by Julie Cross
At least until everything about my life changes?
“That must be your appeal.” Finley turns the spoon upside down in her mouth, drawing my attention there. “You’ve got that attitude like ‘I don’t give a shit about titles and labels, I’m going to the party if it sounds fun.’”
“Fun like Fun Dip,” I add. Then I say something I may possibly regret, especially given what we had planned for tonight already. “We could go? To the party.”
“We?” The spoon freezes in her hand. “This sounds like a date. Thought we weren’t doing that.”
Yeah, I think I need a refresher course in defining a date, because I’m pretty lost right now as to where the lines fall. “It doesn’t have to be a date.” The second the words are out, I realize I should have said, Do you want it to be a date?
Finley opens her mouth to reply, and then seems to change course. “I didn’t get invited, remember?”
My phone is still resting on the table. I punch in a quick text to what’s-his-name.
ME: Hey, how’s it going, man? Might stop by the thing tonight.
Finley leans in to read my text and scrunches her nose when I type “the thing.” Whatever. Fragrance launch is way too many letters. “I can’t believe you have his cell number.”
TOBY RHINEHART: Cool! Did you see that Brazil game?
ME: Yeah. I nearly kicked the TV over. Those refs…wtf?
TOBY RHINEHART: Right? Jesus Christ, who finds these guys?
Finley is watching this exchange, a bewildered look on her face.
ME: Seriously. Mind if I bring a date tonight?
TOBY RHINEHART: Not a problem. Just give me a name and I’ll add it to the list.
The second she reads that reply, Finley tries to take my phone from me to stop me from typing in her name. But I don’t get why. She’s the one who is super into this party.
ME: Finley Belton.
TOBY RHINEHART: Done. See ya tonight.
“Oh my God,” Finley says, returning to fangirl Finley. “Now you have to go.”
“Now you have to go,” I point out.
“Why? So I can turn back into a self-indulgent fangirl?” She shakes her head. “I’m not in love with that side of me.”
“That Wang shoot paid a shit-ton more than the other jobs I’ve done,” I say. “Seems like it’s worth going if you can, you know, network a little.”
“Network?” Her forehead scrunches like it’s a foreign word. Which is pretty cute. I might be clueless about modeling stuff, but I’ve done my share of working the party crowd. Usually old women with fund-raisers to restore old things or old men with a number following their name.
“I bet Wang’s people invite all his competitors to these parties. I think that’s a standard. Maybe you can introduce yourself, be like, ‘Hey, I put on clothes every day, and I’m really good at it. Why don’t you pay me to do it for you?’”
Finley laughs, nearly choking on her ice cream. “Thanks, that’s exactly what I’ll say.”
Connor climbs into the seat beside me, and I hand him another spoon in case he wants to join the ice cream party. “Connor, don’t you think your sister should introduce herself to people she wants to work for?”
He nods, and Braden barges in on my other side. “Shake with your right hand.”
I lift an eyebrow. “That’s good advice.”
“I can’t go.” Finley shakes her head. “Besides, I don’t have anything acceptable to wear.”
“Ask Summer. She’s got a closet full of high-end stuff.” I look at the kids. “Right, guys?”
Braden waves a hand in front his nose. “Her room is stinky.”
Finley’s eyes widen. “Please tell me you didn’t mess around in Summer’s room.”
“Too much perfume,” I tell her. We were only in there long enough for me to shut the door. “So we’re going then.”
“This is completely pointless.” She drops her face into her hands and groans. “You’re forgetting that Alexander Wang and all his competitors have already labeled me too sweet, spends too much time with grandma’s knitting needles.”
I slide the ice cream in front of her and lean forward, lowering my voice. “It’s not pointless. People’s memories are short. And don’t forget about the handbag. And as far as not being edgy enough, you’ll be with me. I’m all edges. Like five of them. Before the end of the night, everyone will be calling you wild rebel Finley.”
She suppresses a laugh. “I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re cool.”
My thoughts exactly.
And wait…does this mean our bet is off?
CHAPTER 28
Finley
This morning, I was at a swim meet, swatting flies and piling greasy sunblock onto my face. Now, I’m at this way too fancy party, way too nervous to talk to anyone, and wearing a way too tight dress. (Summer is a whole size smaller than me.) Eddie, on the other hand, is completely unaffected. He also looks much more comfortable wearing a close-fitting black blazer with slim, pinstriped slacks. A waiter passes us with a tray of champagne glasses. Eddie snatches one and then looks at me. I shake my head. “This has to be the fanciest place to throw a party in the entire city.”
He eyes the glass, apparently decides he doesn’t want it, and sets it down on a nearby table. “The Guggenheim has a really nice event room.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Mr. NYC Party Expert. You should start a blog.”
Two actors from CSI: NY breeze past us, a small crew trailing behind them. I squeeze Eddie’s arm and whisper, “Oh my God, that’s—”
“The cop with the dead father and the scientist guy who only goes out at night,” Eddie finishes. “We should go say hi.”
I grip his arm tighter, holding him in place. I shake my head. Eddie shrugs and stops a waiter with a tray of some kind of shrimp. He asks the guy all about the food and then offers me one. I shake my head again.
“Do you want anything else to drink?” Eddie asks me after the waiter has left us.
His behavior has been suspiciously date-like tonight. I almost call him out on it, but I’m too tongue-tied.
“I think we stayed long enough, don’t you?”
“Seriously?” Eddie looks me over and then laughs. “All the work it took to get here, and you want to leave after fifteen minutes? I don’t even think the host is here yet.”
“Alexander Wang?” I glance around the big, beautiful, intimidating room. “Not like I was planning on talking to him.”
Eddie couldn’t care less how long we stay. He’s trying for my benefit. This was a bad idea from the start. Networking won’t change the fact that I’m not anywhere near cool enough for these people and their jobs. Eddie nudges me in the shoulder and nods toward a girl clear on the other side of the room. Summer. “So she did score an invite?”
“Her mom,” I explain, gesturing to the very put-together woman beside her. “She never would have loaned me this dress if I got to go and she didn’t.”
Summer surprises me by giving me a tiny wave. I figured she’d avoid any contact with me, considering how low on the model chain I am. She’s super uptight when it comes to any networking-type events. Like she even needs to network. Everyone knows her already. A guy I recognize from a big billboard in Brooklyn walks past us; his name’s Sean or Steven. He’s currently linking arms with a woman who is high up in the Gucci world. The guy waves to Eddie, but he just stares at him in return, his body tense. Finally, he gives a small nod.
“What?” I ask.
Eddie watches the guy’s retreating form and then looks back at me. “I had to check that dude for a pulse the other day. He’d been passed out on my floor for a good twelve hours.”
Jesus. I don’t envy his living situation one bit. “Okay, now I’m definitely ready to go.”
“Follow me,” Eddie says, taking my h
and and steering us through the party people.
I’m expecting him to move toward the exit, but instead, we end up on the outside of the room. It’s lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, showing off an amazing panoramic view of lower Manhattan and the Hudson. Eddie turns me by the shoulders until I’m facing the windows. I lean against a small counter made to hold drinks and look outward at the river.
“Not bad, huh?” Eddie says.
His hands land on my shoulders. He slides his fingertips down my arms and then steps closer to me until his front brushes my back.
I try to resist relaxing into him—touching has been minimal for us since our almost-kiss last night—but fail miserably. I lean my head back against his shoulder and close my eyes for a second. “I could be watching you cannonball into the pool naked right now.”
“True.”
Warm lips graze my shoulder and then drift to the crook of my neck. I close my eyes again and sigh. We are definitely entering date territory. “How are you so calm right now? Is it all your upscale party experience?”
“You’re right. I’ve done stuff like this a lot. Too much. Though never with cool celebrities. Usually people well known only to avid readers of the Wall Street Journal and Forbes. With those parties, the goal was not to have any personality.”
“And here?” I ask.
“Here, the goal is to have fun and maybe even be the most fun person. I have trouble with that now. Having fun.” He slides his hands down my arms again and laces our fingers together. “But I think I’m getting somewhere right now.”
“Where?” I laugh. “First base?”
He moves my hair off to one side, allowing him to touch his mouth to more of my bare skin. “Second base if I’m lucky.”
“In this dress? Not a chance you’ll manage getting a fingertip underneath it.”
In response to that, Eddie slips a finger under the shoulder strap and slides it over a couple inches. His lips head right for the newly exposed skin. Heat builds all over me, and I’m suddenly appreciative of my short, lightweight dress compared to Eddie’s long sleeves.
I close my eyes again, and the sights and sounds of the party vanish. “What if I like this too much to wait for the next time it accidentally happens?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“You mean the party?” Eddie asks. “I knew you’d warm up to it.”
“Not the party.” I slide my hand into his famously unruly hair and gaze out at the lit-up sky. “I mean you. Being in my personal space.”
“I love your personal space,” Eddie says.
The room pops into view again. “Maybe you’re not doing enough to turn me off. I mean, do you have to be so nice and able to tell my brothers apart?”
The more I work to not compare Eddie to Jason, the more I do just that. It’s not really fair to give Eddie points just because he’s good with my little brothers. But it’s not like I can help what makes me into him.
And I am. Into him.
“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie says. “I even told myself last night, ‘don’t look them directly in the eyes, or you might risk learning their names.’”
I laugh again. The butterflies are flapping in my stomach—I can’t seem to make them go away when Eddie is around. “Maybe we’re having a summer fling. That’s a thing, right?”
“Sure.” Eddie plants several more kisses on my neck and shoulder, and soon, I’m dizzy from them. “Is that your way of saying that I don’t have to ‘accidentally’ run into you? I can ask you out?”
Is this what I want? It doesn’t even matter anymore, because I’m not capable of walking away.
“That’s my way of saying that I know you’re temporary, making secret plans to be far away from here in the near future, and that I’m setting myself up for…well, for that.” I exhale and close my eyes again. “And yes, you can ask me out. And yes, I’ll say yes.”
Eddie is silent behind me. Eventually, he tightens his arms around me and then presses a kiss to my temple. “I’m not going anywhere right now, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Eddie!” a guy calls from several feet away. “You made it!”
I look over my shoulder and see Toby Rhinehart—Hollywood’s hottest actor, the face of Alexander Wang’s new fragrance, the star of many movie nights with Elana—walking this way.
CHAPTER 29
Eddie
Finley turns to stone in my arms before I even fist-bump Toby. She does offer him a genuine smile when I introduce her. I don’t know why she’s so intimidated by this party. She’s by far the hottest girl here. But whatever. As long as I can get her to be real with me.
“This is quite a party they threw you,” I say to Toby after introductions are done. “Nice outfit, man.”
He’s wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, not exactly party clothes, but they’re designed by Wang. I only know this because I wore the same outfit in the catalog shoot. Toby spreads his arms wide and looks down at his clothes. “I know, right? Model off duty is what made Wang who he is. Why fight it?”
As if on cue, two of Wang’s female models walk by us, hair gelled back, wearing dresses that have collars made of something stiff and covered in jewels.
Toby whistles under his breath and tugs at his own shirt collar. “Yikes. Hate to be them.” He glances at Finley. “So how do you know Eddie?”
I’m about to open my mouth and answer for her—the standard “we met at a party or a photo shoot” response she fed dozens of people at her brothers’ party—but Finley gives me this sideways glance that is all mischievous.
“We hooked up at a party,” Fin says. “I decided I wanted to be a bit more rebellious—trying to get rid of the too-sweet typecast. But Eddie forgot to leave the next morning, and then he showed up at my shoot for Marc Jacobs—”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “To be clear, I was in the Marc Jacobs shoot.”
Finley tilts her head and looks at me. “Were you?”
Toby laughs and lifts his hands. “No judgment, man. Stalking can be hot. With permission, of course. My wife loves it when I pretend to follow her around town.”
He’s married? I forget that famous actors can do that. Get married. I glance around for someone who looks like she could be his wife. “Is she with you?”
“She’s over at the bar pretending some strange dude is watching her right now,” Toby says, and when both Fin and I turn our heads to look at the bar, he laughs. “Kidding. She’s at home with the kids. Sleeping, I’m sure. It’s late as hell. Think they serve coffee here?”
He’s got a wife and kids? I’m about to ask him this when both Toby and I notice Finley trying to gesture about something.
“What—” Toby starts to say and then looks over his shoulder. A small crowd has formed behind him, all people waiting for something from the guy. “Shit, I forgot to be on,” he mutters, then plasters on a big grin and raises his voice. “Well, it was great networking with you two. I hope we can do business in the future. Lots of business-type things. Yada, yada, et cetera, et cetera.”
He lowers his voice and says to Finley, “Consider it a positive that you haven’t been asked to lay across a public bathroom sink, wearing designer clothes, and looking like a drug addict in withdrawal.” He offers me another fist bump, while I’m still scratching my head over the bathroom sink reference. “Talk to you later, man. I’ll text you about watching the game next week.”
Toby walks away from us and immediately drapes an arm around two guys hovering nearby who are probably some of his “people.” “Sorry about that. Work. It just never ends. But you should hear some of the stuff those two are doing. I’m thinking about endorsing their book. Writing a foreword for it. Compelling shit.”
We wait for that whole crew to be out of sight, and then both of us start laughing. Finley rests her forehea
d against my shoulder. “Sorry. About the stalking thing. I was just trying to be cool.”
“You are cool.” I rub the back of her neck, since casual touching seems to be a thing for us tonight. Not that I’m complaining. “And he’s got kids? How old is he?”
“Twenty-nine,” Finley says right away, surprising me. “According to iMDB. And he’s got four kids. Two are twins. Assuming the Internet doesn’t lie.”
“Jesus,” I say. “He could establish an unclaimed country with that kind of fame and reproductive capabilities.”
Finley laughs. “Okay, let’s go meet some more people. I’ve already tackled the biggest man at the party.”
“That’s the attitude to have.” I glance around the room. “Too bad we already met the only people I know here.”
Finley looks up and steps out of my arms just as Summer is brushing past us. “There’s someone who knows all the big names. Hey, Summer!”
Summer spins around to face us, one hand on her hip and an expression that says you better make this quick. “Oh, look who it is? The famous authors to be. What is it you’re writing about?” She eyes Finley. “Does it involve knitting needles or how to care for stray animals?” She glances at me when she says that last part.
“My beautiful bitchy roommate,” Finley muses, hooking an arm through Summer’s. “Let me count the ways I could eliminate you. Except, wait…you are surprisingly helpful when I need you. Like now.”
“She wants to meet some important people,” I explain.
To my surprise, Summer does actually walk around with us and introduce Finley to a big Gucci designer—who has already heard great things about the book—and a Prada designer who recognizes Finley. The guy claps his hands together when he sees her and says, “The ballerina! I’ve been trying to find you! Do you have a business card or website for your services?”
“My services?” Finley asks, looking confused. Summer slides behind the guy and shakes her head, directing her to go with it. Finley gives a slow nod. “Right. My services. Well, it’s more of a word-of-mouth system.”
