Chapter 3 #2
My pulse stuttered, and the world seemed to narrow to just the space between us— intimate and impossible to ignore.
I looked away, heart hammering, and slipped into the chair that he had pulled out for me.
His body heat kissed the skin of my back as he pushed my chair in.
The fireplace at the far end of the room crackled, but the flush creeping up my neck had very little to do with the flames.
“I’m James.” He extended a hand, still standing beside me.
I hesitated for half a second before placing mine into his. His fingers curled around mine—firm, warm, sure. A shiver zipped up my spine.
“Hallie.”
“How do you know Michelle?” James asked me as he picked up the bottle of wine in front of us. “Would you like some?”
“Please,” I told him. He poured a glass for me, then one for himself, as if this was just a dinner party and not a moment that had completely knocked the breath out of my lungs.
Was the bar really that low, Hallie?
“My best friend and roommate,” —I gestured toward Roxie— “is Michelle’s art gallerist.”
James glanced over at Roxie, who had now garnered the attention of our entire half of the table, except for the two of us. “Ah, yes. Michelle loves her art.”
“How do you know the Grangers?” Somehow, I was keeping up a conversation with him without flubbing my way through it. I wasn’t sure if I’d gained a newfound sense of confidence or if it was the way he was giving me his full attention, like he truly cared about what I had to say.
“I went to college with them at Princeton.” Definitely from a different world than me.
While I was sure that he had gotten into Princeton on a legacy admission, I had gotten into NYU through a grant they gave out to those who couldn’t afford to go there without help.
A group of waiters appeared to deliver the first course of the night and the table’s conversation turned to quiet murmurs about the food.
“Dear lord, I need five of these,” Roxie groaned across the table as she finished the last bite of her tiramisu.
I laughed at my friend as I savored the last bite of mine.
“I think I may sneak a few home in my jacket pockets,” James added, and I laughed.
We’d spent the past hour bantering back and forth about each course—comparing notes on flavors, debating wine pairings, swapping favorite restaurants in the city.
He actually knew what a millefeuille was and had passionate thoughts on duck confit.
It was … fun. Easy. Like we were two people enjoying dinner together and not two strangers from entirely different worlds.
Every time our eyes met, there was that unspoken something—an energy, a spark. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming, but it was there. I could almost picture him asking for my number by the end of the evening, or suggesting we go for a drink afterwards—anything to keep the conversation going.
“Oh, wait! Hallie, we should toast to you!” Roxie lifted her glass a little unsteadily. Everyone else around us was caught up in their own conversations.
“Toasting for what exactly?” James asked, lifting his own glass and glancing at me with that same quiet intensity. His gaze was a heat lamp, and I was wilting under it—in the best way.
Before I could be self-deprecating, Roxie swooped in—knowing that I would never admit my successes myself. “Hallie was just offered a feature piece at her job,” she stage-whispered. “She’s a writer at Sophisticate .”
James looked genuinely impressed. “Wow, I didn’t know I was sitting next to a rockstar.”
It was a simple compliment—like something someone would say to be nice—but the way he said it, like he actually meant it, made something flutter low in my belly.
“What’s the article about?” He shifted his entire body toward me. His thigh brushed mine beneath the table. He didn’t move away.
“It’s about her trying to find the hottest finance guy on Wall Street,” Roxie interjected, grinning proudly.
James’s expression shifted, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Really?”
“It’s stupid, really,” I hurried to tell him, feeling the need to explain why I had agreed to the project.
James’s smile softened. “Why?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling a little defensive, like I had to explain myself. “I’m just trying to write something that’ll get me closer to my real goal—becoming the food critic for Sophisticate .”
The shift in his gaze was subtle, but I noticed it. A quick, thoughtful pause. Then, he leaned in a little, as if to hear more. “So, you’re doing this … to get your dream job?”
“Exactly.” I studied my wineglass, trying not to sound too self-conscious. “It’s not about the dates or the guys. I’ll probably never actually date them. They are not my type. Couldn’t be further from it actually. I just need the piece to get my foot in the door.”
James chuckled. “Please, you must tell me what you find so repulsive about men in finance.”
The hand gripping my chest slowly eased as I realized maybe I hadn’t stuck my foot in my mouth.
With renewed confidence, I reached for my glass of wine.
“Well, I have a pros and cons list. I have to give credit where credit is due,” I admitted, giving him a playful shrug.
“Typically, they dress well, and they have a finger on the pulse of the NYC food scene. Not to mention the free financial advice.”
There was never a doubt that I would see a finance bro at the newest restaurant that I was reviewing, or a group of them, all carbon copies of each other—the same Rolex shining on their wrists, the same slicked-back hairstyle, the same loafers, and the same five expensive suit brands that they always circulated.
“But between their 401(k) talk, the constant scrutiny of credit scores, or the way they think a fancy watch makes them interesting, it’s hard to choose a top choice. I’d rather eat plain bagels for the rest of my life than listen to another round of ‘what’s your net worth?’”
James smirked. “You’ve really thought that out, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, the tension in my shoulders loosening. “It’s the most predictable thing in the city. They’re all the same.”
“And yet, you still need them to get your dream job,” James said, his tone almost teasing now.
“Well, yeah. Sometimes you’ve got to play the game.
” Despite James’s interest in the conversation, the flash of his signet ring on the stem of his wineglass reminded me how different the two of us were.
While I was rambling about a ridiculous article that I wouldn’t have even chosen to write, I did not know what this man did.
But before I could ask, James was already carrying along the conversation.
“And what exactly is the goal this article is getting you to?” Being the center of his attention was like a lightning strike to my body; every nerve ending was on fire and I wanted nothing more than to remain in his spotlight.
“ Sophisticate is well regarded in the food industry. The kinds of opportunities that would open for me, I couldn’t get them anywhere else. It’s my dream company to work for.”
“So this is all a means to an end?” James supplied.
I nodded. “Exactly. If this finance bro article helps me slip that final puzzle piece into place, then so be it. At the very least, I’ll have a few dates and some nice dinners out of it on their dime.”
“Even if, as you said, you do not intend to really date these men, and you’d just be stringing them along?”
“They’re big boys. They can take it. Surely they have to be to work in such a money-hungry, cutthroat world? Honestly, I see this as payback for how often I hear about a man in finance treating a girl poorly.” I gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “What about you? What do you do?”
But before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the notifications on his screen. Already the party felt slightly dimmer without his gaze on me.
“I’m sorry, it looks like I have some fires I need to put out.” James stood up from his seat, leaving me to stare after him in confusion as he made his way toward Michelle and Elliot. One second, he was sitting next to me, enraptured by our conversation, the next he was breezing toward the exit.
“You’re not staying for a night cap?” I heard Elliot ask.
“Duty calls,” James replied.
Was he a doctor? That would explain the expensive clothing. He must be like a neurosurgeon.
James hugged Elliot and gave Michelle a kiss on the cheek, then headed for the stairs without sparing a glance in my direction.
“Hey, are you okay?” Roxie leaned forward into my view to grab my attention. It was what I loved most about her. We could be in a crowded room like this, and she’d never fail to notice when I was slipping away, retreating into myself, caught up with that voice in my head as it berated me.
I kept my eyes fixed on the staircase where James had just vanished, my chances of seeing him again fading. “I guess I’m a little surprised he didn’t ask me for my number.”
Roxie pointed her fork at me. “I thought the two of you were really hitting it off.”
“So did I,” I said.
Roxie shrugged nonchalantly before eyeing the tiramisu on the plate of the person sitting next to her. “He probably has a girlfriend or something.”
“Maybe.” I swirled the remaining wine in my glass.
I told myself it was just a fleeting connection, one that didn’t mean anything. But I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it might have been something special. Something rare that I’d never get the chance to explore.