Pretty Revenge

by Emily Liebert

  “I do.” My eyes stung. I closed them and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

  “I need you to come home. Right away.”

  “For what?” I sniffed indignantly.

  “To see him. To hear him. Maybe to say good-bye.”

  “I said good-bye a long time ago. When he pointed a gun at me. Remember that?”

  “Things have changed.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “You’ll see.” She was crying. Softly, but loud enough so I could hear. I do miss her, but not enough. “Come home, Jordan. I need you to come home. Please.”

  “I can’t. It’s too late.” I shook my head like the child I suddenly felt like. “It’s too late,” I repeated. “I have a new life now. And I have to go.”

  “Jor—” I hung up before she could say anything else. And before I allowed myself to grieve. For her. For him. For the part of me I left behind.

  Then I straightened my posture and marched back into the banquet hall as Jordana Pierson. Where I belong.

  17  KERRIE

  “You all right?” William checked in with me as we snaked our way down Fifth Avenue, dodging the other cars and pedestrians by a breath.

  “Yeah, sure. Why?”

  “Well, you’re white knuckling the door handle.”

  “Oh, that. I’ll be fine.”

  “We’re nearly there, hang tight,” he reassured.

  “Where are we going?” I was already worried that having dinner with William—on non-wedding-related business—was going to piss off Jordana. I could practically hear her whispering in my ear: My cardinal rule is never, ever become invested in the relationships of our brides and grooms. We’re not marriage counselors. Our job is to execute the wedding itself.

  “You’ll see.” William pulled his wallet from his back pocket as we rolled to a stop outside a restaurant called Kesté Pizza & Vino on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village, where I’ve never been before.

  “Wait, let me pay.” I rummaged through my purse. “I can expense it.”

  “Don’t be silly. Besides, you’re not really on the clock anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stay put, I’ll come around.” He tipped the driver liberally, opened his own door, and then walked around to my side to do the same. No one’s ever done that for me. Honestly, I kind of thought it only happened in movies.

  “You ready for a treat?” He helped me out of the cab.

  “As you said . . . ready as I’ll ever be.”

  * * *

  “Oh wow.” I spoke with my mouth full, as a thinning cord of cheese strung from my lips to the fat, gooey slice of pizza I was holding in one hand. Right off the bat, William informed me that the sign of a true New Yorker is the single-hand fold. I’m practicing. “This may be the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Seriously.”

  “What did I tell you?” He smiled, pleased with himself. “They’ve been voted number one pizza by New York magazine, best pizza in the state by Food Network Magazine, and Food and Wine ranked them among the top twenty-five best pizza places in the United States.” He read from the scattered frames on the wall behind me.

  “They should hire you to be their publicist.”

  “No kidding. I come here probably once a week.”

  “I can tell. Everyone knows you by name.” As soon as we walked in there was a flamboyant commotion, as a half-dozen Italian guys besieged William in a voracious embrace. All at once.

  “It’s kind of like my version of Cheers. I’m the Norm of Kesté, which—by the way—means ‘this is it’ in Neapolitan.”

  “I love facts like that!” I took another bite. It was addictive. “Have you ever heard of the ‘Pizza Principle’?”

  “Nope.”

  “There’s a theory that since the 1960s, the price of a slice has been about the same as a subway ride.”

  “I’m stealing that.”

  “Go right ahead.” I took another, smaller bite. “I can’t believe they have so many different kinds.”

  “Yup, fifty. Certainly more than Cartier.”

  “Right? That was completely insane. I thought we were being Punk’d, for a minute there. I can’t believe she wouldn’t even show us the other rings. I mean, I can, but . . .” I didn’t want to say too much. Even though it feels like William and I are becoming friendly, he’s still our client. More important, so is Caroline.

  “It’s discouraging.” He reached for his beer and took a long swig. “And I have to say, if this is the way things are going to be in the long term, then—” He stopped midsentence as a man in a shiny blue suit with a slanting smirk on his face approached.

  “Mr. Blunt. Stepping out with another woman already?” He slapped William on the back, but kept his squinty green eyes on me. “Spencer Grafton.” He extended his hand, palm up.

  “Olivia Lewis.” Awkwardly, I placed my hand on top of his and he kissed it with his hot, wet mouth, which was crowded by swollen pink gums. Bleh.

  “Olivia works with Jordana Pierson.”

  “Ah yes, John’s wife and wedding planner extraordinaire. Binky’s already told me we have to hire her, and I haven’t even put a ring on it yet.” He laughed arrogantly, and I couldn’t help but notice, even in the forgiving lighting, that his face was flush with freckles and his hair was buttered to his forehead with perspiration. Binky is one lucky lady. “So, this is a work dinner?” He leered at me like I was a ripe piece of fruit he wanted to sink his teeth into.

  “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but yes, it is,” I answered quickly and confidently. “Sometimes meeting outside the office is more convenient for our clients and also more conducive to decision-making.” I smiled austerely. “We believe in making things as easy as we can for our brides and grooms, since their time is so precious. I’m sure someone as successful as yourself can understand that.”

  “Absolutely.” He turned toward William. “She’s a firecracker.” Then toward me again. “Binky will be in touch when the time comes. If ever she’s fortunate enough to become Mrs. Grafton.” He winked. “Let’s hit the links soon, buddy. Maybe a home and home?”

  “Sure, sounds great.” William nodded as Spencer swaggered back to his table. “Sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. He seems like a real stand-up guy.”

  “If by stand-up you mean douche bag, then yes.”

  “But he’s a friend of yours?”

  “In a matter of speaking.” William leaned forward. “Welcome to my world.”

  “I’m sure it’s not so bad, despite the douche bags.”

  “There are plenty of them, trust me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I took the last sip of my beer. It was the second for both of us, and I was beginning to feel a little tipsy. “So, I should probably know this, but what’s a home and home?”

  “His country club and mine.”

  “Right, of course.”

  “You handled yourself well with Spencer. He tends to rub people the wrong way.” He smiled genuinely and signaled to the waiter, who was taking another couple’s order but acknowledged him at the same time. “Anyway, what I was saying before Spencer interrupted is that Caroline’s involvement in this whole thing is becoming too much. She has to realize that this isn’t about her. It’s one thing if she wants to offer her opinion on the flowers or Tatiana’s gown, but a man should be able to pick his own wedding band.”

  “I’m sure Caroline just wants you to have something perfect.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she will never, ever realize that this isn’t about her.

  “Perfect for who?”

  “For whom,” I corrected. I couldn’t help myself.

  “What?”

  “It’s whom. Perfect for whom.” My cheeks burned. “Sorry, apparently when I drink I become a staunch grammarian.”

  “Well, in that case, we’re just getting started. The lady and I will each have another,” he said as the waiter approached.r />
  “Oh no, no,” I protested, but it was too late.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” William shrugged.

  “Um, let’s see. I could get drunk. Say something stupid. And lose my job.” I chugged the rest of my glass of water and inhaled half a garlic knot to absorb the liquor sloshing in my stomach.

  “You’re funny, Olivia.” Two more sweating bottles of Peroni were set in front of us. “Do you really think I’d let you lose your job?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hey! Have some faith, huh?”

  “Okay.” I ate the remainder of the garlic knot and washed it down with another slug of beer. My extremities were beginning to tingle.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me more about yourself. I know you grew up in Palm Beach and that you just moved here. I know that your parents passed away a long time ago. That you work for Jordana. That we have the same taste in wedding bands, or at least the same distaste. And I know that you love Kesté’s pizza, perhaps as much as I do. But that’s about it. Beyond that, who is Olivia Lewis?” He propped his elbows on the table and angled his face toward me, giving me his undivided attention. “Let’s have it.”

  “There’s not really much to tell.” My brain went numb as I riffled through it. It’s hard enough to maintain a double life when I’m completely sober. “I promise I’m not very interesting.”

  “Come on, I doubt that. Everybody’s got a story, and if we’re going to work together, you might as well spill all the gory details now.”

  “Uh . . . okay.” I summoned what little liquid courage I had. “As you said, I grew up in Palm Beach. My parents died when I was two, and my grandmother took me in.”

  “Are you close with her?”

  “She passed away a long time ago now.”

  “I’m sorry. Were you? Close with her.”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “All the time. More and more lately.”

  “I can understand that.” He waited before continuing. “I feel like when we make big life changes, we miss the people who helped define who we were to begin with. Does that make sense or is it the beer talking?”

  “That totally makes sense.”

  “For example, with everything going on with the wedding, I’ve been missing my mother a lot lately.”

  “How did she die?” I blurted, and then shook my head immediately. “No, no sorry, that was rude. I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

  “It’s cool, really. I don’t mind talking about her. Basically, she went to the doctor thinking she had bronchitis, which turned out to be Stage 4 lung cancer, and two weeks later she was gone.”

  “Wow, that’s rough.” Our eyes met for a second before I looked away.

  “Yeah, she wasn’t even a smoker.”

  “I’m sure that made it even harder.”

  “Maybe a little. What about your parents?”

  “Car crash.” No reason to lie about that.

  “So you never really knew them at all.”

  “Not really. My only memories of my mom and dad, if you can call them memories, are what people have told me. And what I’ve seen in photos.”

  “I’m sorry. That has to be tough, too.”

  “It is. But sometimes I wonder if it’s also easier.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, since I never got to know them, there’s nothing for me to miss.” I hiccupped. “Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing.”

  “Oh, please. You think I’ve never hiccupped before? It’s endearing.” Endearing. There’s an adjective that’s never been used to describe me. Ever. More specifically, never by someone like William Blunt, who must have a group of fancy friends to do this kind of thing with. People like Spencer Grafton. “And I totally get what you mean. While I cherished the thirteen years I had with my mother, it definitely wasn’t the ideal time to lose someone I depended on so much. Occasionally, I think about what she’d look like now. And what she’d think about the man I’ve become.”

  “I think about that too. You know, whether my parents would be proud of me.”

  “I bet they would.” He nodded sincerely. “Even though you don’t like to talk about yourself.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.” William tilted his head to the side. “Okay, so tell me, what were you doing before you came to New York? I want to know everything.”

  “Everything? That’s a tall order.” And, unfortunately, not possible.

  “I’ve got time.” He grinned.

  “Okay, then. I was working for a company that created products for kids and babies—like practical snack bottles and changing pads. Things that make parents’ lives more streamlined.”

  “That sounds interesting. Did you like it?”

  “I did, but the owner sold the venture.”

  “Is that why you moved?”

  “I needed to do something different.” I needed revenge.

  “That’s really brave,” he said, as his eyes met mine. “How’s it been working for Jordana?”

  “Fun. And challenging at the same time. I didn’t know that much about wedding planning before this, but I’m learning as I go. Strangely, I think I might have a knack for it. I’m someone who likes when there are a lot of moving parts that you have to weave together to create something major.”

  He laughed. “I bet you are. Super impressive, even more so now that I know you can hold your own against a prick like Spencer.”

  “I guess pricks are my specialty.” I laughed with him.

  “It’s funny, this conversation reminds me of the way I used to be able to talk to Tatiana. It’s so easy with you.”

  “I remind you of Tatiana?” I was flattered, even though I know Tatiana and I have nothing in common. In fact, she’s everything I’m not. Sophisticated, cultured, rich. Engaged to William.

  “A little, yeah. It’s a compliment, don’t worry.” He thought for a moment, while he kept his eyes focused on me. “I used to be able to sit down with her over pizza and a beer and just say what was on my mind. She used to listen, like you do. But if I’m being truly honest, it hasn’t been that way for longer than I realized.”

  “What about your friends? You must be able to talk to them.”

  “Not so much. Tatiana and I have the same social circle. Our families know each other—as do all their friends. It’s kind of incestuous.”

  “Sounds . . . convenient.”

  “Good word choice.” He smiled. “I like that I can say whatever I want to you because you’re not intertwined with any of our lives, yet you’re still exposed to it through your job. You have a unique perspective, which is so valuable—in more ways than one. You know what I mean?”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Right. My faithful servant.” He held up his beer and hesitated for a moment. “To friendship.”

  I did the same. “To friendship.”

  “And to things being uncomplicated for a change.”

  “To things being uncomplicated.”

  If only he knew.

  18  KERRIE

  “Hey, lady!” Sara rasped over the pounding pulse of the music. “Sorry I’m late. You look hot!”

  When Sara and I had originally made the plan to meet at a bar two blocks away from our apartment, she said she’d meet me there since she’d be coming from downtown. So I decided to arrive a few minutes early, to save us two seats and to order a white wine for me and a vodka martini for her—extra olives. It was still early and the place was pretty empty. The “scene” on the weekend doesn’t really amp up until ten or eleven. Fine by me. I’m not one for congested spaces. Extra surprising that I like this city so much, considering there’s no space in Manhattan that isn’t congested.

  “Really? You think?” It had taken me forty-five minutes to riffle through the mess of pencil skirts and silk blouses in my cube-like closet.

  Af
ter trying on three or four of the skirts and then unfolding a stack of jeans that were all shapeless and far too . . . Kerrie, I finally settled on a pair of fitted black pants that I coordinated with a silvery tank top, minus the blazer I’d typically wear over it, and the highest of high heels—par for the course in New York. I flat-ironed my hair, curling it at the ends as Blake trained me to do, and then I applied a little more makeup than I normally would during the week. I have no idea how people put in this much effort all the time. It must take Tatiana and Caroline hours to get ready just to step outside their apartments.

  “Hell yeah! You’re one fine piece of ass.” Sara always tries to buoy my confidence. It almost feels like a normal friendship. You know, despite the fact that she has no idea who I really am.

  “Thanks.” I smiled. The thing is, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight since I moved here; the relentless pace of this city will do that to you. Sara told me it would be much less expensive to have a few pieces taken in than to buy a whole new wardrobe. And she was right. “What’s with the conservative attire?” I’d noticed her crisp blue pantsuit and white button-down shirt immediately, mainly because she never wears anything like that. She’s usually in workout pants and a T-shirt.

  “Job interview.” She swung her purse over the back of her stool and sat down next to me.

  “On a Saturday?” I took a sip of wine.

  “It was the only time he could do it. And the only time I knew Dante would be with Joel. He took him to his parents’ house in Westchester. They live on seven acres with a swimming pool, a tennis court, and one of those offensive jungle gym things. The whole shebang.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Does it?”

  “Sure, why not?” I thought about where I grew up. No one had those jungle gym things, offensive or otherwise. We were lucky if someone stole a tire and jerry-rigged it to a tree. It’s pretty amazing that it’s only been seven weeks since I moved here. And already my old life in Connecticut feels out of reach. Maybe even like it never existed. This is who I am now. This is who I was meant to be all along.

  “Let’s see. Maybe because his parents make me itch all over.”