by Sarina Bowen
“Dad? Is everything okay?”
He grunted an acknowledgment. “Your mother was expecting you this weekend for your cousin’s christening.”
No hello. No preamble. And Lauren knew beyond a doubt that family christenings weren’t usually her father’s concerns. He only wanted gossip about the team that had fired him. And this was his subtle way of asking.
“I’m in Florida,” she said quietly. “I told Mom already. There’s a benefit in Bal Harbour before the series starts in Tampa.”
He made a disgusted noise. “What owner parades his players around in tuxes before round two? They should have noses to the grindstone. It’s not party time, it’s work time. Fucking amateur.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. Their relationship had never been great. And when Nate fired her father but promoted Lauren, it deteriorated even further. “I’m sorry to miss the christening,” Lauren said. She wouldn’t rise to the bait.
“When are you coming home?” he asked. “Isn’t your graduation soon? You should let us take you out to dinner.”
“Good idea,” she said with false cheer. If he wouldn’t pay for NYU, he could at least buy her an overpriced meal for graduating from it. “I’ll send you and Mom the date. Got to go,” she said. “We’re pulling up at the hotel.” It wasn’t even a white lie. The sign for the Dorsal Club in Bal Harbour had swung into view.
Her father managed a civil good-bye, and they hung up.
Lauren got off the bus and eyed the sleek hotel. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed a trip to a luxury resort on the beach. But she and Mike had once been here together for the wedding of one of his teammates. They’d stayed at the adjacent resort.
It had been the most magical weekend of her entire life. The wedding was both elegant and fun. And afterward she and Mike had attacked one another in a partially secluded spot outdoors. It was risky and reckless. She’d loved every second of it.
But the memory loomed large.
These were her thoughts as she stepped into the sleek lobby and marched toward the check-in desk. This place was top shelf. It had been designed to make guests feel as if they were at a nightclub. There were no wicker chairs or potted palms. This was moneyed Florida—the low pulse of house music played in the background, and long linen curtains billowed from the thirty foot ceilings. The trippy, oversized furniture was straight out of Alice in Wonderland.
Lauren got her key as fast as she could and slunk off to the elevator bank without making eye contact with anyone except Nate. “You want to go over last week’s ticket revenue split later?” she asked him as they both waited for the elevator doors to open.
“Does it look okay to you?” he asked.
“At first glance,” Lauren hedged. “I want to add it up again before I decide that the box office got everything right.”
He grinned. “You take care of it, then. Just shoot me an e-mail with the results.”
“Anything else? I thought I’d spend the afternoon working on next week’s corporate sponsorship numbers.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nate agreed, holding the elevator door open for her and then pushing his keycard into the slot so that the elevator would agree to open on the penthouse floor. They were both headed there. Wherever they traveled together around the globe, Nate always put Lauren in the room next to his, just to keep her handy. “I’m meeting up with Alex at six—an hour before the benefit. So I might need, uh, your services for a minute just before then.”
Lauren puzzled over that for a second and then smiled. “The bow tie, right?”
“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I hate black tie.”
“Then why did you let Alex talk you into it?”
“Some people are annoying when they don’t get their way.” He shrugged. “I’ll give her black tie, but I won’t give away the router division for less than it’s worth.”
“Oh, Nate,” Lauren laughed. “I love you.” She didn’t even know why she said it. It just slipped out. Must be the stress of working for the Bruisers and that unsettling conversation with Mike the other night.
He tilted his angular face in her direction and considered her with kind eyes. “You should say that to people more often, Lauren. It suits you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she argued, trying to get back to the joking place they’d been in a minute ago. “I’m too crusty to go around telling people I love them.”
“You’re not, though. Not really.”
“Nate,” she warned under her breath.
“What?”
The elevator arrived on the penthouse floor and she followed Nate out. “I’ll make you a deal,” Lauren proposed. “I’ll tell more people I love them if you do the same.”
He paused mid-stride, and Lauren almost ran right into him. She braced herself for the words: mind your own business. Nate was famously nosy and famously tight-lipped about his own life. But if you ran a multibillion-dollar company you could behave that way, she supposed.
But Nate didn’t say anything. He just kept walking like nothing had happened. They headed down a corridor with carpet so thick that their footsteps were noiseless. He went to the far end of the hall, where the plaque read Ambassador’s Suite. Hers said: Princess Suite. “Knock when you need your tie tied,” she called softly.
He gave her a wink and then disappeared into his room.
• • •
The Princess Suite was too big for one lonely thirty-one-year-old.
This one had a giant whirlpool tub at one end of a bathroom the size of a regulation hockey rink. The bed in the ocean-front bedroom was enormous, and piled high with white pillows of every conceivable size. There was a row of fluffy terry bathrobes—leopard print no less. And a vanity table that sat four.
The living room had a table and chairs. This was where Lauren set herself up to work for the afternoon. But after a couple of hours she moved her laptop to a shapely leather sofa and sprawled on it.
It ought to have been the perfect working environment. But it was so quiet she began to feel twitchy. She missed her desk in Manhattan and the watercooler gossip there. At Nate’s software company she wasn’t Lauren-who-Mike-ditched. She was just the efficient woman Nate trusted with his calendar, with his whole goddamn life really.
She got up and did a lap around the hotel suite, taking time to give each of the dresses she’d unpacked a shake to eliminate wrinkles. There hadn’t been time to snap pictures and e-mail them to Ari, so she’d just brought an armful.
Now she had an idea.
Lauren went back to her laptop and e-mailed Ari and Georgia, asking them if they wanted to swing by the suite for snacks and primping later. “I’ve got some dress choices for Ari. But I’ve also got practically an entire salon up here, including good lighting and those magnifying mirrors that make everyone’s pores look like lunar craters.”
A few minutes later both Ari and Georgia had responded that they’d love to come up to the penthouse floor to get beautiful for the party.
Well okay then. Now she had something else to plan.
She ordered mini sandwiches and finger foods from a deli she located with her Katt Phone. She ordered beverages from room service—a bottle of white wine on ice, as well as a six pack of Diet Coke.
At six o’clock she set everything out on the table. It looked like a lot more food than necessary. But she was so excited about not facing this awkward party alone that she’d gone a little overboard.
When the knock on the door came, she opened it to reveal Georgia and Ari, each carrying garment bags, and—to her surprise—Rebecca.
“Hi there,” Lauren said, trying to keep the shock off her face. “I didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” she said to Nate’s other assistant. If the Brooklyn Bruisers office manager was fully recovered, maybe Lauren wouldn’t be headed to Tampa after all!
“I see that look
of excitement on your face,” Becca said. “But, sadly, I’m not back in action yet. My fancy new doctor has outlined several weeks of therapy.” She marched right over to the table and plucked a pickle off a tray. “I whined so loudly that Nate agreed to a temporary furlough. I’ve been let out for good behavior for this party so long as I’m back at the therapist’s office in forty-eight hours.”
“Oh.” Lauren’s heart dove. “Ah, well. I guess I have to go to this fucking party after all. Somebody open the wine.”
“This looks great,” Georgia said, eyeing the munchies. She lifted the bottle from its ice bath. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“I didn’t make the sandwiches or the wine,” Lauren pointed out. “And anyway—this will probably be the most enjoyable part of the evening.”
“Not a fan of parties?” Ari asked.
“It depends on the party.”
“I brought the mani-pedi kit!” Becca said wandering toward the windows facing the ocean. “This is a killer suite.” She peeked into the ridiculous bathroom. “You have a hot tub? Holy shit.”
“It’s a little much,” Lauren agreed. “If we can’t get beautiful in here, there’s really no help for us.”
Becca snorted. “You’re in a fun mood.”
“Fun” wasn’t really the word Lauren would have picked. “Frazzled” would be a better choice. “So what is everybody wearing?”
Georgia laid her garment bag over a sofa and unzipped it. “If this party is on the beach, I brought the wrong shoes.” She pulled out a strapless dress in pale pink.
“That’s pretty,” Lauren said. “I wear a lot of pink. It does nice things for my skin.”
“This one did nice things for my wallet. I found it on sale at Saks yesterday.”
“Shoes don’t matter tonight,” Rebecca said, lining up wineglasses. “The party is outside. I’m just going to kick mine off and go barefoot. I flew all the way to Florida to feel some sand between my toes. I took a peek at the beach before my room was ready. It’s gorgeous.”
Yes, it is, Lauren privately agreed. It was in one of the hammocks strung between the palm trees that she and Mike had made frantic love that night. Yikes. Stop thinking about that. “So,” she clapped her hands. “Let’s pick a dress for Ari.”
Georgia bit into a finger sandwich. “Ari looks good in everything.”
“If only,” Ari said, following Lauren over to the closet. “I brought a simple black dress just in case.”
“You can’t wear black!” Becca argued, pouring the wine. “I want to see you in one of Lauren’s designer numbers. And I’ll paint your toenails to match.”
“Let’s pick something,” Lauren agreed. “I brought six dresses. And not one of them is purple.” A cheer rose up, because they were all sick of wearing the team color. “How do you feel about red?” She pulled out a dress with a gathered waist that would look pretty on Ari’s yoga body.
“That’s a little brighter than I usually go,” Ari admitted. “But the fabric is gorgeous. Wow.”
Lauren set it aside. Maybe she’d wear the red one tonight, then. “Okay, this one is great,” she said, pulling out a silver sheath. “But we’d have to pad your bra. It’s a little too big in the chest for me.”
“Oh, god,” Ari laughed. “If it’s too big for you, it’s never fitting me. There isn’t enough padding to make that one work.”
Lauren had to agree. She pulled out the next one and hesitated. “I wasn’t sure whether to bring this.”
“Why?” Becca asked. “That would look smashing on you, Lauren. It would make your eyes look super blue.”
Lauren held the dress up and tried to see it with unbiased eyes. “Mike Beacon bought me this dress as a surprise. I wore it to a wedding here in Florida.”
“Wait!” Becca squeaked. “What do you mean he bought it as a surprise? Like—he walked into a store and chose it?”
“He did, in one of those boutiques on Collins Avenue in South Beach,” she said, her eyes traveling the soft gathers of silk at the bosom. “He bought it because he said it was exactly the same color as my favorite hydrangeas. It fit me perfectly, too.”
Georgia laughed over the rim of her wineglass. “I love Leo desperately, but I’d be terrified to see what he’d walk out of a dress shop with.”
Ari snorted. “Patrick would probably choose stripper wear.”
“Right?” Georgia cackled. “Try it on, Lauren. I want to see.”
“We’re dressing Ari right now,” she dodged.
“True,” the publicist said, sipping her wine. “But later I want a look at this mythical creature—a nice dress chosen by a man.”
Ari tried on a fit-and-flare dress that Lauren had brought in white with little black hearts all over it. “What do you think?” she asked, emerging from the bedroom.
“Cute!” Georgia said. “It’s so whimsical that I wouldn’t have thought you’d like it. But it’s adorable.”
Ari turned in a circle. “It’s not too young?”
“Oh, please!” Lauren said, clasping her hands. “In the first place, you’re still young. Because if you’re old then there’s no hope for me.”
Becca giggled.
“And furthermore . . .” Lauren walked in a circle around Ari. “That looks fabulous. Your legs look about seven miles long, and your coloring makes you the only person I know who can wear white in April.”
“True dat,” Becca agreed. “Well, Georgia could. She’s sort of golden all year round.”
Ari smiled, moving over to admire herself in the bathroom doorway, where she could see the mirror. “If you really don’t mind, I’d love to borrow it.”
“I really don’t mind. Lending out a dress almost justifies my shopping habits.”
“I’ll be really careful.”
“I’m not worried.” Lauren chose a sandwich for herself and began to relax. “What are you wearing, Rebecca?”
“I’ll show you after we paint everyone’s nails. Let’s put a few inches of water in that ridiculous hot tub and we can all soak our feet. And Lauren—that glass of wine I poured is for you. I’m not allowed to have any alcohol yet.”
“Bummer,” Lauren sympathized.
“It really is.”
• • •
Lauren had gotten a pedicure before leaving New York, so she didn’t need Becca’s services. But facing a black-tie party with Mike Beacon in attendance required careful attention to the rest of her grooming. She curled and styled her hair while everyone else got painted. The constant chatter of female voices in her suite made her feel less lonely.
Becca unveiled her dress, and it was so her—a strapless vintage dress from the 1950s. Rose-colored lace flowers covered white fabric, and a matching satin sash circled the waist.
“Wow!” Georgia said. “I’m glad you decided it was time to wear that one.”
“I know, right?” Becca gave 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 . . .” She pulled out her phone and squinted at it. “Stick close because I don’t want to talk business. Alex wants to pick my pocket on the router division.”
Lauren laughed. “Oh, Nate. Way to handle it like a grown-up.”
“I met Alex once a long time ago,” Becca said. “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 said quickly. “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.” Becca sniffed. “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.”
Her friend turne
d 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 complained. But she handed over the mascara wand.
“I have every confidence in you,” Becca cooed, tilting Georgia’s chin so she could apply the mascara. “Except when it comes to fashion and makeup. Now, Lauren! Let’s see that blue dress.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
“Let’s see it before you decide.”
It was probably time to settle her own fashion crisis, so Lauren carried the blue dress into the bedroom where she donned a strapless bra. Then she shimmied into the blue dress, and the silk was cool against her skin.
“I’ll zip you,” Ari offered, hustling to help. “Whoa! This fits you perfectly. When did you wear this last?”
Lauren did the math. “Three years ago.”
“It’s stunning. Guys—look at this.”
Georgia and Becca stuck their heads through the bedroom doorway. “Wow!” Georgia said, while Becca made “hummanah-hummanuh” noises.
Lauren went to stand in front of the full-length mirror. “Still fits,” she said. But not for long. She put a hand over her flat stomach. If everything went according to plan, she wouldn’t be the same dress size in the fall.
Now there was a wild, thrilling idea. It was almost exciting enough to get her through the next few hours.
Almost.
“You have to wear that one,” Ari said, appearing behind her in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous. Either Beak got very lucky with the fit, or he’s missed his calling as a fashion consultant.”
Lauren snickered. “I think we’d have to go with luck on that one. He wears the same sweatshirt six days a week. Or he used to,” she amended quickly. She skimmed her hands over her silk-clad hips. “I can’t wear this dress. What if he remembers it? That would be weird.”
“Men don’t remember that stuff,” Georgia said.
