Lace

by Deborah Bladon

  I pretend to cough. “It just started.”

  “Take the stage.” He motions toward it with his beer. “We had an agreement.”

  “Did we?” I feign surprise even though he’s right.

  I dared him to sing in front of strangers because I thought he’d refuse to do it. I was wrong. I was so wrong.

  “We did,” he affirms. “I kept my end of the bargain. It’s time for you to keep yours.”

  I can’t follow him.

  Dozens of people were spellbound by the show he put on. I’ll barely turn a head once I start singing.

  The band begins to play as a woman grabs the microphone and starts crooning an Adele ballad off key.

  That I can follow.

  “I’ll go next,” I promise as I take the last sip of my glass of house red wine.

  “Let me guess.” He rests his hand on the table, leaning against it. “You’re inspired by her so you’ll be serenading us with your version of an Adele song.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s not my style.”

  He places his beer bottle on the tabletop. “What’s your style?”

  “Britney.”

  His eyes narrow. “Spears?”

  I look over at the stage and the woman who is now on her knees pouring her heart into the song as the crowd sways back and forth listening to her every word.

  When I turn back to Alexander, his eyes are pinned to my face.

  “I know the lyrics to all of her songs,” I say proudly.

  “I can’t wait to see this.” He pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to reveal his muscular forearms. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

  I take a swallow from his beer, turn on my heel and march toward the stage, hoping with everything I am that I pull this off.

  Chapter 21

  Alexander

  I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.

  Olivia can sing. She belted out her own rendition of “Baby One More Time” as the crowd cheered her on.

  Any reservations she had when the song started were gone by the end of the first chorus.

  She was beaming as she pranced around the stage, shaking her lush ass.

  I was hard halfway through the song and aching to be inside of her by the time she rushed back to our table.

  I had to sit to hide my erection.

  We’re outside now, standing in front of the Pink Parlor while she contemplates our next move.

  I was sure she’d want to head home, but she’s game for the night to continue. So am I.

  Every moment we spend together brings me closer to fucking her.

  Jesus, I want to fuck this woman.

  “You’re thinking about dessert, aren’t you?” she asks as she looks down the barren sidewalk.

  I shake my head. “I’m thinking about your ass.”

  Her hand flies to her mouth. “I’m not having that discussion tonight, Alexander.”

  I shove my hands into the front pocket of my jeans. “You’ve made that clear, Olivia. I’ll make it clear that I think you have an incredible ass. It’s merely an observation, not a prelude to a discussion you’re not ready to have yet.”

  She ponders that for a second. “I could go for something sweet. Do you want to get ice cream?”

  If I were Alvin’s age, I’d be all over the idea of ice cream at midnight, but my tastes lean toward other things at this time of night.

  The taste of her cunt and the sound of her cries as she climaxes both top my list of things I want.

  It’s not my choice though. I’ve been encouraging her all night to take the lead. I’m not going to shift the balance now. “Ice cream it is.”

  She darts toward the street. “We need a cab.”

  I move too, circling one arm around her from behind. I rest my hand on her stomach, leaning in so I can whisper into her ear. “If we walk a block over, we’ll have an easier time finding one.”

  Her body relaxes as her hand finds mine. She holds it in place. “After we have ice cream, I’ll need to go home.”

  “You’ll want to go home,” I correct her as I run my lips over the shell of her ear. “You’ll insist on going home alone.”

  She nods silently.

  “You’ll think about me when you get there.” I splay my fingers and press her against me. I know she can feel my erection. Hell, I want her to feel how hard I am for her.

  “I won’t,” she says quietly.

  “You will.” I step closer to her. I’m so close that nothing separates the two of us but our clothing.

  Her ass wiggles against me. “Will you think about me?”

  I nuzzle closer to her, trailing my lips over the side of her neck. “I’ll fall asleep thinking of you. I’ll wake up thinking about you.”

  My cock aches for her. I’ll jerk off to thoughts of her before I sleep. I’ll have to.

  Her head falls back against my shoulder. “Tonight has been…”

  “A great first step.” I slide my hand up her body, between her breasts until I cup it around the front of her neck.

  Tilting it back, I glide my lips over her cheek.

  “Alexander.” My name is barely more than a whisper on her lips.

  A sudden burst of noise pulls her away from me. We both turn to the source. It’s a group of people exiting the club behind us. They’re singing at the top of their lungs.

  “Can we skip the ice cream?” She looks up and into my face. “I think I need to call it a night.”

  I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “I understand. Let’s get a cab and I’ll take you home.”

  Just as we’re about to cross the street, a taxi rounds the corner.

  “I’ll grab that one.” Her hand flies into the air. “I can make it home from here on my own.”

  I reach to open the back passenger door once the taxi stops. She slips in before I can say anything. “I’ll talk to you soon, Olivia.”

  “Soon,” she repeats back, her gaze meeting mine. “Thank you for tonight, Alexander.”

  I nod before I turn to the driver. “Broadway and Eighty-first.”

  “Got it,” he calls back as I shut the car’s door. It pulls away from the curb, abruptly ending a night I’ll never forget.

  Chapter 22

  Olivia

  I hear Kate’s door open before I can get into my apartment. I curse under my breath. I was hoping she’d be fast asleep by now.

  “You’re alone,” she says, disappointment edging her tone. “Alexander didn’t want to come home with you?”

  I turn and face her, taking in her freshly washed face and red pajamas. “I didn’t want him to come home with me.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  I motion for her to follow me into my apartment. Once we’re both inside, I lock the door and turn on the lights.

  My keys land next to my purse on my coffee table.

  “Do you want anything?” I ask as I walk to the kitchen, kicking off my boots on my way. “I can get you some water or juice.”

  “I’m good,” she calls to me.

  I grab a bottle of chilled water from my fridge and press the cold plastic to my neck. I feel flush. I know that it has nothing to do with the fact that the cab driver had the heat turned to high in his car.

  He explained that he just moved to Manhattan from Florida and he can’t tolerate the cold temperatures.

  It’s not cold. It was barely chilly tonight, but I withstood the heat blasting into my face as he drove me home.

  I crack open the lid of the bottle and take a large swallow.

  I want to shower and crawl into bed, but I know that Kate’s dying to know what happened between Alexander and me tonight.

  I can’t explain any of it, especially my reaction on the sidewalk outside the club. I was overcome with a raw need to be with him. The intensity surprised me so much that I got in the first cab I saw and ended the date.

  “I took him to the Pink Parlor,” I announce as I round the corner that leads to my l
iving room.

  “You did what?” She asks, adjusting a blanket my mom knit over her legs.

  “I didn’t think he’d be willing to sing, but he killed it.” I laugh.

  She moves to lie on her side, resting her head on the arm of the couch. “Classical music has lyrics?”

  I stifle a laugh. “His musical taste reaches beyond that.”

  “What did he sing?” She yawns.

  I do the same, covering my mouth with my hand. “Never Gonna Give You Up.”

  Surprise dances in her eyes. “You’re kidding?”

  I fall onto a red chair opposite the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. “I’m serious. It was amazing, Kate. He jumped right into it. He owned that song.”

  “I would have paid money to see that,” she says quietly. “Did you sing?”

  “Britney.” I shrug.

  “Classic.” She giggles. “You did me proud.”

  I take another sip of water as I watch her eyelids flutter shut. “We can pick this up tomorrow, Kate. You should get home and into bed.”

  “I’m fine.” She yawns again, tugging the blanket up to her neck. “Tell me what else you two did.”

  I look down at my hand, remembering what it felt like to hold Alexander’s. “He wanted pizza, but I told him that I was craving lobster rolls, so we went to that place in the Financial District. It was good. I had fun.”

  She doesn’t respond so I glance in her direction.

  Her eyes are closed, and a faint snoring sound is escaping from her throat every time she inhales.

  She’s fast asleep.

  I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I get up and tuck a pillow under her head, adjust the blanket so it’s covering her completely and I turn off the lights.

  “Goodnight, Kate,” I whisper before I kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

  ***

  “Did you have a hot date this weekend, Olivia?”

  What the…?

  I look up to see Sheryl standing in the doorway of my office. Considering that it’s Monday morning and not quite nine a.m., I’m shocked to see her here.

  My assistant almost always extends her weekend until at least eleven on Monday mornings.

  Today is an exception.

  She’s dressed in a navy blue skirt and white blouse.

  Great.

  We’re wearing matching outfits today.

  “You should have texted me to tell me what not to wear today, Sheryl.” I push back from my desk, stand and twirl in place. “We look like bookends.”

  “You’re thirty years younger than me and your curves are still all in the right places. “She mimics grabbing her breasts near her stomach. “If I weren’t wearing an extra supportive Liore bra, I’d be arrested for indecency.”

  I laugh. “Why are you here so early?”

  “Can I sit?” She motions toward the two white chairs across from my desk.

  “Please.” I take a seat in my chair as she closes the door.

  She takes a moment to situate herself, carefully crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt. She slides her eyeglasses down her nose as she peers over them at me.

  “Are you moving to London?” She points to the laptop on my desk. “I saw the email that Human Resources sent you on Friday afternoon.”

  I saw it too right before I left the office.

  It was the invitation to submit my interest in the position in London. I read through it quickly and then dashed out to help at the store on Fifth Avenue.

  I plan to take some time this afternoon to read it over again.

  “I’ll submit my application, but I have no idea if I’ll get the position,” I answer honestly. “I hope I do.”

  “I read the fine print and it says that when it comes to hiring an assistant, you make the call.” She jerks a thumb toward herself. “I know someone who works well with you and would love the opportunity to work in the London office.”

  “You’d move to London to be my assistant?” I’m surprised. I’m actually shocked that she’d consider a life-changing move across the globe.

  Sheryl is single. Her divorce was finalized years before we met. Her son and his wife live in Montana with their two young kids. Her daughter is studying at a college in Georgia.

  I assumed that she had roots in New York City that would keep her here until she retired.

  “I’m due for something new,” she tells me. “I’ve always imagined living in London or Paris. If I don’t do it soon, that ship will sail away without me.”

  I nod, processing everything she just said. “If I get the job in London, I’d want you there beside me, but I might not get it. A lot of people are applying for it.”

  “You’d be surprised by how few people were invited to apply for it, Olivia.” She tosses me a wink. “I have a friend in HR. We met for coffee yesterday and she let a few things slip about the London job.”

  I resist the urge to question her more because I don’t want to compromise my chances. The less I know about what she talked about with her HR friend, the better. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that I land the job.”

  “Me too.” She crosses her index finger over the middle one. “Back to my original question.”

  “Which was?” I grin.

  “Did you have a date this weekend?”

  I don’t confide in Sheryl when it comes to my personal life, but that hasn’t stopped her from poking around trying to uncover every small detail she can about it.

  Since I don’t see the harm in sharing, I answer truthfully. “I had a date on Saturday night.”

  “With him?” Her smile widens.

  “Who?” I toss back with an even wider smile.

  “Alexander Donato,” she says his name slowly as if she needs to pronounce it clearly so I don’t mistake it for another man’s name.

  Considering I haven’t gone on a date in a couple of months, there’s no confusion regarding the single and available men in my life.

  Right now, Alexander is the only one on my radar.

  I pick up a pen from my desk and twirl it in my fingers. “Yes.”

  “He likes you, Olivia.” She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “I hope you like him too.”

  I do. I like him a lot.

  Chapter 23

  Alexander

  It’s been three days since I’ve seen Olivia.

  I don’t buy into the idea that a man has to wait a prescribed amount of time to text or call a woman after a date.

  I would have been fine calling Olivia as soon as I got home on Saturday night, but she needed space. The swift end to our date was proof of that.

  She got in the taxi before I had to chance to kiss her goodnight.

  I wasn’t pissed.

  I went home and jerked off in the shower. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. I woke up Sunday morning on a high.

  That carried me through the day as I hung out with Phoebe and Alvin.

  I’ve been working since then. Long rehearsals have eaten up the last two days, but it’s been worth it.

  The pride I take in guiding a talented group of musicians to the soaring heights of a piece of well-crafted music is unmatched.

  I watch from my perch in the center of the stage as the orchestra thins. Each member has his or her own post-rehearsal routine.

  Some of them dart out of the building; others take their time packing up their instrument.

  Isla Foster falls somewhere in the middle.

  She’s a petite blonde with a level of talent I’ve rarely seen.

  Her love of the violin is evident in each note she plays.

  “Good job today, Alexander.” She approaches me with her violin case in her hand. “You’re one of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

  It’s a compliment I don’t take lightly. “Thank you, Isla.”

  Her face softens as she smiles. “If I had a vote, I’d want you to stay on in a permanent capacity.”

  I’ve heard the same from two of her colleagues.
/>   New York has always been home to me. For years I wanted this job more than my next breath, but that’s not the case anymore.

  “Gabriel can’t stop talking about opening night.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “My husband may be your biggest fan.”

  “My sister would have something to say about that.”

  “We’d let them argue that on their own.”

  Before I can respond, her phone chimes. She glances down at the large black purse slung over her shoulder. “That’s Gabriel. He texts me after every rehearsal to tell me what a great job I did.”

  I smile at that.

  “I tell him that he has no idea whether I killed it or butchered it.” She scoops her phone out of her purse. Her eyes scan the screen. “My husband is predictable, but not in the ways that really matter.”

  I read between the lines. They’re an affectionate couple. Both times I’ve seen them together, his focus has been on her.

  She types something into her phone before she gazes at my face again. “I won’t keep you, Alexander, but I just wanted to say how much I love working with you.”

  “I’m enjoying it too, Isla.” I give her a curt nod.

  “There’s one other thing.” She studies her phone, not making eye contact with me.

  “What’s that?” I ask with a quirk of my brow.

  “You have perfect pitch.” She turns her phone’s screen toward me before she starts playing an Instagram video of me in the Pink Parlor, singing to my heart’s content.

  “I try.”

  She laughs. “I need to get Gabriel down there. Every time he sings in the shower, I melt into a puddle. I’d love to watch him on a stage like that.”

  I huff out a laugh at the thought of Gabriel Foster at a karaoke bar letting loose.

  “There’s another video that the Pink Parlor posted the other day.” Her fingers skim the screen of her phone again. “Gabriel said this woman works for him. Olivia Hull. She’s gorgeous and she can sing almost as well as you.”

  I watch intently as the video captures less than ten seconds of Olivia’s performance. Her body moves fluidly to the music. She’s stunning.