“Oh! So you’re an architect? That must be exciting.”
I was never dating again. This was ridiculous.
I lifted my water to my lips and took a sip. “Actually, I’m an executive administrative assistant.”
His brows dipped in confusion. “Isn’t that like, a secretary?”
Never. Dating. Again.
“I guess so. But the politically correct term nowadays is administrative assistant. There’s kind of a stigma that comes with being labeled a ‘secretary,’ you know. It’s similar to how stewardesses are now referred to as flight attendants.”
He didn’t look any less confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I… uh… it’s…,” I stammered as I tried to come up with an easier explanation. “Let me put it this way, what do you imagine when you think secretary?”
“Well… someone who gets my coffee, I guess.”
“Exactly!” I smiled. He was finally getting it. “The first thing your brain thinks of is a glorified coffee fetcher.”
“But isn’t that what you are?”
Or maybe not. “No,” I scowled. “It’s not. I do a lot more than just get coffee.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “But you do get your boss coffee, right?”
Was this date over yet?
The evening definitely didn’t get any better from there. I sipped on my water and ate mostly bread and the asparagus on my plate that had been drizzled in a really tasty hollandaise sauce while Bryan went on, and on, and on about his family’s sail boat and their exclusive Connecticut country club and summering—yes, he managed to turn a season into a verb—in New Hampshire or his parents’ house in the Hamptons. His clothing choices suddenly made a lot more sense.
As did the boat shoes I hadn’t noticed until he got up and excused himself to the bathroom.
I’d just dropped my head into my hands and let out a frustrated groan when I heard the Bryan’s chair scrape across the floor. My head shot up, thinking he’d already returned, only to discover Chance had temporarily taken his seat.
“Wow.”
My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head as I stuffed another piece of bread into my mouth. “I know,” I muttered through the bite of food. “This is terrible!”
Like the amazing friend he was, he pushed a glass of red wine across the table for me to drink. “I got you this when that dick-hole ordered for you.”
I brought the glass to my lips and chugged as much as possible. “Oh God, Chance. Do you think I could fake anaphylaxis or something to get out of this date? I don’t know how much more of this guy I can take.”
“I knew he was a douche the minute I saw those fucking anchors.”
“Where do you even buy a shirt like that?” I hissed under my breath, leaning forward in desperation. “You have to get me out of this.”
Chance smiled wickedly as he stood from Bryan’s seat. “I told you I’d have your back, didn’t I? Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”
He moved back to his own table, but once seated, I saw him flag Antonio down. The two men exchanged quiet words, and at one point, Antonio looked seconds away from bursting into laughter. Then, to my bewilderment, Chance passed the waiter a couple bills. As Antonio walked past my table, he gave me a little wink I couldn’t decipher.
The next two minutes happened in slow motion—a really entertaining slow motion. I could see Bryan heading back down the hall from the men’s room and struggled to contain my groan of displeasure at the sight of him. Just as he reached Chance’s table, Antonio appeared as if he’d materialized out of thin air, a nearly overflowing glass of red wine in his hands. In a scene I couldn’t have scripted any better, my blessed waiter stumbled right into him, spilling the entire drink down the front of Bryan’s godawful shirt and khaki pants.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you there.”
Antonio deserved an Oscar for his performance, and I decided right there and then that I was tripling whatever Chance paid the guy.
“You idiot! Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost?” Bryan hatefully spat in outrage. “Probably more than you make in a month!”
“I’m so sorry. Let me just get you something to wipe that up with.” Antonio took off, and I stood from my seat, pasting on my best surprised face as I headed in Bryan’s direction.
“Oh no,” I gasped. “That’s just terrible. If you don’t get that pretreated as soon as possible, that stain will set. You need to use equal parts vinegar and baking soda.”
He looked up at me from his ruined shirt. “What?”
“Vinegar and baking soda. It should take that right out. But you need to go do it now. Like, right now. Before it sets.”
“But—”
“I insist!” I spouted with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’d just hate myself if your shirt was ruined because you wanted to stay and continue our date. I’d never forgive myself. I’ll take care of the check. You just get home and soak that stain.”
“Are… are you sure?”
“Positive!” I grabbed hold of his shoulders and spun him in the direction of the door. “And thank you for dinner. It really was lovely. Now, remember, equal parts.”
His forehead was furrowed in confusion as I began pushing him away. “Vinegar and baking soda. Got it.”
“Exactly. Now hurry!” I stood and watched until the glass door closed behind Bryan. Only then did I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. When I turned back to my table, Chance was already there, with Antonio standing beside him. My high heels clicked against the tiles as I moved back to my chair and sat down, and a slow, pleased smile spread across my face.
“You’re a genius, and I owe you so big after tonight.”
Chance’s deep chuckle warmed something inside me. “You really do,” he replied before turning back to the waiter. “Two glasses of cabernet, please. And would you mind bringing the lady the Veal Parmesan?”
Antonio grinned. “And anything for you, sir?”
Chance reached across the table and picked up my partially touched main course, setting the plate down in front of him. “I’m good.” And with a wink in my direction, he added, “I actually like baked salmon.”
Chapter 11
Melany
MY STOMACH FELT like a million hummingbirds were flying in figure eights at the same time.
A girls’ night in with wine, food, and makeup tutorials had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I was standing outside Devon’s apartment, listening to her and her friends’ laughter from the other side of the wooden door, I wanted to tuck tail and run.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that, because I’d stupidly invited my best friend along to prevent any unnecessary word vomit from occurring, and she was currently blocking my way.
I tried to make a break for it, only to have my attempt foiled.
“Nuh-uh. No running away,” she chastised, taking hold of my shoulders and spinning me back around to face the door. “We’re already here, so we might as well go inside.”
I looked over my shoulder and pouted. “But—”
Her mouth formed a straight, tight line before she started in. “I did not manage to score a sitter so I could get the hell out of my house and surround myself with people who don’t have a penis just so you could get cold feet and bail. I need this, Melly. I need girl time desperately. I need to use a bathroom that doesn’t smell like urine. I need to be in a place where I don’t have to be careful where I step for fear of landing in something squishy and/or wet. We’re doing this, and you’re damn well gonna like it.”
I caught sight of the small twitch in her eyelid, the one that developed just after giving birth to her second son, the one that became more prominent whenever she thought about living in a house overrun by boys.
“Okay,” I placated on a whisper, knowing the next phase of a Constance meltdown was crying and wanting to do everything in my power to prevent reaching that level. “Okay. I’ll have fun, I swear.”<
br />
Connie’s bottom lip began to tremble. “Thank you,” she croaked, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “It’s just… boys are so gross!”
“Shh, shh, shh.” I looped my arms around her neck and pulled her in for a hug, patting her back soothingly as she sniffled against my shoulder. “I know, honey. I know. Boys are disgusting.”
“The worst,” she spoke, her voice muffled by my shirt. “Today I found rotten orange slices in Deacon’s backpack.” Her head shot up, and she looked at me with big eyes. “They’d been in there for a month, Melly. A month! Do you have any idea what that smelled like? And he just forgot about them!”
She was starting to get hysterical, and I knew I had to diffuse the situation quickly. “Hey!” I chirped cheerfully. “I bet there’s wine inside. Why don’t we get in there and get you a nice big glass, huh? Mmm,” I hummed. “I bet it’s really good!”
“O-okay.” She sniffled again, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I could do that.”
I took her elbow and knocked loudly. “It’ll make you feel all better,” I told her in a tone similar to one I’d use on a fussy toddler.
As soon as Devon opened the door, I gave her wide, dramatic eyes and shot a sideways glance at Constance while mouthing, “Wine. STAT.”
Devon took one look at my friend and, recognizing a woman in need, thrust the glass she was holding in Connie’s direction with a cheerful, “Welcome! You must be Melany’s best friend. She told me you’d be here. I’m so glad you guys came!”
I turned to look at Constance just as she finished draining the glass with a contented, “Ahhh. Thanks for including me.” She grinned, back to her normal self. “It’s nice to have grownup time every once in a while.”
Devon stepped back and waved us inside. The next few minutes were a bit overwhelming as drinks and introductions were passed around. I recognized Pepper from the boutique, but met the other two women Devon dubbed the Locklaine Girls, Navie and Delilah. The four women were completely different in every way—from looks to personality—but they all seemed to get along great and had no problem bringing Constance and me into the mix.
They were all loud but no less friendly, and I told myself that I should be comfortable, that these were nice women.
I was just starting to relax when I heard, “Ooh wee! If it isn’t the woman with the ass that could turn a man straight!”
All eyes went to the familiar, flamboyantly dressed man who was walking out of the kitchen. He was the one who worked for Pepper, the one who’d made me blush so red I thought my cheeks would catch fire.
“Tomas!” Pepper cried. “Don’t embarrass her!”
“And what the hell were you doing in my kitchen?” Devon asked. “You better not have made a mess.”
He rolled his eyes and plopped down in an armchair so skillfully he didn’t spill a drop of the bright pink liquid in his martini glass. “Bitch please. You vaginas can drink your wine. I’ve got class, so it’s cosmopolitans all the way.” He turned from Devon and gave me a wicked grin. “How you been, beautiful?”
“Uh… g-good.” A giggle came from beside me. Constance was finding Tomas’s eccentricities hilarious. I probably would have too if he didn’t make me so nervous.
“Mm-hmm, I’d say.” His eyes did a scan of the tight skinny jeans and scoop-neck tee that hung off one shoulder. “You went from those hideous skirts and ugly-ass shirts to showing off that smokin’ hot body.” He lifted his glass in salute. “Good for you, sweetness. Good for you.”
Constance giggled again and took a drink from her refilled wineglass. “She does have a smokin’ hot body, doesn’t she? I’ve been telling her for years!”
Tomas gave her a curious glance, his eyes dancing beneath the shadow cast by his fedora… that’s right, his fedora. And the dude was rocking it! If Tomas thought I was pretty, then he’d go insane for Constance. With her dark hair, honey-colored eyes, and delicate features, she looked like a living Disney princess. “And who are you?” he asked.
She lowered her glass and smiled brightly. “I’m Melly’s best friend. I’ve known her almost my whole life, and can I just say I’m thrilled she’s finally coming out of her shell? It’s about damn time! Bonus, I get to come along for the ride and escape a household of dirty, smelly boys.”
Tomas grinned cheekily. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you, honey bunch.”
Constance winked and drained her second glass of wine. Thank God we were taking a cab home, because I had no doubt she’d be smashed before we left. “You get me one of those cosmos and the feeling will be totally mutual, sugar.”
“MORE BROWN.”
“No. Adding more won’t look natural.”
“I think she needs a touch more bronzer.”
“She looks pretty just like that.”
“God, these are the best cosmos ever. I LOVE GIRLS’ NIGHT!”
The makeup lessons had gone really well… at first. Then, with the more alcohol consumed, things started deteriorating fast. Luckily, I was tipsy enough not to care. It hadn’t taken long at all for me to warm up to these wonderful women and Tomas. They were just too funny and outgoing not to like. Plus, I had the benefit of liquid courage, so I was feeling rather confident. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was actually having fun… in a group… of people! It was so out of character for me, yet refreshing. It gave me a taste of what life could be like if I ever got over my neurosis.
I laughed as Devon dragged the blush brush across my cheek. “That tickles.”
“I think…,” Devon said, her words slurring a bit as she squinted at me through one eye. “I think the lessons are over for tonight. I’m seeing two of you and don’t know which one to put makeup on.”
Her blue eyes got big before we both burst into a fit of giggles. I brought my glass to my lips and tipped my head back, only to find it was already empty. “Damn,” I mumbled. “Someone drank all my wine.”
Navie’s tinkling laughter sounded from behind me. “I think that someone was you, girly.”
“Oh. I guess it was!” I laughed.
“Women,” Tomas grumbled from beside me, leisurely sprawled out on the sofa like the queen of Egypt. All that was missing was someone fanning him with palm leaves. “Can’t hold their liquor to save their lives.”
Pepper threw a Q-tip at his head, missing by a few feet, and teased, “Tomas the Great. So superior to the rest of us mere mortals.”
He wiggled his fingers in her direction and replied, “Glad you’re finally realizing, sweety-kins,” but I was too focused on something else to pay attention to them.
“Your hair’s so pretty,” I whispered drunkenly, as I leaned forward and rubbed strands of her hair between my fingers. “I’ve always wanted dark hair.”
“Ooh!” Delilah, the sweet, quieter one of the group, exclaimed. “You should totally do it! I bet it would look great with your coloring.”
“You think?”
“Definitely,” Devon replied. Then she gasped and shot up from her chair. “I actually have a box of color under my bathroom sink!” She got strange looks from everyone around us. “What?” she shrugged. “I thought I found a gray hair a few weeks ago. Thank God it was a false alarm.”
“Uh…,” Navie spoke up. “Is hair-coloring while drunk really a good idea?”
Tomas set his drink down and made a show of throwing his legs off the couch and standing tall, cocking one hip out. “I’ll do it. I’m more sober than all you bitches, and hair is totes my thing.”
Pepper wrinkled her nose up at him. “I thought fashion was your thing.”
With his hands propped on his hips, he shot her a look. “It is, but before I realized the world needed my skills as a fashionista, I learned how to do hair. Have you seen all the women in Manhattan walking around with frizzy, over-processed hair? It’s an epidemic!” He shuddered before carrying on. “I felt it was my duty to save the city, one bottled blonde at a time. Now I’m just saving them from such things as
Mom Jeans and Uggs instead.” He reached down to grab my hand and pulled me up. “Come on, hot stuff, let’s transform you.”
A while later, we were all in Devon’s bathroom. It was a decent-sized space, but with so many people crammed in, I felt a little claustrophobic.
Tomas’s fingers worked diligently, separating sections of hair and coating each strand in the dark mixture. I sat in front of the vanity in one of the dining room chairs Devon had dragged in, with a towel wrapped securely around my shoulders, staring at everyone through the mirror as they watched Tomas work.
My drunken state had dwindled into a light buzz before almost disappearing all together, and I was starting to think coloring my hair wasn’t the best decision. It was just so… different. But it was too late to turn back now.
“You look like you’re freaking out,” Constance stated.
“I think I might be,” I said quietly. “I’m not as drunk now as I was when we decided to do this.”
“Don’t freak out,” she warned. “It’s just a bit of color, nothing permanent.”
“And with the makeup and new clothes, you’re going to be beating the men off with a stick,” Tomas added.
I blew out a breath and mumbled, “I don’t want to beat anyone with a stick.”
Clearly ignoring my change of mood, Devon grinned widely into the mirror at me. “Soooo?” she dragged out. “What’s the deal with you and Chance?”
I spun to look at her only to have Tomas jerk my head back and issue a stern, “Stop fidgeting.”
“Ooh, yes!” Pepper hissed, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve been wondering the same thing!”
“W-what do you mean?” I asked their reflections. All other conversations had ceased and everyone’s attention was on me, causing my skin to prickle. But I was determined to push the nerves back. These were good people.
Devon’s smile grew knowing as her head cocked to the side. “I mean you two are spending a lot of time together. He’s taken you shopping and to lunch… so, what’s going on?”
Chance Encounters Page 9
