I was glad to hear that. I wanted Sophie to be successful. I might not want to hear every single detail of their progress, but I’d sure be her biggest cheerleader if their invention got traction.
“It’s the same thing with shoes,” Ethan said.
I looked at him in confusion along with everyone else.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Do you know the physiological damage done by wearing high heels?”
I had a feeling he was going to explain it to us.
“Dude,” Bryce said. “Don’t talk them out of high heels.”
“You’re willing to risk permanent ankle injury so your girlfriend looks sexy?”
Bryce didn’t seem to know how to answer that.
“It’s okay,” Sophie said to Bryce, patting his arm. “We can risk the ankle damage.”
I didn’t exactly disagree with Ethan. But as a woman who’d only just jumped into the sexy shoe world, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having them suddenly go out of fashion.
“I’m just saying—” Ethan began.
“That looks don’t matter,” Sophie said. “Well, I don’t believe you. If looks didn’t matter to men, women wouldn’t go to all the trouble.”
“You dress for each other,” Ethan said.
“That’s not true,” I said.
I had it on good authority, James’s authority, that men liked glamorous women.
“Studies have confirmed it,” Ethan said.
“You’ll have to show me those studies,” Sophie said. “Pizza will be here in twenty minutes.”
I was glad of that, too.
I was hungry, and I was hoping we’d break out some kind of alcoholic beverage.
Ethan turned his attention to his phone.
“Are we making margaritas?” I asked Sophie.
She looked regretful. “Do you mind beer? Bryce brought some imported beer.”
“Sure,” I said.
Beer didn’t strike me as strong enough, since I was pretty certain Ethan was looking up the studies that showed women dressed for each other.
I wasn’t going through all this to impress other women.
I wanted to impress men, men like James.
I wanted to impress James.
Oh, man. This was getting bad.
I really needed that margarita.
Five
I felt like a movie star.
The feeling lasted for about thirty seconds. And then I felt like an impostor.
I’d never had my hair professionally styled before. I mean, sure, I’d had it cut plenty of times. But I’d never gone to a hairstylist to get it put up for a special event—not even the day I was supposed to be Brooklyn’s bridesmaid.
I’d found myself liking Naomi’s sister Madeline. She was upbeat and positive, and she pushed me just enough to be adventurous without completely freaking me out.
I’d gone back to her a second time, and she’d done an amazing job on my hair. It was soft around my face and gathered in a loose braid that somehow swirled into a messy bun at the back of my head. The new highlights really showed up under my bathroom lights and seemed to give it added texture.
Madeline had talked me into a mani-pedi—a new experience for me.
I’d thought about pedicures on a few spa days. But I preferred a good deep-tissue massage to almost anything else. I once had a facial, but I wasn’t wild about them.
Now my finger-and toenails were perfectly shaped, perfectly even, and shimmering with a subtle purple Madeline had called oyster mauve. I was almost afraid to use my hands.
I didn’t have a lot of jewelry to choose from, and the outfit seemed to need something more dramatic than my usual studs or hoops. I searched the bottom of my jewelry box and found a set of long dangling crystal chain earrings with a matching necklace. They worked, and I was set.
Thank goodness.
I only had five minutes to spare.
I carefully strapped on the exotic shoes James had bought for me. I’d never owned four-inch heels before. They were sharp black on the soles, silver on the inner heel, with silver straps dotted with white and purple crystals.
They were wild.
I stood up in them and practiced my new walking style. For a few seconds, I felt wild.
Then I was back to impostor again.
I took one last glimpse in my full-length mirror, telling myself I could do this. I could go out in public and nobody would guess this wasn’t really me.
My stomach started jumping in protest, but there was a knock on my door, and I had no choice but to go.
I opened the door to James.
His eyes widened a bit and he sucked in a breath. It was hard to tell what that meant.
First I wondered if he was reacting to me. And then I wondered if he was actually looking past me into my apartment. He’d never been here before. And Sophie told me all the time that “early industrial” was not going to impress people.
Brooklyn’s place had always been tasteful, up-to-date and immaculate. It stood to reason that James would prefer elegance to utilitarianism.
“Hi,” I finally said to break the awkward silence.
“You...”
I glanced over my shoulder. “I know it’s a bit unusual. But it’s quite functional.”
“Huh?” he asked.
“My place,” I said, gesturing. “I know it’s ugly.”
He looked over my shoulder for a beat. Then he looked directly at me.
“You did it,” he said.
“Did what?”
He gestured up and down. “That is some transformation.”
Oh, we weren’t talking about my apartment. That was probably good.
“Where are your glasses?” He moved closer. “You got contacts?” He broke into a smile. “That a girl. I’m impressed.”
“They feel weird in my eyes.” I would admit it wasn’t as bad today as the first few days.
“Well, they look great.”
“Thanks. You look good, too.” I shook myself out of my self-absorption.
He looked fantastic.
His hair was different, too.
I took it in, did a walk-around, and came back to face him.
“The hair looks good.” It was shorter on the sides, looking updated instead of classic.
And he’d let the stubble grow out on his chin, giving him a more rakish look, a dangerous look. I found myself wanting to reach out and stroke his face to see what it felt like.
I resisted the urge.
He held out his arms. “The haircut cost a lot less than the tux.”
“The tux is off the charts.”
His shirt was crisp white. His tie was straight, black with subtle inlaid gray diamonds. We’d gone with my choice on the suit fabric, onyx rather than jet-black. The style looked even better on James than it had on the model in the picture.
James had a perfect physique, tall with broad shoulders, a deep chest and what looked certain to be washboard abs.
I felt a rush of attraction. It felt unnervingly like arousal. I feared my face might be getting flushed with it.
“So, worth the money?” he asked, gesturing to the tux.
“I don’t know what you paid, but I see a long lineup of eligible ladies in your future.” I didn’t like the picture, but I was more than sure it would be true.
He grinned. “Let’s hope so. Do you need to get a coat?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have anything that’ll go with this dress. I’ll have to hope the ballroom is heated.”
“There’ll be five hundred people there. I think you can count on it being warm. And I’ll tell the driver to turn up the heat.”
“You’re not driving your new baby tonight?”
“The theme tonight is Mardi Gras. I see some
drinks in my future.”
“I could get into a hurricane,” I said.
I was definitely partial to fruit juices, rum and blended ice.
I stepped into the hall and locked the door behind him.
“Love the shoes,” James said.
“You better.”
He’d given me some say in the shoes, but he’d definitely been the one to push for higher heels and the sparkle look.
“I have very good taste.” He gazed down for a moment. “And you have even better feet.”
“I had professional help,” I said. “With the hair, too.”
“It all looks good, very chic, very swanky. I predict a lineup of men wanting to dance with you.”
We started for the staircase.
“I just hope I don’t fall off the shoes,” I said.
“A gentleman would hold you up.” As he spoke, we came to the top of the staircase.
He offered me his arm.
I took it.
I had no desire to ruin the evening by falling down a flight of stairs.
His arm was strong and warm and reassuring. It felt like I was steadying myself against an immovable plank of wood.
I slid my opposite hand along the railing and felt completely secure all the way down.
We started across the foyer, but he stopped in the middle.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“Mind what?”
“Just standing there for a minute.”
I wondered for a second if he’d brought me a corsage. Then I wondered if it would ruin the line of my dress. Then I told myself I was being ungrateful.
If James had gone to the trouble to bring me a corsage, I was going to smile and thank him, then pin it on my dress no matter what color it might be.
He stepped away from me.
I wondered where he might have hidden the florist box.
But to my surprise, he walked around me in a circle, looking, watching, making me feel incredibly self-conscious.
“Well?” I asked as he completed the circle. I felt stupidly nervous and impatient.
“I hate to say it.”
“Just spit it out.”
If the outfit wasn’t working, there was nothing I could do about it now. It wasn’t like I had a closet of clothes back upstairs that I could wear to the ball. Like Cinderella, I only had one gown.
“We might be finished.”
“For the night?” Maybe I didn’t look perfect, but I thought I looked pretty good. I wasn’t wild about undoing it all before anybody else even saw the effort.
“Finished making you over.” He came closer. His voice went sexy low. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
I opened my mouth to say I didn’t want the evening to be over this soon, but then his words penetrated.
“Wait, what?”
“You,” he repeated. “Are perfect. Even your walk. The law of large numbers is going to be massively in your favor tonight. You’ll probably fall in love.”
I coughed out a laugh. “That’s really not what I thought you were going to say.”
“Well, that’s what’s true.”
“It’s a huge exaggeration. But it’s nice of you to say so.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
He offered me his arm again.
I took it.
I didn’t need it anymore. But I liked holding on to him. I liked the feeling of connection.
He was my partner in crime, after all. He shared my secret, and he was helping me make my life better. It stood to reason those things would make me feel close to him.
* * *
“Wow,” I said.
“You do go well with the room,” James said.
“I’m afraid I might disappear.”
Perimeter lights in the hotel ballroom glowed purple. Icicles of glass crystal hung in streamers from the ceiling. The cloths on stand-up tables were mauve, while tall, bulbous arrangements of white roses picked up the surrounding colors.
A quintet played on a low stage at one end, jazzy piano music wafting over the voices in the big room. Hundreds of people were already there, mixing and mingling, looking impressive in their formal clothes.
“Do you do this a lot?” I asked.
I would have stopped and stared, probably with my mouth hanging open.
But James kept walking. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Does your firm send you to parties like this all the time?”
“Never,” he said.
My steps faltered for a moment. “Are we crashing?”
James stopped. “What? No. I bought tickets. But I don’t usually like this kind of thing.”
“I never do this kind of thing.”
“Buck up, Nat. It’s good as a test-drive.”
I silently reminded myself why we were here and what we were doing.
I’d started feeling like this was a date.
It wasn’t a date. I was James’s wing-person, and he was mine.
I glanced around as we walked and noticed how many women were surreptitiously checking him out.
“Do you see that?” he asked.
“I sure do.”
“They’re impressed.”
“They are definitely impressed.” More and more women turned to watch him.
I leaned in closer to his ear. “It’s the tux.”
“The tux?”
“Yes.” I knew it was more than just the tux. It was absolutely the man inside the tux. But I wanted James to know he was getting his money’s worth on the purchase.
“They’re not looking at me,” he said.
“They’re absolutely looking at you—all of you, the whole package of you.”
“The men?”
“What men?”
“The men who are staring at you.”
“Nobody’s staring at me. I’m talking about the women. There are a dozen women looking at you right now.”
“Well, there are two dozen men looking at you. One of them just pointed.”
I threw James a subtle elbow. “Ha ha.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
I moved my attention from the women to the men in the area.
It was true. A few of them were looking my way.
I didn’t buy the pointing thing, but it was gratifying to know my dress was working.
“You’re getting your money’s worth out of the dress, too,” I said.
“I’m not getting my money’s worth. It’s them who are getting my money’s worth. Which, when I think about it, isn’t really fair, it is?”
I could hear the smile in his voice.
“You want to stand back and point at me?” I asked in an equally teasing tone.
“I think I should abandon you.”
I didn’t know how to take that. “What? Are you annoyed about something?”
“So they can approach you, Nat. None of them are going to ask you to dance with me standing here.”
I could see his point. But I wasn’t exactly ready to be left alone here.
“Maybe in a few minutes,” I said.
“You can do it.”
“No. I can’t. I really don’t think I—”
He was walking away.
“James.” I didn’t want to shout.
No, scratch that. I did want to shout. I wanted to shout at him to get back here and help me. This wasn’t our deal. My wingman wasn’t supposed to fly off in the first thirty seconds.
But he was gone, swallowed by the crowd of people.
I stood still for a few minutes, wondering how not to look like an interloper.
Conversational groups surrounded me, two and three, some groups of up to six people. They seemed to know each other. They were chatting and laughing.
> I wanted to sprint for the exit.
I thought about taking temporary refuge in the ladies’ room. But then I ordered myself to buck up. I couldn’t hide and meet men at the same time.
The law of large numbers. That’s why I was here.
I caught sight of a bar lineup and decided it was a halfway measure. Lining up for a drink wasn’t the same as hiding, and it would give me something to do other than standing here looking pathetically lonely.
I joined the longest line, hoping it would take a while.
The man in front of me turned.
He was about five-ten, dark blond hair, a very nice suit and a friendly face.
I smiled at him. “Hello.”
He nodded. “Hi. Are you from the hospital?”
I wondered if I looked like a nurse. “The hospital?”
“St. Michaels...the recipient of tonight’s fundraising.”
“Oh.”
Well, didn’t I feel stupid. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask James about the event. I was too focused on my dress and shoes.
“My date is with O’Neil Nybecker,” I said.
Then I realized I’d just told him I had a date. Perfect. I was really starting off with a bang here.
“You haven’t made it very far,” a woman said to him, arriving to link arms with him.
“You were fast, sweetheart,” he said to her.
He turned to me. “This is...”
“I’m Nat Remington. I was just saying my date is with O’Neil Nybecker.”
Since he wasn’t single, I was definitely glad to have claim to a date. I didn’t want this man’s date to get the wrong idea about me. I wasn’t poaching.
“Nice to meet you,” the woman said with a friendly smile. “Harold is on the St. Michaels board.”
The man held his hand out to me. “Harold Schmidt.”
I shook his hand. “Hello, Harold.”
The line moved.
“Here we go,” I said.
“Ah, yes. This is better,” he said.
They both turned to move a few steps.
A man in line directly behind me spoke up. “Did I hear you say O’Neil Nybecker?”
I turned to look at him.
He was younger, maybe in his early twenties. He was clean-shaven, tall and fit. His hair was close cropped on the sides, shaved almost bald, while it was long at the top, thick and fluffed up.
The Dating Dare (Gambling Men Book 2) Page 7
