Chapter 22 The Pettiest Bitch You know is a Straight Man
THE PETTIEST BITCH YOU KNOW IS A STRAIGHT MAN
The funny thing was, Sasha didn’t see Teo at first. She stood there at the high-top table, lost in thought.
Suddenly, her dress felt too naked. The silk too thin, the spaghetti straps too bare.
Earlier in the night, the gown felt chic.
Now it felt thirsty—and she was cold. Her head ached.
When was the last time she’d eaten something?
Overwhelmed, her eyes welled up. She opened them, wide, trying to keep the tears from falling.
She wasn’t a crier. (Much to her chagrin, at times.
Sometimes she wished she could just push out some tears.
It’d be cathartic.) But Wes’s tone on the dance floor rattled her.
He was so far away. It was like he’d rewound time, back to the morning they met, years ago, before they magnetized each other, when he was just a detective and she was a distressed client and the lines were clear-cut.
If Wes had asked her, Sasha would’ve run off with him. And stayed forever.
But he didn’t. And Teo was here. Maybe it wouldn’t matter when she saw him again. Maybe the world would melt away, and she’d be reminded of why she started this search in the first place.
And then, a tear fell. Sasha grabbed a napkin and folded it into a tiny triangle, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, gingerly.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Public weeping was so passive-aggressive.
Oh look at me, I’m emotionally undisciplined in front of an audience, someone feel sorry for me.
She didn’t need help. Maybe she never did.
She’d made her whole life happen for herself.
Why couldn’t she have found Teo on her own?
Which begged the question. Why did she need to call on Wes?
Ignoring her internal voice, Sasha continued patting at her eyes.
At one point, she dabbed so furiously, the sharp point of her napkin triangle poked into her eye.
She yelped and flicked her hand, sending the napkin flying.
Sasha heard a gruff sound of surprise. Then she spun around.
Her napkin had hit an innocent bystander in the face as he moved through the crowd.
(This was not unlike her move during the all-state Texas majorette tryouts.
Adult Sasha was just teen Sasha with premium bedding.)
The man had stopped in his tracks and was rubbing his eye. Was that . . . Teo?
Before Sasha had a chance to speak, he beat her to it.
“Seraphina,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. A smile softening the rugged edge of his features. Like an ice cap melting. “Is that you?”
“Did . . . Did you call me Seraphina?” she whispered.
“It’s how I’ve referred to you, in my head.” His eyes crinkled. “And to anyone who’ll listen.”
He’s been talking about me, too, she thought. I’m not crazy. I’m not alone.
“I’ve been calling you Seat F.”
“Seat F?” His brows met, quizzical for a few seconds, then he chuckled. “Oh. Sì, of course. My seat. I can’t believe I’m looking at you. How . . . What are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” she said, her voice sounding high and unfamiliar.
He looked exactly as she remembered. About five foot eleven, mint-green eyes.
Dark, salt-and-pepper hair. His smile was crooked and imperfect, which added to his charm.
She remembered why she’d been so intrigued.
He was tough yet gentle; mysterious but direct.
Everything about him was a thrilling contradiction. “Why are you here?”
“I know the owner of the charity quite well.”
They stood there, smiling, not quite knowing what to do.
“It’s you,” he said under his breath.
“You’re how I remembered.”
“You are, too. And much more. We were stupid not to exchange information.”
“What were we thinking?” asked Sasha with a little laugh.
“We weren’t. We were . . . well, I was intoxicated. In more ways than one. And I’ve never regretted something more.”
“I’ve been waiting for this moment. Wondering what I’d say, how I’d act.”
“As have I. I almost hired an investigator to find you, but I didn’t want to be like a . . . how you say . . . stalker. It’s distasteful.”
Sasha nodded in vigorous agreement. “Isn’t it just?”
“I looked for you, however. On my own. I wondered where a woman like you would go. I even visited a few Seraphinas.” He shook his head, brows knitted. “Was I wrong in thinking you worked there?”
“You were right. But I’m casting a commercial for the brand. I don’t work in the stores. I should’ve been clearer!”
“Ah. Ahh. I see. No, you did the right thing, withholding that. You shouldn’t divulge such things to a stranger.” His eyes crinkled. “In any case, I told myself that if we’re supposed to meet again, the universe will make it so.”
“And it did.”
“Shall we introduce ourselves?”
“Yes,” she said enthusiastically, “but let’s make it count this time.”
“Allora. Yes. This is a moment of significance.”
And then they both made a show of readying themselves for the Introduction That Was Weeks in the Making.
He set his martini down on the table and then took a performative breath.
He straightened his already flawlessly tied bow tie and checked his cuff links.
She tossed her hair, mussing her soft waves, and smoothed her gown over her hips.
Shyly, she took him in, once again. Thick, heavy waves of hair practically begging to be pulled, yanked, mussed.
Peridot eyes shining like stained glass.
Tux so well-cut, Tom Ford likely paid him to wear it. He cut an alluring, powerful figure.
Most crucially, though? He had certainty in his gaze. Intention. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to claim it.
Fuck Wes, she thought resolutely.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Sasha Cruz. And you are?”
“Besotted.”
Sasha let out a small, short laugh. “Nice.”
“But I’m also Teo D. Scera.”
Even though she knew his name, it sounded glorious coming from him. In his native tongue, his voice was florid, husky. It sounded like cathedrals and siesta-sex and good pasta and decadence. “Pleasure to meet you. Again.”
“No, no, no. Pleasure’s mine,” he said. “Again.”
They shook hands, and she remembered his touch.
Firm, confident, bold. He didn’t let go.
Neither did she. They stood there, joined at their hands, like they had all the time in the world.
And then, because she was feeling spontaneous, and because she wanted to put as much distance between herself and this gala and run headfirst into her future, before Wes saw her and the glass shattered, before she remembered that she’d practically begged him to stop her, Sasha said, “Do you want to get out of here?”
Keeping his eyes on her, Teo set his martini glass down on the table. “Let’s go. Le Veau d’Or?”
She blinked. The chic bistro was a ninety-year-old Upper East Side institution. Romantic, ritzy, and impossible to get a table. “I’d love to. But we’ll never get in.”
He smiled. “Remember what I said on the flight? I’ll handle it. Let me do that. Please.”
This was the lure of Teo. She thought back to when she struggled to close the remote door on the flight. The way he stepped in and did it for her. He lightened her load. Would she have figured it out? Of course. But she was tired of figuring everything out, on her own. And somehow, he knew that.
Teo was exactly how she remembered. In him, she saw possibility. An unknown future. Slate wiped clean. Just then, he offered Sasha his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Take me to dinner,” she said boldly.
Together, they headed toward the exit, passing the bar along the way. Sasha’s feet barely touched the ground. This was what she wanted. Until she looked up and locked eyes with Wes.
Wes was leaning against the bar, propped on an elbow.
And there was a look on his face she’d never seen before.
His eyes were reddened, devoid of light.
Distractedly, his fingertips were tapping on his shot glass.
His brow was furiously knitted, like he was trying to solve a calculus problem—or strenuously focused on appearing sober.
“Sasha Cruz! Funny seeing you here.”
He was speaking just a shade too fast. Yep. He’d had one drink too many.
“Hello!” She dropped her hand from Teo’s arm.
“I was looking for you. You were supposed to text me, remember?” He eyed Teo.
“Right, right. I forgot. Well, great seeing you—”
“Apologies, where are my manners?” Wes thrust his hand in Teo’s direction, without moving from the bar. Teo had to step closer to Wes to shake it.
“Teo D. Scera.”
“Roland Weiss. I’m an old friend of Sasha’s.”
“Ahh. Do you work in casting together?”
“No,” said Sasha. “No, he runs a hedge fund. He’s a VC.”
“Ahh. A venture capitalist.” Teo gave him a nod of approval. “What sector do you invest in?”
Panic flashed in Wes’s face. He was in no state to convincingly answer this question
“No, I’m a VC as in vice . . . chancellor,” he sputtered. “At a university. A small university. A college, actually. Online.”
A vice chancellor? Oh, Wes was bombed.
“He was a personality hire,” said Sasha quickly. “Teo, we should go before the restaurant closes.”
“An online college,” said Teo, with a pleasant smile. “Noble work. How did you meet Sasha?”
“She’s on the advisory board. For the college.
That reminds me, Sasha, we have that board meeting tomorrow morning at nine.
” He raised his brows pointedly. “I’ll have my secretary send you a car.
Would hate for you to miss it and let down the fifteen other board members. All of whom are former MMA fighters.”
Wes was being absurd, but she knew what he was doing. Letting Teo know that if he had any designs on robbing her blind or bludgeoning her to death tonight, there would be people expecting her at a certain time. He’d be held accountable should anything happen to her.