“Locked tight,” Lauren responded, her agreement automatic after years of promising to keep information a secret.
“Do you know who Stan McDonnell is?”
“The football player?”
“Uh-huh. And the rumors about the professional athlete running an escort service?”
“That’s him? Oh my God, Sophie, you’re on that case?”
Sophie motioned with her hand and glanced around. “Keep your voice down. We are beyond God. McDonnell is screwed.”
“Not a shocker. I read online that the athlete involved started setting his friends up and it snowballed from there.” Lauren shook her head. “If he’d spent more time prepping the business aspects and less time dipping into his inventory, he wouldn’t have gotten caught. Not that I’m condoning his criminal enterprise.”
“Alleged criminal enterprise,” Sophie said, raising her index finger for emphasis. “And he didn’t think he was starting a business. He’s not the intellectual type.”
“He’s handsome, though.”
“Ugh. Not when you get to know him. Besides, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him, but I’ve seen pictures of Mr. Carter Richardson. Your own view is pretty scenic.”
“And he knows it.”
“The gorgeous ones usually do. So, what brings you into the city?”
“I need a new clutch for the Picasso gala on Saturday.”
“That’s this weekend?”
“In two days,” Lauren said.
“You don’t sound excited. I thought you were looking forward to this event?”
“I was, until Dorothy insisted I go with Carter.”
“Why would she do that?”
The universe was offering her the perfect opportunity to tell Sophie about the engagement. She wanted to confide in her best friend and talk through the maelstrom of her conflicting emotions. Sophie knew what Lauren had gone through and how the few casual experiences she’d had with men over the years had left her jaded and unfulfilled. She would understand that a large part of Lauren could still be drawn to Carter, despite his past rejection and the impossibility of a future together. She would commiserate when Lauren would have to abandon the safety of distance and act lovingly toward Carter for Dorothy’s sake.
She flashed back to the kiss in the kitchen yesterday morning. Seeing him standing there, tennis racket in hand, had been her teenaged fantasy come to life. His touch had taken her by surprise, and instead of pushing him away she’d melted into him like a chocolate bar on a hot dashboard. Her response had been mortifying and a complication she didn’t need, something she yearned to discuss with Sophie. But she couldn’t. She’d made Carter promise that the truth wouldn’t leave the family. She couldn’t violate her own provision.
“Dorothy thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to let everyone know he’s back in town.” Lauren held her breath, waiting for Sophie’s PR superpowers to call “bullshit,” but her friend only cocked her head to the side and raised a brow. She rushed on. “Not that I see the point. He’s not staying. He’s already grumbling about getting back to his life in DC.”
“Insensitive, but expected. Some people…ahem,” Sophie said, clearing her voice and giving Lauren a knowing look, “crave order and stability in their lives. Why does it matter? You won’t be here much longer.” When she didn’t respond, Sophie cupped her shoulder. “Have you given the museum an answer?”
Busted. “Not yet.”
“Do it, Lo.” The words tumbled out, like clutter from an overstuffed closet. “Accept the fellowship. This is a prestigious, once in a lifetime opportunity. Reach out, grab it with both hands. If you don’t, you’re going to regret it. And I don’t want that to happen.”
Sophie had a point. Working part-time for Dorothy while pursuing her masters and doctorate degrees had been challenging, but she’d done it, determined to build a foundation for the rest of her life. She wanted to do work that would make her happy. More importantly, she wanted to make it on her own and find a way to pay back Dorothy for everything she’d done. It was those same feelings of love and gratitude that prevented her from accepting the position. How could she leave Dorothy after the other woman had taken her in? Now when Dorothy needed her most?
“It’s not that simple. I haven’t told Dorothy and now, with the cancer… You know what Dr. Tye said.”
“Dorothy loves you and wants the best for you. She’ll understand.”
Maybe. But Lauren couldn’t help thinking about Dorothy’s panic attack. She couldn’t risk it.
“So,” Sophie said, settling her hands on her hips, “you’re going to the gala with Carter?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved to move to a different subject, even if it was him.
“Is it a date?”
“No!”
“Is he bringing someone else?”
“No,” she answered, although she couldn’t tell Sophie why.
“Then it’s a date,” Sophie confirmed. She looked at her cell phone. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
Sophie started back to the office building, dazzling male bystanders in her wake. “To grab my purse.”
“Why?”
“We need to go shopping for a new dress.”
Lauren reached out a hand to stop her. “I didn’t say I needed a new dress. I said I wanted a clutch.”
“Clutch. Dress. Same thing.”
“Actually, they’re not. I know what I’m going to wear,” Lauren said.
“I do, too.”
“Then you know it’s perfectly appropriate.”
“You worked hard to get that body,” Sophie said, pointing her cell phone at Lauren. “Don’t you want to show it off in something that’s not appropriate?”
Several people gawked at them, but kept moving.
Lauren could feel the heat bloom in her cheeks. “Try being a little louder. Some commuters a few blocks over didn’t hear you.”
“I’m serious, Lo. You cannot go to the gala with Carter wearing that black column dress with the beaded jacket,” Sophie said.
“There’s nothing wrong with that dress. It’s Oscar de la Renta.”
“I think Glenn Close wore it to the Globes four years ago,” Sophie said.
“Glenn Close is beautiful.”
“She’s also more than thirty years older than you.”
Lauren’s mouth fell open and she flinched away when Sophie reached for her. “So I dress like an old lady? That’s a shitty thing to say.” She turned and headed in the opposite direction.
So much for her compassionate, empathetic friend.
“Lo, wait.” Sophie hurried in front of her and put out a hand. “You run, play tennis or swim six days a week. Why would you do that to hide a sexy body no one ever sees?”
Sexy? She’d never thought of herself as sexy. How could she, when the only man she’d ever wanted had laughed at her advances?
“I wanted to be healthy. Obsession over looks is your thing, not mine.”
Sophie flinched and laid a hand against her chest. “I’m sorry. I never should have criticized your choices. I’ll be happy to come along and help you choose a clutch if you still want my input.”
Lauren felt like a bitch. Sophie had only ever had her best interests at heart. It might be uncomfortable, but if she thought there was an issue, Lauren owed it to her to hear her out.
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
“Nothing.”
“Please, Sophie. You were friend enough to tell me your unsolicited opinion two minutes ago. I need you to be friend enough to continue now that I’ve asked.”
Sophie sighed. “It’s not the caliber of your clothes. Everything you wear is well made and of the highest quality. But to me, and I know you, it feels like a costume. You’re a smart, witty, vibrant woman. To that woman, navy blue isn’t a pop of color, pressed khaki capris aren’t casual clothes, and cleavage isn’t a four-letter word. Truthfully…” She hesitated.
&
nbsp; “Don’t stop now,” Lauren prompted.
“You dress like Dorothy Richardson, Jr.”
The words fell heavy upon her. “No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, honey, you do,” Sophie said in a soothing tone. “There’s nothing wrong with Dorothy’s style. She’s a very classy lady. But it’s her style, not yours.”
Had she been subconsciously mirroring Dorothy’s style? Filling her entire wardrobe with items Dorothy would have worn herself? To what end? To please Dorothy? To fit in? Or maybe if she’d looked more like the other girls, Carter wouldn’t have pushed her away? Had it always been that simple, that basic?
“All right, let’s do this before I change my mind.”
Sophie grabbed her hand. “Are you sure?”
“No, but we’ll do it anyway.”
Realizing she’d embraced more than Dorothy’s words of wisdom over the past ten years was a lot to digest, and she’d be navigating that subliminal minefield for weeks to come. But she couldn’t go another day without purchasing something just for her and shopping for the gala was the perfect first step. She was determined to find something she liked. A dress just for her. Not what Dorothy would like or what she thought Carter would like. She hoped when the time came she’d be able to tell the difference.
Sophie smiled, the sight radiant against her milk chocolate complexion. “I know the perfect place.”
“I thought you could only spare a few minutes?”
“This is an emergency. Stan the Man will have to wait.”
Sophie hadn’t needed the entire ten minutes, returning after six to drag Lauren over to North Michigan Avenue, the heart of The Magnificent Mile shopping district. Inside Sophie’s perfect store, the decor was bright and crisp. Several mannequins were displayed in small groupings around the showroom, wearing clothes for every occasion.
“Can I help you?” A fashionable woman in black slacks and a yellow blouse approached them.
Lauren stepped forward, then glanced at Sophie, who nodded her encouragement. She took a deep breath. “I’m looking for an evening dress for the Picasso and Chicago gala.”
The sales associate pressed her hands together and placed them against her lips. She studied Lauren from head to toe, and even circled around her, blue eyes sharp. Lauren forced herself to stand still and not to betray her unease with a twitch or shuffle. When the associate was done, she smiled. “You’re cutting it pretty close, but I’m sure we can assist you. My name is Yolanda. What kind of style did you have in mind?”
Lauren had been uncomfortable with the initial assessment and had considered walking out. But when she thought about what Sophie said, she’d forced herself to stay. She needed to do this. Shying away from her habit of asking for something in black, she blurted out, “Color. I’d like something tasteful, but in color.”
“You have a fabulous skin tone,” Yolanda said. “Any color would look great on you. How about vivid jewel tones? We got some new dresses in on Tuesday.”
Yolanda showed them to a private dressing room and returned with an armful of colorful dresses. Sophie rubbed her hands together and pointed to the pink one on top. “Let’s start with that one.”
Thirty minutes later, Lauren smoothed her hand down the skirt of the last dress she’d tried on and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Tears pricked her eyelids, but she held them at bay. That was her. How many days over how many years had she looked at herself in the mirror? Why had she been able to catalogue all of her flaws but had never seen…this. The dress fit her body as if constructed on her form. The curves that Sophie had alluded to arched and swerved in all the right places. It was unbelievable.
“You look incredible,” Sophie breathed. “That dress is gorgeous.”
“I know. It reminds me of the ocean, the light blue part closest to the sand.”
“You’re going to give Carter a heart attack when he sees you.”
Her own pulse skyrocketed when she tried to imagine Carter’s reaction. He didn’t need to have a heart attack. A little chest pain would do. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. He won’t be able to resist you in that dress.”
Bitterness overtook her newly budded self-confidence. “Why not? He’s had practice.”
Sophie unfolded from the bench and came toward her. “Boys are idiots.”
“Excuse me?”
“You shouldn’t hold them responsible for their stupid choices and thoughtless preferences in the midst of raging hormones. That wouldn’t be fair. What if I held you responsible for your taste when you were a teenager? What if I went around judging you because you had a life-size cut-out of the Backstreet Boys in your dorm room?”
“You promised to never mention that.”
“I know you’re still hurt from what happened at the party, but that was years ago. You’ve got to get over it. You’re not that girl anymore. You’re a beautiful, successful woman. And despite the blogs, he’s not that boy anymore. He may not have noticed you when you were both younger, but trust me, he’ll notice you now.”
“Then what? He’ll go back to DC and the next woman who catches his fancy.”
“So?”
Lauren frowned. That wasn’t the response she was expecting. “So?”
“Are you looking to marry him?”
Her heart bumped. “I—”
“Carter doesn’t do commitment, so you won’t do Carter?”
“Sophie!” Lauren laughed, despite her turmoil.
“In three months, you could be starting your fellowship in New York, the second best city in America. Loads of handsome, dynamic guys will take one look at you and make it their personal mission to help you forget any other man.”
“You’re being slightly ridiculous.”
“You’re being naive. You have the perfect opportunity to explore this thing between you and Carter. Haven’t you always wondered about it? What would have happened if he hadn’t walked away? Now’s your chance. Dip a toe in, maybe get your feet wet. Or anything else.”
Sophie was giving her this advice and she didn’t even know about the engagement. Lauren had no doubt what she would say if she did.
“Have I ever done anything to make you think I would casually sleep with a man?”
“Unfortunately, no. But there’s nothing casual about this. If you don’t make a move, to either see if Carter’s been worth ten years of fantasies or to put him out of your mind, I’m afraid you’ll always be stuck on him and you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”
Lauren couldn’t get Sophie’s words out of her mind. Not after they left the boutique, not after they decided Lauren should get dressed at Sophie’s place in the city on Saturday, not even on the drive back home.
Could she do this? Did she want to? It would be foolish to deny her response to Carter, but he’d already rejected her once before. And despite Sophie’s advice, Lauren knew she wanted something permanent. A family of her own. A place she could belong. Carter had made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything serious. Could she set herself up for that type of rejection again?
Chapter Seven
Attendance at the Picasso and Chicago opening night gala was high. The art-loving members of the city’s elite spent one thousand dollars a person for the privilege to dress in evening gowns and tuxedos and get a preview of the exhibit featuring works from famed artist Pablo Picasso.
Carter stared at a painting of a group of naked women wearing masks.
What the hell?
He looked around and noted that others studied similar pieces and found them worthy of discussion. He shook his head. What was wrong with landscapes and bridges and pictures of people who looked like people?
Someone poked his shoulder and he turned around. A petite blonde stood behind him. “Hey, Carter. I’d heard you were back in the city.”
“Constance.” He smiled, remembering fun times in high school involving beer, the beach, and a shockingly tiny red bikini. Even in heels, she had to stretch, her
lithe body making full contact as she pressed her pouty lips against his in greeting. “I just got in two days ago.”
“Great news travels fast,” she said, trailing her nails up and down his arm. She tilted her head to the side, her light colored strands falling over one shoulder. “I heard about Dorothy. Are you back for good?”
“Just visiting.”
She lowered her lashes and her voice. “Can you come and visit me?”
Under different circumstances he would have enjoyed making that house call. If he remembered correctly, Constance used to train in gymnastics.
He shook his head, his lips twitching. “It’s not a social visit. I’m here for my aunt.”
“Of course,” she said, placing her hand on his chest, “but she doesn’t need you twenty-four seven. Give me your phone.”
Amused, he pulled his cell out and handed it to her. Constance’s fingers flew over the screen and a few seconds later, she slid it back inside his inner jacket pocket, patting it for good measure.
“When it’s time for her to rest, you can come to me for relaxation.” Her parting look smoldered as she blew him a kiss and strutted away.
Damn.
He reached for his phone and studied the contact information she’d added. He’d promised LoLo he wouldn’t date anyone else while they were pretending to be engaged. Shaking his head, he swiped the screen and his thumb hovered over the red delete prompt. How was he supposed to resist Constance, the red bikini, and gymnastics? Plus, this pseudo relationship would eventually end. No need to be hasty. He backed out of the contact and pressed the home key, rendering the information safe.
“Couldn’t stay away, Richardson?” Todd Johnston asked, coming to stand on his right side, a flute of champagne in his hand.
“It’s been a while,” Carter said, shaking the man’s hand. He’d known Todd since they were kids. They hadn’t been close friends, but their families socialized in the same circle. They’d often attended the same parties and sometimes, got into the same trouble.
“Yeah, but things haven’t changed.”
His brows collided. “What does that mean?”
Todd tossed his hair, his blond bangs sweeping off his forehead in a move he’d perfected in high school. “You’re still a pussy magnet.”
Pretending with the Playboy Page 6
