Chapter 1 #3
Throughout the evening the guests were treated to a program of entertainment, musicians, speeches, and live auctions.
It wasn’t until the host announced that the next item for auction was donated by the Douglas Green Advisory Group that Leah perked up.
The energy in the room was palpable as guests started to bid.
Her father had donated a one-of-a-kind bespoke consultation package of all his services, including health insurance, financial advice, and life insurance worth roughly $3,000.
It was by far the most mundane prize, poorly positioned directly after tickets to sit centre court at Madison Square Garden and backstage passes to meet the Knicks team.
However, the Knicks were a typical prize, similar to that of tickets to see the Yankees, and therefore the crowd loved it.
Leah’s jaw dropped when a woman in a sequin purple dress had the highest bid at $2,000.
The fundraiser turned out to be the most successful in its history. Leah contributed a small sum when she bid on the personal chef evening at her favourite French bistro. It was the only thing remotely within her price range and of interest.
After the auction she had some common ground with the other people in the room.
She approached the woman who purchased her father’s donation to congratulate her.
An initial introduction sparked a conversation about the business, which prompted Mrs Mayfair to introduce Leah to her group of friends, their combined worth—64 million.
A gentleman called Mr Loafer—he had no hand in creating the classic style of shoe—introduced himself to Leah with a glass of champagne.
She gave him the company business card after he expressed an interest in certain services.
This happened three or four times as she made her way across the room, searching for the exit that would soon become her quick escape.
The same questions were asked by each person she encountered:
What do you do?
Who do you work for?
What can you offer me?
The latter was not in so many words, but Leah knew their end goal. The people of New York didn’t attend a fundraising gala to simply make friends or to save money; they attended to insert their wealth and grow their circle of influence. If you had nothing to offer, you had no business being there.
The night drew to a close, and Leah saw her opportunity to slip out.
She wrapped her arms across her body, using her hands to warm her arms as she waited by the entrance for her driver to arrive.
She caught a glimpse of a familiar face to her left.
The woman had a sun-kissed complexion, a mane of wild chestnut curls that draped across her shoulders, demanding attention.
If it was possible for hair to have confidence, those locks oozed assurance.
Her green eyes, flecked with gold, caught the light as she turned.
It took a moment for her brain to register the appearance; from the side it looked exactly like—
“Ariana?” Leah said.
Her head spun left, her eyes meeting Leah’s for the first time in five years.
“Leah,” Ariana whispered.
Leah was surprised to see Ariana, despite knowing they now inhabited the same city. It was a city with over eight million residents; the chances of being in the same space was slim—or Leah had hoped.
“Hi,” Leah smiled.
She was curious, perhaps more apprehensive, but definitely curious as to why Ariana was at the same fundraising event. There was a moment of hesitation before Ariana decided to approach. It didn’t feel entirely awkward for Leah, not anymore. The passage of time left her with a sense of acceptance.
“Erm, hi,” Ariana gestured towards a group of people entering a cab. “I need to go—” she trailed.
Leah nodded. She stared at the smattering of freckles across Ariana’s nose.
She used to count them, a long time ago.
The freckles softened the angular cut of Ariana’s cheekbones, making her beauty feel both sharp and disarming at once.
Ariana’s natural beauty remained, despite the difference in age; if it was at all possible, Leah thought she was even more infectious than ever before.
“Maybe . . . we can talk?” Ariana suggested.
The question didn’t register immediately; Leah was too busy staring at the athletic build of Ariana’s arms. The definition of her deltoid and bicep muscles created several little indents that Leah had once traced with her fingertips.
Her muscular but slender build spoke of her love for adventure.
She always used to push herself to new limits, constantly striving for a challenge she was yet to conquer.
Leah couldn’t help but wonder if she was still the same.
Did Hannah support that adventurous side of her the same way that Leah used to?
She was digressing; that was none of her business, but her mind wandered.
“Leah?”
“Erm. . . I don’t know,” she wavered.
“I’m staying at The Whitby tonight. . . I’ll be in the bar if you change your mind. I’ll give the doorman your name.”
Leah watched in shock as Ariana and her perfectly proportioned buttocks climbed into the cab. The satin material of the wide-leg trousers clung to her elongated legs with a purpose that most tailors would envy.
The Whitby.
A rush of fond memories came flooding back. Leah remembered their 48-hour trip to New York three months before Ariana broke her heart. It was spontaneous—a trip forever cemented in Leah’s heart and soul as one of the only times she ever truly felt alive. . . and in love.
She recalled the moment of realisation as they walked through the streets of Greenwich Village.
Together they marvelled at the legendary brownstone buildings before stumbling across Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment—Leah had a picture perched on the steps outside that she re-posted at least once a year, because despite the change in fashion, or the shorter hairstyle being unfavourable now, Leah was happy.
Her eyes sparkled with joy, her smile stretched wider than her face should allow.
The way her body radiated such happiness left her glowing.
It was as if in that very moment, Leah was free of any worries; all troubles melted away, leaving only pure, unadulterated happiness.
Never again had she been able to replicate that same feeling.
Why was Ariana staying at The Whitby?
It wasn’t uncommon for people to live on the outskirts of the city and occasionally stay inward for business reasons, but why the invitation?
A knot formed in her stomach.
You’re tired. Go home to bed. You don’t need to go and speak to Ariana, Leah told herself.
But she wanted to.
Go home.
She climbed into the car. The driver already had her home address on the screen.
Nothing good can come of going to The Whitby.
The internal battle with herself came to a sharp conclusion when she told the driver, “There’s been a change of plans. Can you take me to The Whitby, please?”