by Lee, Nadia
Chapter Eight
Erin
When I come out of the bathroom, neither David nor Warren are where I left them. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit, too. Crap. I have no clue where I’m supposed to go now. I pull out my phone to text him.
–Me: Did the auction start?
–David: It’s about to, and I’m looking for you. Where are you?
–Me: Where we were talking with Warren and Shelly.
–David: Be there in a sec.
I put the phone away and look up to see David coming around the corner. He searches my face.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a little low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.” I don’t mention Warren and Shelly giving me a headache, since the low blood sugar part is true. And I didn’t have the courage to chase after the waitstaff.
“You should’ve said something. Let’s go to the auction, and I’ll have someone bring you a plate.”
We walk into a huge ballroom set up to hold the main event. Many of the chairs are already occupied, and a projector shows art pieces up for bidding to whet people’s appetites.
David and I take seats in the back. He signals one of the waiters. “Can you make a plate of hors d’oeuvres for my date? She hasn’t eaten anything.” He says it so smoothly, like he’s done it thousands of times before.
It’s oddly comforting and nice to be taken care of…and not be expected to appear pathetic and pitiable at the same time.
“Certainly, sir.” The waiter turns to me. “Any allergies? Or something you’d rather not have?”
“I’m okay with anything,” I say.
“Something to drink as well?”
“Champagne. It was really nice earlier.” I turn to my boss. “David, do you want anything?”
“Burgundy, if you have it,” he says. “Otherwise, any full-bodied red will do.”
“Certainly.” The waiter glides off.
“Thank you,” I say to David. “I would’ve never thought to ask. I didn’t know I could eat like that here.”
“My dates eat. I hope you feel better after you get some food in you.”
I nod, then look around a little—at the glittering chandeliers, a quartet occupying the stage and the people milling around, checking their phones and chatting. I lean over to David. “Are you going to buy anything?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m buying a piece for my grandma, and paying for it in her name. It’s her birthday present.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“Thanks, but it isn’t exactly my idea. She always asks us to make charitable donations in her name for her birthday. So that’s what I’m doing. Plus, I think she’ll like the piece. Very modern, very vivid, you know?” He points at the slide on the screen. “That one.”
I look at the image, the stark red and purple. The colors are eye-catching, but the patterns they make don’t seem to be anything easily understandable.
“Very Alexandra Darling,” David adds. “Especially the purple.”
I tilt my head a little, hoping to see something. But nope. It just looks like a bunch of splatters and lines.
This is why I probably won’t buy art even if I win the lottery. Or purchase one for anybody’s birthday.
“And the best thing is that the stuff I want will be up early, so we can cut this short if you want.” He lowers his voice. “I know I’m interrupting your weekend.”
“It’s okay. It’s my job.” Every article I read said it’s my responsibility to anticipate and meet my boss’s needs. Besides, it isn’t like I have something better to do. The training videos can wait.
“It’s not. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise.”
I don’t argue. Despite his seemingly nice, laid-back personality, David can be surprisingly stubborn. He always does what he wants. I wonder if Shelly is aware of that. If she is, she wouldn’t try to get him back when he obviously doesn’t care about her anymore.
The waiter returns with my plate and our drinks. I place the plate on my lap and start nibbling, while the auction starts.
The painting David wants is up first. I look up to see the opening bid, but a prickling sensation crawling on my back makes me turn, wondering if somebody’s staring at me.
My gaze collides with Warren’s. He’s staring at me like I’ve betrayed him, then cocks his head and glares at me… No. That’s not right. He’s glaring at David. I’ve seen that expression on Warren’s face before. It’s the look he gets when he thinks he’s losing something that should rightfully be his. He tosses back his drink, then mouths something at me.
I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s saying, and I don’t want to engage.
Warren’s eyes narrow. He makes a bid for the painting, then takes a swallow of some amber liquid in his hand. I put a canapé in my mouth and wonder what he’s up to. Does he really like the painting? Or is this about David?
Now I wish I hadn’t left the two men together. Something must’ve happened.
David lets out the sigh he always lets out when he’s mildly annoyed. “Five hundred.”
I almost do a double take. Half a million dollars? That’s a fortune!
David turns to look in Warren’s direction. Warren stays silent, and the painting goes to David. Relaxing, he leans back in his seat and sips his wine with a smile.
“Don’t you think you overpaid?” I ask. He might’ve done it to win against Warren. And I would hate it if that were the case. Unless I’m mistaken, the hostility between the two has to have something to do with me. Maybe Dad told Warren about the career-advancing potential I present, and Warren thought he could just dazzle me and get me back with promises, since I never told him the real reason I left him and Saintsville two years ago. And since I’m here as David’s date, he sees my boss as an obstacle.
David shakes his head. “It’s going to double in value in the next couple of years.”
My jaw slackens. “Double… Like it’s going to be worth a million?”
“At least.” David pushes my chin back up into place. “It’s an investment as well as a gift. Do you want to…” He trails off as another item comes on the stage.
I glance at what’s on offer now, wondering what could’ve snagged his attention.
It’s an oil painting of a silver-haired woman dancing with a handsome man in a European plaza with a water fountain behind them. Orange, purple and gold saturate the sunset, and the whole thing is simply gorgeous.
David bids on it instantly. Warren competes. I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s staring at me while throwing out numbers. Uncomfortable with the intensity in his gaze, I turn around then lean into David. “Who are you getting this for?” I whisper, wondering if we could just leave if it isn’t anything important.
“For my mom. I want her to know there are things she can look forward to and enjoy other than bouncing a baby on her knees.”
Ah. Guess he has to win this, then.
I can sense Warren staring at me, but I do my best to ignore him and finish the last item on my plate—a chocolate and cream parfait—and wash it down with the champagne. I’m here as David’s date. I shouldn’t care about Warren’s reaction.
David outbids Warren again. Not surprising, since I doubt Warren’s won the lottery in the last two years. His family is quite well off, but not well off enough to pay the kind of money David and some of the others in the room are throwing around.
After he’s declared the winner, David texts for a second, then puts his phone away. “You want to watch the rest or bail?”
“Are you sure? What if you want to get something else?” I ask, even though I do want to leave now. Warren’s stare has made me uneasy.
“I got two, and that’s enough. I already texted Elizabeth’s team to let them know I’ll wire the money early next week and arrange for delivery.”
I steal a glance Warren’s way. He’s studying whatever’s on the stage, his eyes narrowed. Hopefully
he wants to win this next item and won’t follow us out. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
I start to stand with my plate.
“Just leave that there.” David gestures with his chin.
I put the plate and almost empty flute on my seat. David wraps his warm, strong hand around mine. My pulse goes a little wonky, and I bite my lower lip. I shouldn’t let this get to me. He’s just playacting, and holding hands is one of the things people do when they’re on a date.
Except the feel of his palm against mine is making my neck a bit too warm.
Maybe it’s just the ballroom that’s too hot. Too many people around.
We go out into the hall. It’s much cooler, although that doesn’t seem to have any effect on my neck. David and I walk to the lobby, my shoes clacking on the hard marble. A uniformed man at the main entrance opens the door for us.
David hands his ticket to a valet, who moves with efficient alacrity. “We’ll get going as soon as my car’s brought out.”
“Thanks.” Then I ask, “Is Shelly going to be a problem again?” If so, I want to be ready. Maybe even buy a very plain black dress that doesn’t stand out too much.
Annoyance crosses David’s handsome face. “She better not be. Why? Did something happen when I wasn’t around?”
“We had a little encounter in the bathroom. She wanted me to know you’re a first-come, first-served love-life kind of guy.”
“What?”
“She dated you first, so she gets priority. In other words, I should give you up.”
David laughs. “Then I should be with Amy McGregor. She was the first girl to kiss me.”
“You must’ve been very popular in high school.”
“I was, but it was elementary school.”
I smile. That’s cute.
Before I can respond, I note Warren coming toward us from behind David, his step just a tad unsteady. His face isn’t flushed, but then, Warren’s face never changes color. Dad told me that Warren has the best political complexion he’s ever seen.
But still… I don’t like it that Warren could be drunk. I’ve already seen enough of him for the day. Actually, for an entire year.
“I can give Erin a ride.” At least Warren isn’t slurring his words. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up some more.”
Ugh. No.
“That won’t be necessary.” David’s voice is cool as he turns to face Warren. “She’s my date.”
Warren’s eyes seem slightly glassy. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he says, wagging a finger.
Then who was he talking to? Did he develop a habit of addressing the person he’s talking to in the third person in the last two years?
“Erin, what you think?” he asks.
He’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m going anywhere with him. He might be enunciating correctly, but he’s definitely intoxicated enough to do something stupid. Even if he were dead sober, I wouldn’t climb into a vehicle with him. “I’m going to leave with David. His car’s coming soon.”
I start to move toward David, but Warren grips my wrist. Shocked, I look at him. “What are you doing?”
“Let go,” David says, taking my other wrist.
Oh, shit. I tug at the wrist Warren’s holding. It doesn’t budge. What the hell?
“She doesn’t know you that well,” Warren says in a tone that reminds me a toddler crying, But Mommy, he was bad first. “She knows me the best.”
David shoots him a grim smile. I saw him flash that smile before eviscerating another executive in a meeting once.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, furious at Warren’s poor judgment. What if other people see us? I don’t need any embarrassing gossip. Neither does David. As for Warren, he can fend for himself and his reputation.
The valet brings the car over. I try to yank my arm out of Warren’s grip, but he’s holding on too tight.
“Let. Go.” Hostility is pouring off David.
“Do you really want to make a scene?” I say when Warren merely glares at David. “It won’t look good, especially with your father’s scandal.”
Warren’s impotently furious gaze shifts in my direction, but he still holds on.
“This is Los Angeles,” David adds, with a smile that shows more teeth than friendliness. “There’s probably some paparazzi lurking around right now.”
Oh crap. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Fuck,” Warren mutters, and finally lets go.
I step closer to David and put my free arm as far from Warren as possible. Then, realizing how ridiculous I look, I tuck my hand in close and toy with one of the ruby earrings.
David tips the valet. A doorman hovers at the passenger side—probably to prevent Warren from doing anything stupid, like rushing me and David at the last second. I climb inside the car and let out a sigh of relief when the door shuts, keeping Warren out.
He glowers at David’s Lamborghini like the car castrated him. But whatever. I put my address into the GPS for my boss.
As David pulls out of the hotel lot, I sag in my seat. Then I wonder if I should say something. Once David and I met up after my bathroom visit, the evening was going pretty well. But then Warren showed up again at the auction. And since he did that that because of our history, I probably owe David some sort of explanation. And an apology.
“I’m sorry about Warren,” I say. “He’s usually better than this.” He has to be in order to be a politician like his daddy. “He’s probably just under a lot of pressure. His father’s in the middle of a huge scandal.” I list the problems he’s likely facing, not wanting any hard feelings between the two men because of me. David’s family is in Virginia, and they undoubtedly circulate in the same social strata as Warren. Dad’s said many times that the wealthy hang out with the powerful—that’s how they do business.
David gives me a sidelong glance. “You don’t have to make excuses for him. He’s a big boy. He can apologize himself when he does something stupid.”
“Right. But… You know—”
“It isn’t your job,” he says mildly.
I shut up, suddenly realizing that I might sound like I’m trying to side with Warren, and we enter into a silence. David turns the radio on, and a new song from Axelrod, “Nowhere,” comes on, helping to fill the void. The streets are also unusually empty, which is a small blessing. It allows us a faster ride back, and I’m hyperaware of David—his mood and presence. It isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt with him before.
It’s probably the setting. I’ve never spent time with him when we were dressed up like this. We’ve spent weekends together, but only during crunch time, and we were in work clothes. There were laptops and PowerPoint presentations between us.
But whew. He’s impossible to ignore. His presence prickles my nerve endings. I feel like one of those plasma spheres, and he’s the hand making the currents gather and spark. Hopefully I’m not that transparent.
I begin to get goosebumps, and feel too hot despite the cool air from the vents blowing directly on my face. Shifting, I play with an earring—the really expensive one from Sophia—to distract myself. But the rich food I nibbled on earlier isn’t sitting well. Maybe I should’ve waited until I got home and just had some cereal instead.
David pulls into a guest spot in front of my apartment complex. I gesture at the building. “This is my place.” I get out of the car, needing to get some fresh air.
But David kills the engine and climbs out too.
“Um. Don’t you have to…go home?” Is he expecting coffee? Am I still playing the love of his life? I need a script and detailed description of this mythical woman. I thought him dropping me off was like the clock striking midnight, when I go back to just being an assistant.
“I’ll walk you to your unit,” he says.
“You don’t have to. It’s only the second floor.” I gesture at some random floor behind me. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
He gives me a look. “Don’t you watch crime shows? Just when yo
u think you’re safe is when you’re the most vulnerable…when the serial killer pounces on his unsuspecting victim.”
I laugh a little at his dramatic tone. I watch those shows to unwind when I’m stressed, and David’s right about that. But… “It’s really safe around here. I checked before I signed the lease.”
“It’s called being a gentleman.” A corner of his mouth quirks into a smile.
I smile back. “Okay, then. Thank you.”
We walk to my unit together. It takes less than five minutes, since we don’t need to take the elevator. It’s faster not to.
I turn around to face him, the door behind me. “This is me.”
“Don’t spend all weekend finishing that training program,” he says, his eyes intense on mine.
I shake my head. “I won’t.” I have other videos I need to go over.
“And don’t answer any more calls or texts or emails from my mother. Or me. Otherwise, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
“Um. Okay.”
David looks at me, his expression unreadable under the light. But I can still feel his gaze roaming over my face as though he’s trying to figure something out.
Or maybe I have cream on my lips. I might’ve smeared something while he was busy winning the auction.
Feeling silly and nervous, I flick my tongue over one corner of my mouth, then the other. I swear I can feel a tiny crumb of crackers there. I run my tongue over my inner lips. That should do it.
David exhales softly. Something hot and shaky dances on the edge of my nerves. I stay absolutely still and stare up at him, wondering what’s coming next.
His head dips. And his lips graze mine as softly as a butterfly brushing over a flower. A hot knot twists in my belly, and I inhale sharply, my whole body going stiff. How can a barely there touch feel so…vivid and searing? And why does my entire face feel warm and tingly when all he’s coming into contact with is my mouth?
I stand absolutely unmoving, wondering how long we should hold this position, who should pull back first and if it’s going to be awkward if I do and whether we’re still playing our respective roles. And what am I supposed to do when the kiss feels so real and he feels so good? Would it be okay to lick him like I want to? But then it’d be really awkward on Monday, wouldn’t it? It’s impossible to think when my senses are spinning out of control.
