “Noah Whittaker and you are?”
“Lettie Benson.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He extends his hand and holds mine a little longer than necessary. This would be a bit icky with some dudes, but not this guy. He’s cute in a harmless puppy dog way.
“Nice to meet you.” I pull my hand back and return my attention to Priscilla. Who just said my name. She stands in front of the dry-erase board, clutching her iPad.
“You can fill in? Right, Lettie?” Priscilla has dyed her hair red for the month of February.
“Fill in on what?” I ask for clarification.
“The Valentine sock hop at the retirement center next Saturday. I’m the lead, but I happen to have a date that night.” Lydia gives an approving hoot and whistle for her mom.
“I’m sorry,” I say above the chorus of cheers and clapping. “I can’t. I have a prior commitment.”
Priscilla’s eyes widen. “But you never date.”
“I didn’t say it was a date.” My cheeks burn as every eye in the room fixes on me. “But I happen to have something that night.”
“Then what is it?” asks Priscilla.
I take a moment to answer, “Okay, it is a date.”
“It’s true,” Jane pipes up. “Lettie has a hot date.” More cat calls and cheers.
Lydia pounds the table and shouts, “Who is it?”
“Yeah, who’s the lucky guy?” asks Cat, a recent community college grad and Lydia’s favorite sidekick.
“Lettie, we all want to know who you’re going out with,” says Priscilla.
“It’s no big deal,” I answer. “Hardly a date. It’s just that I can’t do the retirement party.”
“I’m certain you could cancel or change the day,” suggests Priscilla.
“I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Why won’t you just say who it is?” Priscilla narrows her eyes at me. “Are you trying to get out of work?”
I let out an exasperated huff. Handsome new guy gives me a sympathetic smile.
“I thought my personal life was personal,” I say.
“But we’re a big family here,” insists my boss. I hate this line. Priscilla often uses it right before she asks me to work overtime and not get paid for it.
“It’s Liam Darcy,” says Jane. The entire room, including the cute stranger sitting next to me, gasps. Priscilla’s eyes go wide. I’d find the moment hilarious, except I really don’t want everyone talking about this.
“You’re dating Liam Darcy?” Priscilla asks in a hushed, reverent tone.
“I’m just his plus one at a fundraiser.”
“That definitely counts as a date,” says Lydia.
Priscilla clasps her hands and collapses in the closest empty seat as if falling onto a fainting couch. “To think one of my girls is going to marry Liam Darcy.”
“Woah, wait a minute... no one said anything about marriage,” I interject. “It’s just one date.”
Priscilla isn’t listening. She’s tapping away on her iPad, starting a Pinterest board for my wedding with Liam.
“I’m sorry,” Jane says with a shrug. “I was trying to help.”
I put my head on the table, trying to ignore the excited conjectures. When Priscilla finally loses steam, she assigns the retirement party to Lydia. The new guy offers to help, which is really nice of him. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.
***
The next day, I literally bump into Noah in the employee kitchen, which is easy to do since the original Victorian galley kitchen is minuscule. It’s a mystery to me how anyone ever prepared meals for a family of eight in this closet-sized kitchen.
“It’s Mrs. Darcy, herself.” The new guy flashes me a smile.
“Shut up!” I give him a hip check to push him away from the fridge. Noah stays put, places a hand on my hip, and spins me to face him. Sheesh! This guy moves fast. But also, it’s kind of thrilling.
“Would this make your boyfriend jealous?” he asks with a teasing grin. He’s so close I can see the freckles on his nose and cheeks. He has the prettiest brown eyes. My blood surges in a pleasant way. His hand still rests on my hip.
“Liam’s not my boyfriend.”
“Good to know.” With his other hand, he brushes a strand of hair out of my face. He looks at me so sweetly, my heart melts a little. “Because I like you, Lettie Benson, and I don’t like Liam Darcy.” He steps away and takes a seat at the small bar.
“You know him?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“A little. My dad works for his company.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he was best friends with Liam’s dad.”
“So, you’ve known Liam for a while?”
“We were childhood friends. That is until Darcy grew up and realized his net worth exceeded mine. Don’t look so shocked. To know him, is to know that he’s a total elitist and a snob.”
I think of Darcy talking to his employees at the holiday party. Honestly, he looked more comfortable chatting with plant workers and almond growers than with his parents’ wealthy neighbors.
“I’m not the biggest fan of Liam Darcy, but he seemed down to earth to me. Especially for owning such a large company.”
“He doesn’t own the company,” says Noah. “He owns one-third of it. His mother and sister each own a part.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“How would you? It’s not like he lets them have any say. He’s one of those toxic men who think women only belong in the bedroom, not the boardroom.”
This seems a little harsh. I might not like Liam Darcy. But I don’t quite believe this. I worked some with his mom, planning the Christmas event. She didn’t strike me as a doormat, more like a strong woman weighed down with grief.
“That doesn’t sound like Liam.”
“No, of course not. You’re charmed by his good looks and his big bank account. I’m just warning you, the guy’s a bit of a player.”
Now, that I can see. I consider Darcy and his flirtatious banter at the end of the holiday party. Yeah, that tracks.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I can barely tolerate the guy. I’m not under his spell.”
“Yeah, you seem too clever for that.” I beam back at Noah. If I could choose between being called beautiful or clever, I’d choose clever every time. Though that’s probably because I’ve been told I’m pretty all my life.
***
The following week, a refrigerator-sized box arrives on our doorstep. I know immediately it’s the dresses my cousin promised to send.
My roommate finds me struggling to shove the box into our apartment.
“What’s this?” Char asks, walking up the steps to our apartment. Dressed in scrubs with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks like she just came from work.
“My cousin sent me a selection of evening gowns for my date with Liam.”
“Ooh yes, your cousin, the pop star ,” Char says as she helps me push the box through the front door. My cousin is April Rain. Yes, that April Rain, whose peppy love songs get stuck in everyone’s head. And yes, April Rain is her given name or at least her first and middle name. (Don’t laugh. She can’t help that her dad was a TV star.) A few years ago, April decided to step away from music and go to college. At the same time, I was starting my MFA at Iowa State. Eager to get away from Los Angeles, April enrolled at the same school.
For three years, we were roommates. But then, miracle of miracles, I found a job teaching writing at a full-fledged university in Sacramento. It’s not tenure track but a job at a real university. Sure, I had to move across the country and rent here is eye-wateringly expensive. But English department positions are rarer than snow in Sacramento. I feel fortunate to find job at all. Not surprisingly, the gig doesn’t pay well, hence the side hustle at Bennet Parties. On the bright side, my first two self-published books are selling at a steady pace. I hope that after I write a few more, I’ll bring in enough money to quit Bennet Parties and focus solely on writing.
“This is such a pain,” I say as I push our coffee table aside to make room for the large box in our tiny living room. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”
“Because it’s Liam Darcy,” Char says, shutting the front door on the frosty February evening. “The man’s a real-life unicorn. Rich, hot, and decent.”
“We don’t know he’s decent,” I argue, thinking of Noah’s comments.
“He writes thank you cards,” says Char. “Case closed.”
“Those were excellent chocolates.” I muse. “I just don’t get why he asked me.” I search through the junk drawer for a box cutter. “It’s the million-dollar question.”
“More like the billion-dollar question,” corrects Charlotte, who has followed me to the kitchen. “The Pemberley Foods empire is worth more than two billion.”
I swallow. The Darcy family home screams expensive, understated elegance and the cashmere/wool trench coat he wore to the party was so swanky—I looked it up online. Call me naive, but I had no idea they made coats that cost more than ten grand. So, the billionaire thing shouldn’t come as a shock, but it kind of does. I can’t wrap my mind around those numbers. Though I suppose if his mom and sister each own a third of the company, he’s not quite a billionaire. Which means he’s worth... I do the math in my head. Nope, I still can’t wrap my mind around that much money.
“You just proved my point. He could date anyone; why me?” I snatch up the box cutter.
“Because believe it or not, you’re really likable—even when you’re obstinate.” Char takes the few short steps to our cramped living room, now dominated by the cardboard monolith. I hesitate before opening it. Do I really want to go on this date? I don’t think so. Despite what Charlotte says, I don’t trust Liam. My #1 Dating Rule is: Don’t trust the rich, handsome guy. In my experience, most men are already conceited and entitled. Throw in wicked good looks and a bottomless bank account, and you’re guaranteed a selfish prick. I mean, even if someone tries hard to stay grounded, I don’t think that’s possible when wearing a coat worth more than my car.
“Give me that!” Char takes the box cutter out of my hand. She flicks out the blade like a street fighter. “You’re going to this gala and you know it. Let’s see what April sent.” Surgeon that she is, Char smoothly slices down the middle of the box, opens the sides, and goes silent with astonishment.
“What... what is it?” I ask before I peer inside. Five full-length garment bags hang from the rod of the wardrobe box.
“You didn’t tell me there would be an Alexander McQueen and a Versace! Oh, and is this Dior?”
Char pulls out a garment bag and gently holds it to her chest like a newborn kitten. I didn’t know what my cousins would send. I just told April I needed dresses for the gala.
“Can we peek?” Charlotte asks, her hands already on a zipper.
“Yes! Let’s!” Her enthusiasm is contagious.
She unzips the bag and pulls out a gorgeous, sophisticated, strapless black and white dress with a billowing skirt. The ball gown version of a tuxedo, this dress screams old Hollywood glamour. I surprise myself by wanting to try it on. I throw off my tee and shuck my jeans. Char helps me step into the dress, which comes with a netted hoop slip to help fill out the skirt. After pulling up the side zip, we look in the full-length mirror.
“Wow!” my roommate exclaims. I giggle nervously.
“Why are you laughing? You look fabulous.”
“I look like a little girl dressing up.”
“I’m pretty sure your cousin wore this to the Grammys.”
“She might have.”
I honestly don’t know how April pulled it off. Here’s the thing: April and I look a lot alike. We are the same height, dress, and shoe size. We have the same generic, inoffensive features: tiny nose, rosebud mouth, heart-shaped face. If I take pride in any feature, it’s my eyes. I have the same hazel eyes as April. And I happen to know of at least one chart-topping song that mentions her eyes, which are basically my eyes. I always feel a zing of vanity when I hear it on the radio.
However, April’s eyes are not her most striking feature. Nope. She’s known for her dramatic mane of black curly hair. And yes, she cut it short a few years ago. But it’s still gorgeous and artistic. Meanwhile, I have fine, light-brown hair that can’t hold a curl. I’ve never been jealous of my cousin’s fame. (I’ve heard enough stories to make me grateful to be a nobody.) But I am terribly jealous of her hair. Her untamed mass of curls belongs with haute couture dresses such as the one I’m wearing.
“I don’t think this is the dress for me.”
“That dress is for everyone,” says Char.
“You should try it on, then.”
I don’t need to say another word. In a flash, Char is in her bra and underwear, and I’m passing the dress off to her. Not surprisingly, she rocks the dress. She poses and snaps a million selfies. I try on a gold glittery sequined sheath dress, which is gorgeous, but out sparkles me. I want to wear a dress that makes me shine. Not one where all you notice is the article of clothing. The next one is a black beaded piece that doesn’t look like much on the hanger. It comes with a personal note written by my cousin September, who helped April select and ship the dresses. “This was Mom’s favorite.”
April’s mom died years ago of cancer. She’s my dad’s sister. I’m named after her, and I always admired her. I thought she was so glamorous. I’m often told I look just like her. She even had my not-so-showy baby-fine hair. So maybe this will work. The gown has a pleasurable heft to it. The beads make a soft swooshing sound as I pull it over my head. The moment I look in the mirror, I know. This is the dress. It’s sleeveless with wide straps, a high boat neck, and a low back, but not too low. The beaded black skirt widens and pools on the floor. The gown is an homage to the black dress Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s . It even comes with similar jewelry, long ropes of pearls and diamond chandelier earrings. The simplicity of the dress suits me. When I clip the earrings on, I can’t help but smile at my reflection.
Char takes one look. “Slay!” She’s still wearing the black and white Alexander McQueen. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to wear that thing in the operating room. She stands behind me, gathers up my hair, and twists it up. “Let me do your hair like this.”
I nod, enchanted by my reflection. So what if Liam Darcy is a player? Two can play at that game. I intend to make the most of this gala. I will be the belle of the ball. I’m going to flirt and flatter, eat all the appetizers, sip all the champagne, and dance the night away. I will be so incredibly charming; he won’t know what hit him and then I will never talk to him again. I break into a sly grin.
“Watch out, Mr. Darcy. I’m going to beat you at your own game.”