Chapter 12
Hallie
“Do you think it’s too much?” I asked Roxie as I stared at myself in our floor-length mirror that we had scavenged from the side of the curb a few blocks over when we first moved.
New Yorkers take that saying “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” very seriously.
I thought I’d won the lottery when I stumbled across an only gently used couch on the Upper East Side that I later found out was worth over ten thousand dollars brand new.
Asking Roxie if we could borrow the gallery’s delivery truck to get it home had been totally worth it.
Tonight, I was going on my first date with James Rossi, also known as Mr. Old Fashioned, and I was only mildly embarrassed by the fact that I had spent nearly two hours trying on my entire closet in search of the perfect outfit. Not that I cared what he thought, obviously.
“There’s never a thing as too much. You look stunning, Hal,” Roxie said as she lay on my bed wearing an off-the-rack dress that had premiered in last fall’s Fashion Week, with no intention of leaving the house to be seen in it. “Where did he say he was taking you?”
It was a Friday night, and I hadn’t heard from James after our conversation at Whiskey Locker until this morning. I was starting to think he was having second thoughts about our deal, when an extravagant bouquet of roses and a note were delivered directly to my desk at Sophisticate .
Around lunchtime, Anthea walked past my desk, the huge mass of roses enough to catch her attention, and everyone else’s, before she saw the note signed “Mr. Old Fashioned”.
She looked at me with an eyebrow raised.
“I’m excited to have this week’s article in my inbox Sunday night.
” Then she was gone as quickly as she had appeared.
Seven o’clock, formal wear —that’s all the note said.
Thus, I was standing in front of my second-hand mirror in a Valentino dress from Roxie’s closet which she’d found at a thrift store for a fraction of the original cost. The black silk, trimmed with delicate lace, clung to my curves, its thin straps rested lightly on my collarbone.
The fabric felt cool and smooth against my skin, while tiny embroidered butterflies in vibrant colors added a touch of whimsy to the otherwise elegant piece.
I silently thanked the universe not only for Roxie and I being the same size, but also that her eye for beauty extended beyond art.
The most formal thing I owned was a plain red cocktail number that paled in comparison to this masterpiece.
“The card didn’t say where we’re going, just that I need to dress formal and be ready by seven,” I said, glancing at Roxie as she sprawled out on my bed, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips.
“The one time I decide not to tag along, and all the fun stuff happens,” she muttered.
I recapped the lipstick tube and slid it into my clutch. “It’s not like this is a proper date.”
“Says who?” Roxie sat up, giving me a bewildered look. “The chemistry between the two of you over the past month is palpable. I’ll be surprised if you end up going home alone tonight.”
“Roxie!”
“What? Who says you shouldn’t indulge a little?” Roxie grinned and gave me a suggestive shoulder wiggle as I finished buckling my heels. It was three minutes before seven.
But just as I began to explain exactly why I shouldn’t indulge , the buzzer for our apartment rang. With unprecedented speed, Roxie leaped from my bed to let James up.
“Roxie,” I warned as I followed closely behind her. But once my best friend got something in her mind, there was very little that would stop her. Roxie ignored me and reached for the doorknob.
James Rossi appeared in the doorway of our small apartment, his perfectly cut tux a striking sight against the worn walls.
His dark hair, usually neatly combed, was styled with extra care, each strand perfectly in place.
Time seemed to stand still as the two of us took each other in.
A thrill, warm and electric, shot through me as his eyes lingered on me, sending heat licking up my spine.
“Well, suddenly this has grown quite awkward,” Roxie spoke up, breaking the trance that had descended between us. “I’m just going to go crack open a bottle of wine and watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days for the millionth time.”
James’s gaze remained fixed on me as he directed his comment to Roxie in the kitchen. “Matthew McConaughey was fantastic in that.”
Roxie paused, glancing over at him, clearly amused.
“I didn’t think you’d be into rom-coms, James.
” She pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and began hunting around for the opener—one of the few kitchen utensils we had, seeing as it was an essential.
“Men like him in romantic comedies are a dying breed.”
“I have my moments,” James said with a chuckle, before turning his attention back to me. “Are you ready?”
I was accustomed to seeing James in his impeccably tailored suits, but the sight of him in this midnight-blue tuxedo was nothing short of a feast for my eyes.
The fabric hugged his frame flawlessly. The faint aroma of his luxurious cologne mingled with the air and I could already feel the anticipation swirling around us.
Unsure if I could trust my voice to remain steady, I gave a silent nod and left the apartment, my palms sweating.
“You two kids have fun tonight!” Roxie called from the kitchen, her voice sing-songy as I closed the door behind us.
With James and me suddenly standing in the hallway of my tiny apartment building dressed like we were about to walk a red carpet, everything was becoming far more real.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James fidgeting with his bowtie, his fingers uncharacteristically clumsy.
He stole a brief glance my way, a nervous blush creeping up his neck.
This was already starting off far more awkward than any first date I’d ever had before.
The tension between us was apparent, and James cleared his throat nervously. “Uh … a car is waiting downstairs.”
“Right.” James’s towering frame took up most of the hallway as we made our way down the stairs.
A town car waited outside, and a driver opened the doors to the rear of the vehicle as we approached. “A driver?” I whispered.
“You wanted the full experience.” James extended his hand as I lowered myself into my seat. Only once he was sure I was comfortable did he lean in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “And you look stunning tonight, Hallie.”
His words were gasoline, igniting a furious blaze within me, the sound of the car door slamming a futile attempt to contain the inferno.
James Rossi is a charmer, you know this. You’re just falling victim to his tried and tested scheme.
But the reassurances died in my mind the moment his hand landed on the seat between us, his pinky brushing against mine.
The silence in the car was heavy, and I could feel the tension in the air as we both fidgeted in our seats.
James opened his mouth at the same time I did, then quickly shut it when our words collided, an awkward laugh escaping his lips.
We both fell quiet, the hum of the engine filling the gap between us.
Outside the window, the city was alive. Manhattan’s skyline gleamed like a collection of dreams stacked high into the night, neon lights flashing by in a blur.
Streetlights painted the pavement golden.
I’d seen these streets on television, watching as Carrie Bradshaw made a crosswalk look more like a catwalk.
I’d spent my teenage years reading about some of the biggest fashion names in magazines, but never in a million years did I think I’d be here—hurtling down these very streets, next to a man whose name seemed to command attention, while mine barely made a ripple.
How had I gone from that little town in Ohio to this fast-paced city of ambition and excess, with one of the richest men in the city in the seat beside me?
I shook my head, trying to focus on the present. Focus on the mission. But the soft brush of James’s pinky against mine had me questioning everything I thought I knew about control.
I was in over my head. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was starting to enjoy it.
After another long stretch of silence, James cleared his throat as he focused on his cufflinks. I could see his fingers shake slightly, just a hint of unease creeping into his usually confident demeanor.
“I think we’re both pretending to know what we’re doing,” he said, his voice suddenly more vulnerable than I expected. “Maybe we should just … let it be?”
I gave a small, almost reluctant smile, the weight of the night sinking in. This wasn’t a date. It was a performance, one we were both learning how to play.
The city outside the window kept rushing by, a reminder that time was moving faster than either of us was prepared for. When the car finally rolled to a stop, I had to do a double-take to make sure I was seeing things correctly.
“This is—”
“ Crepitio ,” James supplied, offering me his hand with a confident smile.
“But the reservation list is months long,” I blurted, my fingers grazing his—a spark of excitement shooting through me.
The attraction to James Rossi was undeniable. He was incredibly handsome, charming, and, as I was beginning to see, surprisingly thoughtful.
Don’t forget, this is just for the article.
That didn’t mean a girl couldn’t have some fun. Right, Cyndi Lauper?
I stood at the entrance to a newly Michelin-starred restaurant, so exclusive, you either had to be someone or know someone to get in. Not even Sophisticate had covered this place yet.
“But how?” I asked as James led me through the front door where a smiling hostess greeted us.
James gave his name to her before leaning in close and whispering in my ear, “I know people, Hallie. Did you forget?”