by Sarina Bowen
“Wow!” Georgia says. “I’m glad you decided it was time to wear that one.”
“I know, right?” I give it a little shake. “I hope it’s dressy enough. Nate asked me to have drinks with him before this shindig starts. He’s meeting his old friend before the party starts, and he says…” I pull out my phone and squint at it, as my head gives a stab. “Stick close because I don’t want to talk business. Alex wants to pick my pocket on the router division.”
Lauren laughs. “Oh, Nate. Way to handle it like a grown-up.”
“I met Alex once a long time ago,” I tell her. I’m betting Lauren knows more, though. “Do you think Nate has a thing for her? Is there another angle here? Am I supposed to make her jealous or something?”
“No!” Lauren says quickly. “There’s nothing between those two. Nate doesn’t want to get an offer from Alex on the router division because he thinks he can get a better deal if someone else offers first.”
“Oh, okay…” Hmm. “Tonight just got so much less interesting than I thought it was. Too bad I’m not supposed to drink. Georgia—come here, honey. Let me fix your mascara.”
My friend turns around. “Did I goof it up?”
“Not yet, baby doll. But you’re probably going to. Let Auntie Becca do that.”
“You have no confidence in me!” Georgia wails. But then she hands over the mascara wand.
“I have every confidence in you! Except when it comes to fashion and makeup.” I love the girl to death but she’s a jock, the poor thing. Her idea of lipstick is the year-old Chapstick in the pocket of her winter coat.
After saving Georgia’s face, I put on my dress. Somehow I end up standing side by side with my rival in the mirror. Lauren is tall and willowy. She’s wearing a blue silk dress that our star goalie actually picked out for her in a boutique when they were together. She looks like a goddamn movie star.
We are a study in contrasts. I’m about five inches shorter, for starters. I’m the short, curvy friend. When I found this dress in an antiques shop in Brooklyn, I chose it for its shape. It’s nipped in at the waist, like me, but with plenty of room for my boobs. My figure was very popular in the 1950s. Now? Not so much.
Come on now, I coach myself. Chin up. Tonight is my chance to have a little fun. Maybe I’ll meet a cute basketball player and hook up.
A girl can dream.
“You know…” Lauren frowns at me in the mirror. “Maybe you’re on to something. Occasionally I get a vibe off of Alex, like she might have a thing for Nate. But I could be wrong. And lord knows Nate might not even notice. That man is pretty sharp about everyone’s motivations, and a total dunce when it comes to himself.”
She rolls her eyes in the mirror, and I have a moment of sympathy for the bossman. “Did you ever meet Juliet, his ex?”
“No! You?” Lauren adjusts an earring, and our eyes meet in the mirror. She looks utterly intrigued. Apparently Nate’s not the only one who enjoys gossip.
“Of course I did. She was around a lot in the early days. Nate didn’t travel as much the first year I worked with him, and their offices were walking distance apart. She would bring by dinner for him sometimes. They were a cute couple.” At least at first.
“It’s hard to picture Nate as half a couple,” Lauren admits.
“He was, though,” I argue. I feel the urge to defend him. “He was devoted—the kind of fiancé who wants to help plan the wedding. They were going with a Doctor Who theme, with TARDIS on top of the cake…”
Lauren snorts, but I’d found the whole thing adorable. Whimsical. He’d been devoted to her.
Until she threw it all in his face.
I turn away from the mirror and admire Georgia’s new pink dress, and the conversation turns to the team’s playoff chances and to the merits of different-sized round brushes for blowdrying hair.
Nothing recharges the batteries like a little girl-to-girl chitchat.
“Hold this?” Georgia says, handing off her wine glass so she can step into her heels. “God, I hate heels. How do you do it?” she asks me.
“I’m a short girl. I’ve been practicing since puberty.”
There’s a knock on the door. I’m about to call out a greeting when Nate’s voice says, “Lauren?”
“Hang on!” she answers, setting down her round brush.
“We need a minute!” I holler. “We’re not decent!”
It’s a total lie, and so everyone laughs as Lauren pulls the door open. Nate stands there, a bow tie in his hand. “Come in,” Lauren encourages.
Looking a little shell-shocked, he takes in the scene of our pre-party—the food on the table and wine. His eyes snag on me, and for some reason he scowls. “I’ve been on the phone with Silicon Valley all day. Didn’t know there was a party next door.”
“You poor, poor thing,” I croon. I skip over to take the tie out of his hand. “Did you really just knock on Lauren’s door because you can’t tie a bow tie?”
If I’m not mistaken, he blushes. “I hate tuxes.” His gaze drops to the glass in my hand. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink?”
Uh-oh. I open my mouth to declare my innocence, but Georgia takes the glass from my hand. “She’s holding that for me so I could try on these shoes.”
“That’s the truth, officer,” I say. “Now come closer so I can do this right.” I hold up the tie.
Nate hesitates for just a second, and I wonder if the man doubts my bow-tie abilities. But then he steps closer and lifts his chin.
I raise the collar on his shirt and slip the silk around it. Up close, Nate’s scent is familiar—clean laundry and shaving soap. I take a deep breath and feel energized. “So, about this thing tonight,” I say, fussing with the tie. I’m a little short for this job so Nate stoops down a little to help me reach. “Am I your buffer for the whole evening? Or just the beginning part?”
“Just for drinks,” he says in a rough voice. “Alex can’t buttonhole me all evening. She’ll have to work the room for her charitable cause.”
“Awesome!” I tie it carefully, then tug the two sides of the bow into place, and then adjust them. I’ve done good work here. “I want to dance with basketball players. They’re probably quick on their feet.”
Nate frowns. “It’s almost time to meet Alex downstairs.”
“I know, slave driver. Let me grab my clutch.” I step over to my manicure toolbox and snap it shut. “Can I leave my things here for now?” I tuck the case under a luggage rack.
“Of course,” Lauren says quickly. “Have fun.”
I grab my clutch—a sequined little thing I found at a flea market—and slip into my red pumps—only two-inch heels, because a girl with balance issues needs to play it safe. With a wave to the girls, I follow Nate out the door. “Cheer up, boss,” I chatter as Nate hits the elevator button. “We’re at a beach, and my handbag sparkles. It’s going to be a good night.”
His face softens. “Fine. I’ll try to have a good time. I haven’t seen Alex in a couple months, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Busy.” He shrugs. “Her office is twenty blocks from mine. But we haven’t made the time.”
As the elevator descends toward the lobby, I realize something important about my own life—something I don’t usually appreciate. It’s scary sometimes to worry about money and making ends meet. But I have freedoms Nate doesn’t enjoy. When I clock out of work, it’s over. I’m free to see friends and think about anything that strikes my fancy.
I give my boss a sideways glance, studying his serious expression. Nate is never off the clock. No matter what the hour, he’s always the last stop on the decision train for a company of several thousand people and a gazillion shareholders.
Being ordinary has its perks. Strange but true.
The elevator doors part on the spacious lobby. I fail, however, to make a grand entrance. The motion of the elevator has disoriented me, so that I have to grab the wall for a moment before I dare step out in my heels.
Flats would have been the way to go, I suppose.
“Everything okay?” Nate asks quietly.
I glance up into his face; I see worry there. “Totally fine. This is just a temporary setback.” When I smile at him, it’s easy. I’m not faking my optimism this time. I’m going to crush this vestibular problem and make it cry.
Just as soon as I get out of this elevator.
Nate offers me his arm, and I take it without complaint. He feels sturdy, and I appreciate him more right this second than maybe ever before.
Also, he smells nice.
We make our way across the grand lobby spaces at a leisurely pace. The benefit has commandeered the back patio of the hotel. A sign is already warning hotel guests away from the private event. (Ticketholders only beyond this point!) There are enormous white curtains hanging from two stories up and velvet ropes dividing the black-tie partygoers from the mere mortals. At a thousand dollars a head, I suppose the attendees ought to feel special.
A tux-wearing bouncer unhooks a velvet rope to let us pass. “Good evening, sir. The event manager is just inside if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Nate says as we pass.
On the other side of the curtains, the hotel lobby just…stops. Giant glass doors have been pushed apart to reveal a swimming pool with an “infinite edge,” its water lapping at the travertine tiles that surround it. Around the pool is a lawn, which gives way to the beach.
In the distance, the beach has been roped off, and there are already two security guards posted down there as sentries. No ruffians shall invade the party.
The guests aren’t here yet, though. I see only staff, and one woman alone in an asymmetrical designer dress. Alex.
She’s waiting at the far end of the lawn, on a barstool, alone. Alex is beautiful in that effortless way that rich women are. There’s probably a whole team of specialists who maintain her honeyed hair color and her wardrobe. As we approach, she regards us with cool, intelligent eyes. “Hey stranger,” she says when we’re within a conversational distance. She slides off the stool and steps forward to give Nate a hug.
“Hey!” He gives her a squeeze. “You remember Rebecca?”
Alex steps back and gives me an actual frown. “Oh. Rebecca. The receptionist.”
“Office manager,” I say immediately. And then I regret it just as quickly. I really don’t need to argue with one of Nate’s oldest friends. But the message behind her chilly stare is unmistakable. You are not welcome here, it says. “I run the Brooklyn Bruisers’ offices these days,” I add, trying to soften my contradiction.
“I see.” She shakes my hand stiffly. “That explains why I haven’t seen you in a while. But now I remember—Nate moved you to Brooklyn and promoted Lauren Williams. Great girl, Lauren.”
“Right,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice light. “She’s the best.”
Nate’s eyes widen slightly. Then he puts an arm around me. It’s just friendly, but I can actually see Alex’s eyes narrow. “Rebecca has had a rough couple of weeks. I invited her tonight to cheer her up.”
“Oh?” Alex tosses her hair. It’s blond and silky. She looks like a shampoo commercial.
“Head injury,” Nate babbles. “Did you know the inner ear can be knocked out of whack? The treatment plan involves time on a trampoline and spinning in an office chair.”
“How stimulating,” Alex says, sipping from a cocktail. Her expression suggests that someone kicked her puppy. I have a feeling that I’m the puppy-kicker in this scenario. But hell if I know why.
For his part, Nate ignores Alex’s weirdly cool tone. He waves at the bartender, who’s stocking the place, readying himself for the coming onslaught. “What are you drinking?” Nate asks Alex. He points at her glass, which seems to contain a gin and tonic, or maybe vodka. Something clear and probably expensive. They serve top-shelf liquor at these benefits. No cheaping out on the rich benefactors.
“I’m good for now,” she says. “But there are specialty cocktails for our event. You might want to try…” she reaches for a menu on the bar. “The Brooklyn Bubbly. Champagne, apricot nectar, and orange blossom water. There’s a cute cocktail named after each of our teams.”
“Until tomorrow,” Nate says, with a dry laugh. “Tomorrow night they’ll just name the same drink after some other rich guy’s hobby.”
Alex smacks his arm. “It’s too early in the evening to be that cynical.”
“It’s never too early to be this cynical.” He brushes the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.
“You clean up nice,” Alex teases him. She’s turned her back to me entirely. “Is the bow tie a clip-on?”
“Of course not!” I yelp. “I tied it.”
But apparently I do not exist. Alex doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve spoken.
And why did I enter the fray, anyway? This is not my fight. If she’s pissed off at Nate, I don’t even need to know why. I kick off my heels and tuck them under a barstool. The grass feels nice beneath my feet, and my balance improves immediately.
Nate scans the offerings behind the bar. “Hey, Bec! They have that ginger beer you like.”
Alex’s eyes narrow again, but Nate ignores her, ordering a soda for me and Macallan 18 for himself.
The drinks come, and Alex steers the conversation toward ye olde college days, when she and Nate were twenty and struggling with their grades. “I got you through that French poetry class,” she says. “Admit it.”
“That you did.”
I watch the waves lap the sand in the distance and wonder when Georgia will arrive.
11
Nate
Well, this is awkward. Alex is in a snit, and I don’t know why.
Tonight her eyes are bright, but sharper than usual. Alex is cunning, and she never shuts that off. But she’s not usually bitchy to other women.
Even though Becca seems to be shrugging it off, I’m annoyed. And my gut says Alex’s misbehavior has nothing to do with making a play for my router division. She hasn’t mentioned business once.
Maybe she’s pissed off that she lost a bet to me? But that’s just wishful thinking. Like me, Alex is a hardcore businesswoman. She knows how to take risks, and how to move on when they don’t work out.
There’s a third possibility, but I don’t like it much. The last time I saw Alex was in March. We were both at a big tech conference in Las Vegas. After a steak dinner we got uncharacteristically drunk in her hotel suite. I was operating on only a few hours of sleep. That’s the night we made the bet on the napkin, which resulted in this charity benefit.
It’s also the only time I ever slept with Alex.
“God, that was dumb,” she’d mumbled at about four in the morning. “What were we thinking?”
I’d muttered an awkward apology as I’d pulled on my pants and fished the condom wrapper off the floor. For a dozen years we’d avoided doing that, and suddenly I knew why. Alex and I have no chemistry. At all. None.
In my defense, she started it. But I should have known better.
“Didn’t you bring a date tonight?” I ask Alex now, trying to stay present. “Where’s…” I search my memory, but can’t come up with a name. Two weeks after our stupid hookup, Alex had made a point to tell me she was dating someone new. I’d taken that as a good sign—and as a friendly gesture meant to put me at ease so we could get past our moment of idiocy.
I thought we’d gotten past it, anyway.
“…Jared?” she supplies. Then she makes a face. “I tossed him overboard last month. It’s not going to work out.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it. Alex faces the same challenges meeting people that I do. She can’t really trust anyone. Only it’s slightly harder on her because she’s actually trying to date. A couple of years ago she confided in me that she wanted to get married before age thirty-three, so she can have a baby before thirty-five. As if matrimony were another business goal we could run past a team of analysts for evaluation.
But there are n
o flow charts for getting married. Poor Alex.
She waves a dismissive hand. “No big deal. There’s other fish in the sea.” But her laugh is brittle.
Ouch. I flag down the bartender and order a second round. “Another ginger ale, Bec? And you never did tell me what you were drinking.” I point at Alex’s glass.
“Just a club soda, please. I need to stay sharp so I can hustle money from rich, older men.”
“I’m pretty sure you could do that drunk or sober.”
“Thanks.” She sighs.
Rebecca knocks back the dregs of her first drink and sets the glass on the bar. In contrast to Alex, Rebecca seems like her old self tonight. Her color is good and her eyes sparkle. She swings her feet on the barstool, and then tells me a terrible joke. “A ship carrying blue paint and a ship carrying red paint both crashed on an island. All the sailors were marooned.” She winks.
“Another Bingley special, right?”
“Indeed.” She’s lost that squinty expression of fear I saw on her face last week. I’m so ridiculously relieved. And it’s hard not to stare at her, particularly at the smooth curve of her shoulders in that strapless dress. All that skin, just begging to be kissed. The neckline of her dress is heart-shaped, and I just want to trace its outline with my tongue.
God, the things I want to do with her. What would she sound like when she was aroused?
Wearing tux trousers is a blessing right now.
I pick up my second glass of Scotch and make an effort to look Alex in the eye while she’s speaking to me. I hold up my end of the conversation. But it’s not easy. I used to do a better job of controlling myself in Rebecca’s presence. But ever since her accident I’m incredibly distracted. It’s not enough to know that she’s doing better. I’ve been spoiled by her company lately. It’s made me greedy for her.
Alex finishes telling me some bit of industry gossip she heard at a tech conference. For the first time ever I’m struggling for conversation with one of my oldest friends. Rebecca must feel it, too, because she slides off the barstool. “I want to feel the sand between my toes,” she says. “Shall we take a little walk before the ticketholders arrive?”
