by Rachel Hauck
“Fine, put me through the process.” She was that confident. “But, Zane, ultimately, you are the book. As president, owner, and senior board member you can do whatever you want.”
“Fair enough. But let’s go by the book. You’ll interview like any other candidate.”
“There are none.”
“There will be.” He flashed his charming and genuine grin. “I guess we always knew this day was coming. Now will you go with me?” He walked over to her wardrobe again.
“We can put Quent in my job.”
“Will these work with the dress?” He held up a pair of slingbacks.
She took the shoes from him. “Look me in the eye and tell me the job is mine.”
“The job is yours. By way of the process.”
“Fine, by way of the process, but you and everyone else knows I’m already doing the job. All you have to do is run my new salary and bonus by the board.”
“All right, how fast can you get ready?” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll call Clark and tell him to keep circling for what, ten minutes? Lexa, why are you stalling? Go, wash, polish, shine.”
She patted his shoulder. “Thank you. For the job. I won’t let you down.”
“You never do. Now go. Hurry. Clark, this is Zane . . .”
The only way to get this done quick was to jump in the shower. She hollered for Zane to knock on the door across the hall to see if Abby was home.
“Tell her I need help with my hair.”
But Abby was gone. So she dried her hair as best she could and hoped the thick, wild, and wavy look was in.
She wiggled into her dress, stashed a lipstick and credit card in a blue pearl clutch, and grabbed her makeup bag.
“I’ll polish in the car.”
By the time they arrived at the Waldorf Astoria and rode the elevator to the Starlight Room, reality had settled in. She’d done it. Asked Zane for the job and he said yes.
For the first time in a long time, she felt sure about her future.
Chapter 9
Jett
The only thing worse than donning a rented tux on a Friday night so he could rub elbows with Manhattan’s rich and infamous was inviting a last-minute date.
In a moment of weakness Thursday morning he invited the lively, energetic Courtney McGuire as they worked out in the apartment gym.
Outside of the weight room, they had nothing in common. Jett discovered the cold truth before they rode the elevator up to the Starlight Room.
She was sweet and cute and filled out her soft yellow gown with spectacular curves and disappeared the moment they entered the room. Jett grabbed a water from the ice-filled barrels along the wall and wished he was home reading.
Elijah Roth sat on the dais with a group of important-looking people. Jett would make his way over in a few minutes, do the appropriate amount of glad-handing, and leave.
“You should’ve worn your ratty old sweater and high-tops.” A familiar feminine voice floated over his shoulder. Coral Winthrop stood behind him in a dark-green, strapless gown with a wide skirt. A distinguished gray-haired man—who wore the air of money and sophistication—hovered off her left shoulder.
“You think they’d have let me in?”
“Considering you’d have looked homeless, yes. These people thrive on those sort of photo ops.”
“These people?” He grinned. “Aren’t you one of these people?”
“Moneyed. Perhaps. Phony? No. Jett Wilder, may I present my father, Eric Winthrop III.”
The men shook hands and exchanged genuine pleasantries. Then the elder Winthrop spotted someone across the room and excused himself.
“This is weird,” Jett said. “Seeing you outside the society. Do we talk about how we met?”
“Is it a secret?” Coral reached for a champagne flute floating past on a silver tray upheld by a black-tie server.
“Not a secret, but rather a mystery.”
“Then we say we’re friends. No further explanation needed.”
Jett peered into her eyes. If he were assigned to describe her, he’d declare her a work of art, sculpted with regal features.
Yet beneath her beauty breathed a hurt, wounded, if not confused, woman. He saw it behind her made-up eyes.
“I’d like to be friends,” he said.
She tapped his arm with her elbow. “Good, then you can tell me what happened between you and Lexa.”
“Only if you’ll tell me what happened with Prince Pompous.”
“So, how about those New York Giants?”
He chuckled. “As I thought.”
“Can we still be friends?” She sipped her champagne as she gazed toward the guests mingling about the ballroom.
“I suppose we have to be, since we’re in some sort of society together.”
“Do you still love her?”
“How about those Giants?”
She turned to Jett. “I’m serious. Do you?”
“Coral, it doesn’t matter. We’re divorced. Why do you want to know?”
“Because I think she still loves you.”
“She walked out first.” He frowned, drawing his lips into a tight line. Only took her ten seconds to draw a confession from him.
Her smile invited him further into friendship. “For the record, I loved Gus. But something changed.”
“Must have been a huge something to make you leave him at the altar.”
“Indeed. It was a God-size something.”
For the next few minutes, she pointed out various New York socialites who tipped back their heads with practiced laughter and moved about in flawless choreography. She told Jett their stories.
“You know your favorite author, GPR, would’ve dined and danced in the original hotel, perhaps the Octagon Room, and observed the people he wrote about in his novels.” Coral swept her hand toward the gathering. “Behold, your people. Your society.”
“I write about people who travel through space and live on Mars.”
“But the interface among breathing beings is largely the same. We want to be seen, heard, and loved. And look at Missy Adock’s dress. If that wouldn’t survive a landing on Mars I don’t know what would.”
Jett laughed. “Come on. The food tables have opened up.” He offered his arm and buffered his new friend through the crowd of the 1920s art deco room with its high ceiling and swaths of golden light.
Taking a thin white china plate, Jett moved down the line, discussing the food options with Coral, when Courtney tapped him on the shoulder.
“Jett, this is Pete.” A stocky, wide-faced man stood next to her. “We went to NYU together. We’re out of here. Do you mind?”
“Um, no, not at all.” He didn’t think she’d abandon him quite so fast. “Thanks for—” She disappeared into the crowd before he finished his sentiment.
“Your date?” Coral said.
“Lives in my building.” Jett considered how to add another layer of prime rib to his plate. “We see each other in the gym. Barely know her.”
“Why are you here if you don’t want to be?”
“University business.” He pointed to the dais with his fork, his mouth watering for a bite of the tender beef. “I’m supposed to hobnob with Elijah Roth. He and the Roth Foundation are giving the college a bunch of money for the Gordon Phipps Roth School of Literature.”
“You sound dubious.” Coral popped a bacon-wrapped scallop into her mouth.
“Not dubious. Part of his generosity is tied to my published dissertation exonerating GPR of recent rumors.”
“What rumors?”
Jett really didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to try the lean, juicy beef. “Long story, but yeah, I think my research proves GPR was the genius we all believe and want him to be.”
He tried to cut his meat with a fork but found the task impossible while standing. He stabbed the large slice and took a bite. “Care to sit?”
“My father’s table is by the dais. Won’t you join—” Coral leaned fo
rward, staring at the door. “I see the guest of honor has arrived. Zane Breas.” She peered up at Jett. “Lexa is with him. Did you know she was coming?”
Jett pushed through the cluster gathered by the food table to see Lexa, dressed in the blue gown she bought for their first formal event at the college, striding in on the arm of the arrogant ZB.
“No, I didn’t.” The bite of prime rib he’d just tasted turned sour on his tongue.
“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” Coral said.
“How about those Giants?”
* * *
Lexa
The Starlight Room atop the Waldorf Astoria was a stunning tribute to the fabulous art deco of the past with stained glass on the walls, dark glass on the ceiling, and an etched, patterned carpet that matched the engravings of the upper balcony.
Entering on Zane’s arm, a thrill zipped through her. The people parted for them as he moved toward the dais, cameras flashing.
She’d seen Zane’s pop-culture rise over the years. Experienced it in small portions during Zaney Days, but never in an exclusive, diamond-studded environment like this. It gave her chills.
He was the man of the hour. The Gottlieb Gala’s Young Entrepreneur of the Year.
“I’m a mess,” she said under her breath, patting down her frizzing hair.
“You’re fine, Lex. Fine.” But Zane never looked. Instead, he smiled for a news camera.
Lexa tipped her frown over for the panning camera. She was surrounded by know-it-alls and know-everyones gathered in circles of four and five, retrieving champagne from polished silver trays.
In the background somewhere, the orchestra played chamber music, warming up the room for the dances.
On the dais, Zane was greeted by distinguished men and diamond-crusted women.
“May I introduce Lexa Wilder. Lexa, this is the erudite George Gottlieb, great-great-great-grandson of Franz Gottlieb, a Gilded Age entrepreneur who became rich enough to join Mrs. Astor’s Four Hundred.”
“But you can call me George.” He took her hand with a slight bow. “Welcome.” He turned to Zane. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten us.”
He introduced his wife, Shera, along with their daughter, Lyla, and her husband, Rick. Next to Rick was the foundation chairman, Ralph Masker, and his wife, Diana.
“Please, won’t you join us?” Shera gestured to the empty chairs on the far side of the table. “Don’t be offended Lea, but I was looking forward to meeting Sabrina Fox.”
“It’s Lexa, and none taken.” She sat next to Zane and tried to make her eyes twinkle. Mom claimed she had the gift, but Lexa wasn’t exactly sure how to turn it on.
“Shera, really,” George said, motioning to the table’s devoted server. “Hank, champagne for our honored guests.”
While George detailed the origins of the foundation and how honored they were to give Zane their first Young Entrepreneur award, Hank brought two tall flutes of champagne along with a platter of ZB Mini Burgers.
Lexa squeezed Zane’s arm. They were perfect. This event would be their first unofficial test market. They were made with lean organic beef and priced right, and she imagined those watching their calories yet wanting a burger now and then would gravitate toward a five-bite-size gourmet treat.
“ZB Burgers are a weekly meal in our home,” Shera said. When she reached for a mini burger, the diamond cuff around her wrist spiraled a kaleidoscope over the white linen tablecloth.
“Maybe I should use you for advertising, Shera,” Zane said.
Her expression perked up. “Really?”
Well, he’d done it now. Lexa gazed toward the ballroom trying not to laugh as Zane backpedaled. Their whole brand was good food for everyday folk. Shera was far from everyday folk.
“How long have you two been dating?” The question came from the soft-spoken Diana Masker.
“Dating? Oh, no, we’re not romantically involved.” Lexa leaned away from Zane. “I’ve worked for ZB since the beginning. I’m the new CEO.”
Zane sputtered a bit of champagne onto the pristine tablecloth. “Nothing official yet, but Lexa wears a lot of hats for us. Very talented.”
“CEO? Why not MRS?” Shera tossed a naughty glance at her husband. “George was looking for an assistant when we met, but I soon proved I had skills not listed in the job description.”
Lexa choked on her mini burger. “We’re just . . . friends. I mean, he’s my boss. Have you seen Sabrina’s latest movie? I hear it’s spectacular.”
“I’m dying to see it. Zane, what happed to Sabrina?” Shera fashioned a disappointed pout.
“Unable to make it. She sends her regrets.”
Just then the lights dimmed as the orchestra struck up the first waltz. Couples moved through the glitter ball’s rainbow of colors to the dance floor.
“Shera, would you care to dance?” George offered his wife his hand and escorted her from the dais.
Ralph and Diana followed, leaving Lexa alone with Zane.
“Don’t do that again, Lexa.” He dropped his napkin on the table with attitude.
“Why not? You’re not breaking your promise already, are you?”
“You put me on the spot. Besides, what if it gets out before we’re ready to announce? Shera Gottlieb is a known gossip. And she’s a bullhorn to every news outlet in the city.”
“Like she cares I’m the new CEO of ZB Enterprises. She called me Lea when we met. She’ll forget all about me before the night is over.”
“Still, let’s just keep our bargain to ourselves for now.” He reached for his water goblet. “Is being my assistant so horrible?”
“No, but I’m made for more. Zane, let someone else make your hair and spa appointments, order flowers for your girlfriend. Let me officially run the departments, review the budget, set vision and direction with you. I’m doing it already.”
“I know, and I’m grateful.” He covered her hand with his and offered a wobbling smile. “Guess I can’t imagine anyone else knowing the intimate details of my life. I like seeing you at the desk outside my office.”
“I’ll still be working with you but, Zane, for the first time in my life, I’m free to dream the dreams I want to dream. I’m not being lugged around the world with my family or following my husband. I know it’s a big leap to make your executive assistant the head of the company, but I’ve been doing the work and—”
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s dance.”
She hesitated. He’d cut her off. “I think I’ll just sit here.”
He pulled her to her feet. “Forget work for one night, girl.” His Nebraskan intonations flavored his words. “We’re at a fancy-schmancy gala. In my honor. Let’s cut loose and have fun. Maybe show ’em how to do the two-step. We’ll talk shop on Monday.”
On the dance floor, he stepped around to the music, filling her senses with Lagerfeld.
“Thank you for pulling yourself together for me, Lex.” He smiled down at her. “I never said you look beautiful, but you do.”
“You’re welcome. But don’t forget our—”
“That Shera’s a piece of work, isn’t she?” he said.
Message received. Let it go. For now. “George seems to like her.”
Zane peered down at her. “We never crossed any lines, did we?”
“I was married, remember?”
“Think we’d make a good couple?” Zane led her through the box step with ease. He was a line dancer and two-stepper from his childhood.
“What?” She stiffened. “No. I mean . . . Zane, you shouldn’t be asking me that. We’re coworkers, professionals. You’re my boss.”
“According to Shera, MRS outranks CEO.” His laugh tried to draw her into his joke.
“Don’t joke about stuff like that, Zane.” Lexa stepped out of his arms. “Or anything romantic between us. Either hire me or cut me loose.”
“Lexa, chill, will you? Geez. I’m not proposing anything indecent. Just noting how well we get along.”<
br />
Through the next song she relaxed a little bit. Just enjoy the evening. The Starlight Room was spectacular, and being with the guest of honor afforded her some privileges.
The mayor paused to greet them both, as did the star center for the Knicks.
“I’m kind of glad Sabrina stood me up,” he said, turning her to the music. “You should’ve been here with me all along. You’ve been a big part of ZB’s success. And don’t say that’s why you should be CEO.”
She laughed. “You just said it for me.”
“Those early days were wild, weren’t they? We just made the grand opening of the Forty-Sixth Street store. Thanks to you.”
“It was fun.”
When she looked up he was studying her. “Say, Lexa—”
Blame it on the music, the dancing, the glittering atmosphere, but the air between them popped and sparkled.
Lexa was suddenly warm and weak-kneed. “Zane, let’s not get carried away.”
But his head tipped toward her and . . . Was he going to kiss her? She pressed her hand against his chest. “Shew, I’m beat. Shall we go back to the dais?”
He cleared his throat with a nod. “I could use some champagne. Do you think everyone liked the mini burgers?”
“I’ve heard nothing but praise.” So the awkward moment passed.
As they reached the dais, a commotion rose in the back, by the doors. Oohs and aahs mingled with muffled squeals.
The dancers moved to one side as the orchestra continued to play. Zane instantly released Lexa.
“I don’t believe it.”
“What’s going on?” Lexa peered through the strands of white light streaming from the crystal chandeliers and knew her answer.
Sabrina. She was Moses parting the Red Sea, slinking with catlike moves toward the dais.
Zane met her in the middle of the floor and scooped her up and kissed her, long and succulent. The gala guests gushed and gasped.
Another waltz began. Zane swung Sabrina around in his arms without missing a beat.
Lexa made her way to her chair. Should she stay or make an excuse and go home? She’d told Zane Sabrina would show up sooner or later.
