by Lucy Lambert
But somehow, it worked. Looking down, she couldn't even tell there'd been a problem in the first place. Aiden brushed the strand from his fingers.
"How did you do that?" Gwen said, her astonishment getting in the way of her retreat.
"Old trick," Aiden replied, "Listen, if you get bored in there with your friend, you know where to find me."
"I'll keep it in mind," Gwen said, but Aiden had already turned around and headed back towards the bar. The tux fit him quite well, and she caught herself admiring him.
No, she definitely did not need the distraction of a man right now.
On her way back to the party, she kept glancing down at her shoulder, still trying to figure out how he fixed that thread without unraveling the whole thing.
Then another thought occurred to her: maybe he had been trying to unravel it all. Guys did weird things at parties to try and pick up girls. Maybe he'd been hoping that one tug would have left her standing in a pile of thread at her feet with nothing but her underwear on.
It was something she might have truly suspected, if one of the guys Beatrice was trying to pick up tried it on her. She couldn't bring herself to believe Aiden would do such a thing.
Listen to yourself! she thought, glancing at the tall bookcases, at one of those neat ladder-on-wheels things resting against one wall as she walked through the library, her heels clicking off the polished floor. You're talking like you've known the guy forever, that you know what he would and wouldn't do. She arrived back at the ballroom. The DJ had a different song playing, and now both men and women gyrated about on the dance floor.
Rather than let the whole thing confuse her further, Gwen decided to put Aiden out of her thoughts. The last thing to leave were those cold, if gentle, eyes of his.
"Hey! Where'd you go?" Beatrice said, spying her from across the room and coming over.
"Bathroom," Gwen answered, "This place is enormous! I almost got lost."
"Well," Beatrice said, looping her arm through Gwen's and leading her deeper into the party, "It's a good thing you didn't! I gave my number out twice so far. Come on, Browning, time to get to work. Shake that booty, yeah!"
Gwen did her best to party. With her help, Beatrice did actually give her number out two more times, bringing the total up to four guys. Though the last one seemed disappointed that Gwen wouldn't give him her number.
No one could say she didn't try to have fun. She even went out to the dance floor, and had several more glasses of that champagne. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get Aiden quite out of her mind. She kept thinking about him sitting alone in that billiards room, and several times even thought about trying to sneak away to join him for that drink after all. That cool, aloof exterior of his demanded investigation, piquing her curiosity in way she hadn't felt in, well, ever.
But she never managed to get away from Beatrice again that night, and something kept her from introducing the two of them. She didn't want to admit it might be jealousy, that she didn't want Aiden to be Mr. Number Five for Beatrice.
Chapter 4
Sometime after midnight, Gwen and Beatrice left the party. Gwen's body still vibrated and throbbed to the beat of the music, and a deep, dull headache worked its unkind fingers behind her eyes. She carried her heels in one hand, the coolness of the floor against her sore, danced-out feet a relief.
Beatrice kept looking at her cell the whole way home in the back of the cab, as though staring at it intensely might make one of the men call or text her right away.
"So'd you have fun?" Beatrice asked distractedly, checking for the umpteenth time that her ringer was, in fact, on and at maximum volume. The glow of her cell was a constant companion.
"Yes, actually," Gwen said, giving it some real thought, "Thanks for letting me tag along."
"No problem, any time..." Beatrice said, not really paying any attention.
They lapsed into silence, and that made Gwen think of Aiden again. Even this quiet here with Beatrice, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the tires on the road, didn't seem quite so nice as it had been with him.
"Hey, B?" Gwen said.
"Uh huh?"
"Do you know anything about an Aiden...?" she didn't get his last name, she remembered. This irritated her.
But clearly the name meant something to Beatrice. She actually locked her phone and shoved it back into her clutch. "Aiden? Aiden Manning?"
"I didn't get his last name, actually..."
As quickly as she'd put it away, Beatrice retrieved her phone. She tapped away at the screen, then showed it to Gwen. There was the bottom of a news headline, something about a passing of a torch, whatever that meant. And below that, a picture of Aiden. He wore a black business suit in this one, but he still had that cold look in his eyes.
"That's him," Gwen said.
"Yeah, you're gonna want to stay away from him," Beatrice said. Her voice took on that same tone it had when she talked celebrity gossip, as though she was intimate friends with every A-list Hollywood celeb and knew their every dark and dirty secret.
"What do you mean?"
Beatrice clicked her tongue. "Oh, Gwen, leave it to you to get into an exclusive party like that and wind up with a guy like that. When did this happen, anyway? Tell me everything."
Feeling somewhat off put but Beatrice's attitude, she related the story of meeting Aiden.
"What a jerk," Beatrice said when Gwen finished.
"I don't know. He was a little standoffish, I guess, but I don't think he was an outright jerk. And he's pretty handsome, too."
"The worst ones always are, my child. The worst ones always are. Anyway, just count yourself lucky that you didn't give him your number or anything... Speaking of numbers, check out this text! This guy actually wants to see me again tomorrow, can you believe it? A bit eager, aren't we?" Beatrice said, waving the phone at Gwen without actually stopping it long enough for Gwen to read the message.
"I thought you said the three day rule was stupid?" Gwen said.
Beatrice shrugged, her eyes glued to the screen and her thumbs tapping out a response. "It is, but there's such a thing as too fast, you know. If he's so quick in messaging me, maybe he's... ah... premature in other ways, too, if you get me?"
"Unfortunately I do. Now can you give your hormones a rest for a moment and tell me just why I'm lucky Aiden didn't get my number?"
In the front seat, the cabbie did his best to ignore the whole exchange.
Beatrice sighed a long-suffering sigh and let her hands drop to her lap, the cell still glowing. "He's just bad news, okay? I've met him a few times at other parties, and as you can see, he's in the headlines sometimes, too. People say things about him. No one ever sees him with a woman, or with anyone really for that matter outside of other business people."
Gwen nodded, considering this new information. Was the guy a perpetual wallflower, then? Handsome, but so aloof and full of himself that he didn't bother to mingle with the mere mortals around him? On the face of it, it seemed to fit. But Gwen still couldn't quite buy into all of it. If Beatrice didn't like a handsome guy like that, there was usually a very specific reason, for one.
"Are you just saying this because you couldn't manage to get him to ask you out?" Gwen said.
From the way Beatrice bristled, Gwen thought she knew the answer.
"No! Well, maybe a little. But even so, Gwen, just take it from me: Aiden is bad news. Just forget about him, okay? Don't you have all that rent stuff to worry about? Or don't you remember how that terrible roommate of yours skipped town and left you holding the bill?"
Gwen took her turn at bristling. "Of course!"
The cab pulled up to the curb outside Gwen's building. She and Beatrice hugged, though Gwen couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed with her friend. Before getting stepping out into the cool evening air, she reiterated her intent to pay Beatrice back at some point.
"Don't worry about it, really. Just try and get some sleep. Hey, meet me at Starbucks again tomorr
ow. I'll bet you'll have a way out of this figured out by then," Beatrice said.
Gwen accepted, but couldn't help feeling guilty. She knew that Beatrice would insist on buying her another latte, but she just couldn't pass it up. Besides, I will pay her back. I will, Gwen thought.
When she got up to her apartment and collapsed onto the bed, barely able to summon the energy to pull off her dress and kick off her shoes, she wondered how many more nights she'd have in that room.
Because, despite her attempts to stay positive, she knew there was no way she could come up with that kind of money. There was only one hope she had left, and it was a small one.
Chapter 5
Gwen woke up planning to call first her mother then her father for help right away. Getting it done first thing was best, she decided. Like yanking off a Band-Aid. Better to do it right away, get it over with, instead of agonizing over the pain it might cause.
Instead, she washed, got dressed in her usual jeans, throwing on a comfy shirt. She actually looked at her phone for a solid minute before the anxiety managed to wash away the vestiges of her resolve.
She just kept thinking about what would happen if they both told her no. Which was a very real and frightening possibility. They were, after all, still in the middle of their divorce. And while they would both like to be able to make the crack at the other that they helped their daughter out of a tight spot, they also both had every last cent they owned tied up in the courts.
So, with the professional procrastinator's attitude of why do now what you can keep putting off until later, Gwen sent Beatrice a text saying she was heading out to Starbucks early, and would see her there.
She knew putting this whole thing off only hurt her, that every minute spent not trying to divine the winning lottery numbers, or searching for that once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity was wasted time. But it just felt so good to keep putting it off, to keep delaying it, to press it back in her mind with the thought of, "I still have time; I'll get to it later." But later always turns out to be sooner than you think. Usually much sooner. Gwen ignored that thought, too.
At Starbucks, she asked for water and then sat down near the corner. Condensation beaded on the plastic cup, forming a wet ring on the table. She wished she'd brought a book, but knew she was far too distracted to give it any measure of attention.
So instead she just watched the people coming in and out. Given that it was a Starbucks, most of the clientele consisted of men and women in business attire toting briefcases, rushing in to get their morning triple-shot non-fat espresso injection. The men usually tried to flirt with the pretty barista, even though they were usually a good ten years older, while the women pretended not to notice how much younger and better looking she was.
For a bit, Gwen got her mind off things by pretending she was one of these women. She thought about having a nice car outside, a BMW or Audi or some other expensive import. She had a nice condo to go back to every day. Lots of money in the bank. Maybe a handsome young groundskeeper to help keep her grounds.
It was a nice escape, a nice fantasy. But it was just a fantasy, and no matter how hard she tried, it kept crumbling around her.
And she tried pretty hard. So hard, actually, that she didn't at first notice the attention she received from the line of people standing and waiting for their drink orders as the milk frother hissed.
How long have I been sitting here? she wondered, digging her phone out and checking. She sighed; Beatrice was supposed to meet her nearly twenty minutes ago. She sent her punctuality-deprived friend a quick text, but got no reply.
Leaving her phone on the table, well out of reach of that growing pool of condensation around the bottom of her cup, Gwen rested her chin in her hands and sighed. How was she supposed to continue the hard job of procrastinating with no one to help her?
When she glanced around the coffee shop again, she saw him. At first, she thought it was someone else. What excuse could he possibly have for being out here, rather than back in Manhattan?
But no, Aiden Manning sat at the other side of the Starbucks, sipping at a grande something or other without a lid on, steam rising from the cup, while he checked something on his phone.
Then he looked up, and their eyes met. A spark shot up through Gwen's spine, and her heart sped up. Did he see me? she thought, quickly breaking the stare and looking down at her own phone.
Of course he saw you! she continued. You practically leered at him!
Why he was there didn't really matter. Just that he was, in fact, there. Just to make sure, she slowly, carefully looked up again.
He was still looking right at her. Gwen turned and pretended to watch the foot traffic outside the window, meanwhile putting all her focus on her peripheral vision. Aiden watched her for a few moments longer, then dropped his stare.
Maybe he doesn't recognize me, she thought, maybe he thought I looked familiar, but then decided he doesn't actually know me.
It was a reasonable excuse. And also disconcerting. It offended her that they met just last night and he couldn't remember her. Though she knew that this shouldn't bother her; she wasn't on the market for a man. Especially not one who Beatrice had specifically warned her to stay away from.
Then she thought about it. How could he remember me? She'd been wearing a dress, rather than these street clothes. Her hair had been done differently. She probably did look like a completely different person now.
Yeah, a boring, frumpy looking one, she thought, looking down at the shirt she'd chosen for comfort over looks. It's no wonder he doesn't recognize me.
But then he looked at her again. She sat there, frozen in her chair, wondering what to do, wondering why Beatrice couldn't walk through the door and save her right at that moment.
Still, she couldn't just sit there all day, waiting Aiden out so that she might make her escape.
If he really didn't recognize her, she should just be able to walk right out the door, right?
Right, she thought. Decision made, she stood. His eyes followed her, but she pretended not to notice.
Grabbing up her phone, she made it almost to the door, her heart hammering as the prospect of getting away loomed close.
"It's Gwen, right?"
Aiden stood up from his table, waving. He bumped against his table, sending some of his latte sloshing over the rim.
"Yes," Gwen said, standing in front of the door. She moved over when a woman in a pantsuit brushed by. Meanwhile, she kept thinking: What do I do? What do I do?
Aiden came over to her. "Nice to see you again. Why don't you come sit down with me?"
The small smile that graced his lips did it for her. She agreed, and they sat back down at his table, but not before he grabbed some tissues and mopped up the spilled latte.
"So do you live around here, then?" Aiden asked.
"Uh huh," Gwen replied. She kept her hands shoved between her thighs, her whole body stiff. This was the exact opposite of what she'd originally intended on happening. She didn't want to have to deal with some jerk guy right now, no matter how handsome he was, or how in the light of day his eyes looked so clear.
Aiden waited a little longer for more, but when it became obvious that Gwen didn't mean to say anything else, he took over.
"I just had some business I needed to take care of on this side of the bridge. I thought some caffeine might be nice. Though, usually I prefer drinking it to spilling it."
"So you're not following me?" Gwen blurted.
"What? No, no. Of course not. Just a happy coincidence."
Gwen nodded, letting herself relax a little. It would be just the thing to happen to her, to get herself a stalker on top of all the other trouble she had.
Aiden seemed different than he'd been last night. He still possessed that quiet air of self assurance, partly at least. Someone so confident in themselves usually didn't go walking into tables in their rush to talk to someone.
No, he definitely was different. Was he nervous? He kept both ha
nds locked around that latte.
She didn't know why, but she began to suspect that every bit of that first impression she'd formed of Aiden was wrong. And to top it all off, she found herself wanting to know what really lurked beneath his supposedly placid waters.
They started talking, then. Both reserved at first, but soon enough Gwen felt her guard drop. There really was a lot more to Aiden than met the eye. Yes, he was the youngest executive his company had ever had (though he declined to say what company) but that wasn't his whole identity. Today, for example, he was over the bridge to make sure a charitable donation his corporation made found its way into the right hands. Though again, he balked when she asked which charity.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but it feels like we've known each other for a long time," Aiden said. This time when he smiled, she could actually see his teeth. They were white and straight, and really set off his eyes.
Watching Aiden's guard drop was pretty incredible. He turned from this quiet young man with cold eyes and a head for business to a warm and thoughtful person who cared about something other than his company's bottom line.
"I know what you mean. Hey, you should smile like that more," she said.
As though becoming aware of his own actions, Aiden pressed his lips together. He started in again on how this charity project meant so much to him, and that he was trying to get rid of his company's unfortunate reputation of not living up to its philanthropic promises. Genuine anger flared in his eyes when he mentioned that, and again she wondered just who it was he worked for, and why it was such a big deal. It was good though; many people don't have the passion in them to get truly upset or happy about anything. It was an attractive quality, and one she hadn't really expected from him. But she couldn't deny that rapport developing between them.
He'd shared so much, she decided to as well, telling him about growing up in Albany and then moving to the city to go to school.
Without really meaning to, she even told him about her current troubles with her apartment. She regretted it right away, thinking he might take it as some gold digging attempt. Nothing in this conversation, indeed, nothing about Aiden Manning, really went according to her initial expectations.
