5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
N o amount of coffee could help me concentrate on work the next day, or the day after that, as my mind constantly wandered to that look from Gregory. I repeatedly reminded myself of all the times he’d been rude and condescending, of how he had ignored me and others, and of how he had grown increasingly moody and difficult to tolerate as the evening wore on.
It was just a look .
He was drunk, I was drunk, and even if it were the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, it wouldn’t mean that this relationship had any remote chance of happening.
“I don’t need Gregory to write my story or to be happy. I will not be the kind of woman who waits around for some jerk to notice her,” I declared aloud, just before leaving my apartment on Friday evening to meet Annie at her car downstairs.
When we arrived at the party, we were ushered to a semiprivate area at Merlot, a Minneapolis restaurant/bar that was normally quite a bit beyond Ellen’s department budget, but Brandon was paying. I scanned the upscale space, impressed at the understated yet elegant decor. So many restaurants boasted an industrial look these days, a trend I wasn’t a fan of. Then again, Merlot had more $ signs on its Yelp page than I was used to seeing.
We immediately sought out Ellen, who was looking bored in a conversation with several of the in-house editors and designers. Bolder relied heavily on a contractor model for its publications, but a few of its senior editors were employed full time. I gave a friendly smile as I passed Jermaine and another friend of Jack’s.
“Ladies, look at you!” Ellen gushed, with a look of relief in her dark eyes. “You both look amazing. I hope this means we’ve got good news on the male front.”
I winced at the double entendre from my boss. My knee-length dress was a rich burgundy with black and silver trim. Elegant but simple. At least I hoped so.
Annie put her hands on her hips dramatically, which only called more attention to her backless black dress and how stunning she looked in it, especially with her sleek red hair newly cut just over her slim shoulders. “This old thing? I’d forgotten I even owned it!”
Ellen and I laughed, knowing that Annie always made sure to look her best. Despite her contractor pay, she was rarely seen wearing the same outfit twice.
“Haha, laugh it up, ladies.” Annie pretended to pout. “OK, so I only went to six shops before I found this gem. That’s almost a record for me. Six is nothing. But anyway, look at Viviana—fabulous dress, and your hair! I thought you said you weren’t going to put in the effort.”
I shrugged while self-consciously rearranging my artificially smooth hair. I usually didn’t bother with the straightening iron, but today I’d dug it out of my bathroom closet. “Yeah, I wasn’t. But it doesn’t hurt to look good once in a while. Maybe I’ll meet someone new.”
“Someone new, eh? Given up on Darcy already?” Ellen said, nudging me with her elbow.
Not understanding Ellen’s meaning, Annie shook her head, tossed her sleek red hair over her shoulder, and proceeded to drag me toward the bar. “Colin Firth is lovely, but we need to find you a living, breathing man this time,” she said with a grin, “and for that, we need booze.”
As we waited for our drinks, my breath caught as Gregory entered the room with Brandon. His expression as he looked around the room was hard to read, unlike his face last night. I had been tipsy, for sure, but I hadn’t imagined that gaze—such a look could hardly be imagined! The intensity in his gaze was unlike anything I had ever seen or felt. Oh, I had read about it in books and seen it in movies (obviously, Colin Firth), but no one had ever looked at me like that in real life. It spoke of heat, passion, desire … all the things that you’d find in Mr. Darcy and none of the things I was used to seeing from Gregory. I lowered my eyes, hoping Annie hadn’t noticed the direction and intensity of my gaze.
Fortunately or not, the men headed over to greet Ron first, and I sighed with relief. The overly chatty editor-in-chief would keep them occupied for a while. I turned to Annie and asked, with a tone as casual as I could muster, “How are things going with Brandon? He seems really into you, and it’s pretty obvious you’re already into him.”
Annie’s mouth curved downward at the corners. “I’ll pretend I don’t hear the forced ‘I’m-not-judging’ tone in your voice.”
I grimaced. “Annie, I’m sorry. I’m really trying to step back and stop mothering.”
“It’s OK. I know it’s not easy for you.” Annie turned to smile at me before returning her gaze to Brandon across the room. “I was just teasing you. Mostly. Anyway, it’s going great with Brandon. He’s unbelievably hot, as you and anyone else can see.” She hesitated a bit before continuing, “I think he is interested, but it’s always hard to tell with guys like that. We’re going to hang out tomorrow—he’s got a friend who’s into snowboarding, and I’ve always wanted to try it!”
“That sounds fun, actually. I’m not exactly the thrill-seeking type, as you know, but something about snowboarding strangely appeals to me,” I confessed as the bartender handed me a drink.
“You should totally come then! It would be—”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to invite myself.”
“It’s me , one of your best friends. You can invite yourself whenever you want.”
I gave her a grateful smile but shook my head. “No, I am actually looking forward to having the weekend to myself, so I’ll pass.”
“Having the weekend to yourself?” Annie, the confirmed extrovert, wrinkled her nose. “But you always have the weekend to yourself … and the weekdays and weeknights and everything else. We work from home, silly.”
“I know, I just want to do some writing. And I might try to get ahead on next week’s editing.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “There’s a guy! I knew it. You have a date this weekend, don’t you? Who is it?”
I shook my head. “No, definitely not. I just want to hang out alone.”
“Please don’t tell me Jack needs your input on his latest snoozefest article.”
My eyes went wide. “Jack is a fantastic writer! But no, he doesn’t need me. He’s been so busy I haven’t even seen much of him,” I said, my brow slightly furrowed. “I just want some me time, alone.”
Annie narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure it’s not a guy? Because I have to know, if it is.”
I laughed. “It’s not a guy.” Not a real guy, anyway , I mused, thinking of my novel.
“Hey, that reminds me, did you see that look that Gregory gave you last night? For a moment, I thought maybe he was into you, but then he just became regular Gregory again just like that.” Annie paused. “It’s not him, is it? Are you having a secret sexy thing with him?”
I sighed. “No, Annie, I’m serious. There’s no guy. And it sure as heck wouldn’t be him. He’s a certified snob. Clearly even you can see that.”
“Even me?” Annie raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, even you. You always like to give people the benefit of the doubt,” I said. She was very Jane Bennet–like. “But back to you and Brandon, do you think he—” I stopped talking then as he began to approach us, sans Gregory. “Oh, hi, Brandon,” I said, though he was clearly focusing all his attention on Annie, looking her up and down as he offered an appreciative smile.
I grimaced. He might be a blond specimen of male perfection, but he might also be a sexist pig for ogling her.
Then again, Annie does look amazing and loves the attention. Who wouldn’t want to drink it all in?
“Annie, Viviana, thanks for coming! Sorry I kept you all up so late last night, on a weeknight. I hope you’re ready for the weekend.” He winked at Annie.
He actually winked? Who does that? My grandpa, I think. Or maybe a flirt the likes of which I’d never encountered before. I needed to keep an eye on him. Should I go snowboarding with them so I could monitor things? But this wasn’t a regency romance: Annie didn’t need a chaperone. Besides, being a third wheel with a newly infatuated couple was usually about as fun as a root canal—or so I imagined, as I’d never had one.
As Annie and Brandon quickly began to disappear into their own little world, talking and gazing at one another, I scanned the room. Gregory was now looking at me as he talked to Ellen at the other end of the bar. It wasn’t the look though; it was a spark of mild interest—faint interest, really, perhaps even intellectual, but coming from Gregory, any interest seemed worth noting. Then the moment passed, and his full attention returned to Ellen.
I turned in time to see Jack arriving with his sister and waved to them. Belinda lived in Eau Claire, a smallish city in Wisconsin just over an hour east of St. Paul, but she and her husband, Choua, visited her older brother quite often, ostensibly to make sure he was taking care of himself and not becoming a recluse. But it was not hard to see her true motivation: she was a foodie, and the Twin Cities had some excellent local cuisine.
“Vivi, it’s been forever! Your hair is getting so long, and you look fantastic in that dress,” Belinda gushed as she hugged me. She was the only person other than Jack who called me Vivi. Our friendship went back as far as middle school, though with distance and life changes, we hadn’t been quite as close in recent years.
“Thanks, Belinda, though I think you visited just last month, or was it this month even? Only a few weeks ago you came to the opening of that new Hmong restaurant in St. Paul, right?” I asked as Jack stifled a laugh, nudging his sister affectionately. The two of them had always been close, bonding with each other at a young age by necessity as their mother cycled rapidly through marriages, jobs, and homes.
“You got me, Vivi,” Belinda confessed. “And it was worth the trip, if you remember. Sorry that Choua couldn’t come tonight. We’re here for an architect conference, and he made some dinner plans with some other architects.”
“Other architects? You mean there’s more than one?” I teased. “I still remember when we first met Choua, and we couldn’t believe he was an actual architect. Who knew that job actually existed outside of movies and New York?” Choua had met Belinda in France while they were both in a University of Minnesota study abroad group for one semester. She dropped out of college to become a baker, while he became an architect. They married and moved to Eau Claire, Choua’s hometown. When she decided to open her own bakery there, he went to night school to get an MBA. Now they co-owned Bel’s Bakery, and he also worked as an architect and consultant at a local organization for Hmong American housing assistance. Unlike some of my other friends, Belinda and Choua cherished their childless freedom and had no intention of becoming parents. I didn’t necessarily feel the same, yet I envied the couple—at least they knew what they wanted and didn’t want.
“I know, right?” Belinda giggled, tossing her auburn hair back. “Or Seattle. Tom Hanks.”
Jack cleared his throat then, an amused smile on his face as he looked at his sister and me.
“Oh, I’ve been rude, so sorry! Let me introduce you and Jack to Brandon,” I said, turning slightly. “This is Brandon Bolder, president of Bolder Publishing House. So, he’s basically our boss’s boss’s boss’s boss, or something like that. Brandon, this is Jack Normandy and his sister, Belinda Vue. Two of my oldest friends.”
The two men shook hands, and Brandon gave a friendly smile to Belinda. I continued, “Jack doesn’t work for Bolder, but he’s an esteemed writer for Randall’s , so—”
“And I know half the staff here, so I get roped into attending publisher parties all the time,” Jack interrupted with a slightly embarrassed smile before I could continue gushing about him. “Or at least that’s what they tell me.”
Gregory suddenly appeared, standing near Brandon and me, and introduced himself to Jack as the high-powered publishing executive that he was.
Jack didn’t seem overly impressed but instead gave him a curious look. Before he could speak in return, Gregory turned away abruptly to speak to Brandon, who probably didn’t appreciate being interrupted in his little bubble with Annie.
“Brandon, tell me again why we’re here,” Gregory said in a low voice that was still loud enough for me to hear, just a foot away. “I assumed this would be a more exclusive party. How is it useful for the president of Bolder to dine with … these people? Clearly some of the lower rungs on the company ladder.”
I gasped, my mouth not working for several seconds.
Did he really just say that?
Glaring at him, I stomped off, not waiting to hear Brandon’s answer. While I didn’t think Brandon capable of such snobbery, I could not understand why he would associate with, much less befriend, someone like Gregory.
Jack and Belinda followed me to the spacious private dining room Brandon had reserved, where multiple waiters—or maybe they were hosts—came to seat them and take their orders. Unfortunately, the spot next to me remained empty, and Gregory sat there. I glanced over at Ellen in misery, but to my surprise, her eyes twinkled. My eyes widened in recognition. She arranged this! My surprise turned to amusement and then dread, remembering his rude comment minutes ago. We had a long night ahead.
“So, are you from the Twin Cities area?”
I paused in chewing my salmon, quite possibly the best I’d ever tasted, and turned slowly toward Gregory, assuming I must have misheard. Was he talking to me? I shot a questioning look to Jack and Belinda on my other side, but their attention was elsewhere.
“Vivian?”
I turned back to Gregory, realizing he was addressing me after all. “Uh, it’s Viviana, not Vivian. I grew up here, yes, and returned for grad school.”
“I see,” he said.
And then … nothing. He looked down and began to cut his steak.
I watched him and debated whether or not I should attempt to continue the conversation. Because, of course, I was curious about his sudden interest, not because I was interested in him .
“How about you, Gregory? I mean Dr. Fitzgerald. Where are you from?”
Without looking up, he replied, “I was born in India but grew up in New York City.”
“Oh, how did you and Brandon meet? He’s from Minnesota, isn’t he?” I asked.
He sighed and put his utensils down, as if answering my questions was tedious. “We met at a conference,” he said with an air of finality, as if there was nothing more to say about that.
Sensing his desire to end the conversation, I said only, “Oh.”
But apparently he was not finished. “Does your family live here still?”
I hesitated, biting my lip. I was generally an open person, but my father was a well-known but also somewhat reclusive author who preferred to keep his private life, including family life, entirely private. With his work being highly acclaimed on its own merits, he’d managed to avoid most of the book signings and other self-promotion that authors typically do. Finally, I answered, “No.”
“They moved away then?”
“They live north of the Cities,” I said reluctantly as a waiter came to refill my wine glass. The best course of action was to change the subject. All men liked talking about themselves, surely. “What about your family? Are they still in New York?”
Instead of answering though, he proceeded to pepper me with several more pointed questions about my family that wouldn’t have seemed so intrusive coming from anyone but him. Jack tried to join the conversation at one point, mentioning his own recent trip to New York, but Gregory continued the questioning as though Jack hadn’t spoken at all.
The sudden interest was odd, his questions somewhat jarring. What was his intent, and was he really this socially awkward (or rude)? If so, how on earth did he achieve such a prestigious position in the fairly inaccessible world of publishing? When I’d stalked him online after meeting him, I discovered he was a senior acquisition editor at Elliot, a major New York publisher. Some people have all the luck … or connections.
I certainly had some impressive connections of my own, particularly my father and the few people with whom he openly had contact in the literary world. But I’d never felt like I could take advantage of these connections, since my father valued our privacy so much. And my mother’s writing experience was limited to scientific publications essential to her professorship at the University of Minnesota—not exactly an opening into the more interesting world of novel publishing that I secretly wished to inhabit. As I frequently told myself, I should be content with copyediting for a respectable, if small, publishing company. After all, I was just five years out of grad school, even if my skills were sometimes wasted on fixing hyphen and comma errors in books and articles that were unlikely to thrill anyone or change the world. Granted, my job seemed likely to eventually be replaced by AI—but I tried not to dwell on that.
I forced myself to pay attention to Gregory’s questions, which were now transitioning from my mother’s work at the university to my father’s vocation.
Is he trying to get information about Dad? Does he know who Dad is?
I shook my head, dismissing the idea as silly. Surely Gregory Fitzgerald would have extensive connections allowing him access to any writer still living, so he needn’t use a lowly contract editor to pry into my father’s life. Most likely he would never have guessed that I had an important connection anyway; I didn’t exactly boast about my father or his success. Very few people even knew of our connection at all, especially since my father had insisted my sister and I take our mother’s last name.
I eyed Gregory, unsure whether to feel intrigued by his awkward attempts at conversation or to be annoyed by his unpredictable nature. Even his attempts at being friendly didn’t feel very friendly. Or natural.
But even while I wondered about his intent, his attention was not entirely unwelcome. He was ridiculously handsome, after all. His dark brown eyes were penetrating, framed by his flawless dark skin, beautiful jawline, and nearly black hair. And good looks aside, there was something about his intensity in contrast to his aloofness that drew me to him.
As I scrambled to think of another subject to bring up, any subject but my family, Jack cleared his throat and leaned over, brushing shoulders with me. “Vivi, if you’re not terribly busy answering 20 questions, I need you to settle this debate with Belinda.”
I smiled at Jack’s attempt to rescue me. The trouble was—I hadn’t yet decided whether I needed rescuing.