Angel,
I’m so happy you came. I hope you enjoy the game. I’m so excited to see you; I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep my eyes on the biscuit and my blades on the ice.
Enclosed is my room key. Waldorf. Room 312. See you there shortly after the game.
xo Logan
What the hell happened to dinner? If I didn’t come to the game, would he be sending his room key to the Tweedles or the new Juliets?
I bite my lip in an effort to abate tears. I have no right to be upset. It’s not that I don’t want to meet him in his hotel room. I do, I really do. I’ve missed him like crazy. It’s just that I’m sitting in his balcony with his hopping hockey whores and it makes me feel like crap, makes me feel… common.
“Is everything all right?” George asks.
I fold the note and put it in my pocket. “Everything is fine,” I lie.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I slide my jacket on.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes, after I talk to the Tweedles.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Why?”
“Because I’m not common.”
“I don’t understand?”
I flash her the room key.
“Oh.” She grins. “You bitch.”
“My bad.”
“It was nice to meet you, Sam. I was going to say see you around, but I’m not sure I will.”
I hold out my hand and she shakes it. “It was great to meet you, George.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “Have fun.”
As I make my way down the aisle toward the Tweedles, a crazy idea pops into my devious brain, making me smile. I spent a couple of months in the south and fell in love with Southern words and phrases. But unfortunately, I didn’t inherit my mother’s photographic memory. So, if I go with this plan, I’ll be pulling words and phrases out of my brain like an unlucky hat. It truly is a stupid plan, but I’m hurt and mad. Damn if I’m going to make it easy for them. If they want Logan, they’ll have to earn it. So, here goes nothin’.
I pull a stick of gum out of jacket pocket, put it in my mouth, and sit down next to them. Between the three of them, they have on enough makeup and perfume to start their own factories.
“Howdy, y’all,” I say, twisting my long hair and chewing my gum.
They look at me as if I’m a crazy Southern homeless religious fanatic, about to take their makeup away and damn them to Antarctica.
“Got myself a note.” I raise a brow for dramatics. “Secret note from Mr. Romano. Dang girl at the Will Call gave it to me.”
“What did it say?” asks the woman in the middle. She must be the leader. I say this because she has the biggest hair and the longest gels.
“None of your damn business, until y’all tell me your names?”
“What? Why?” biggest hair asks.
“Have to make sure it’s goin’ to the right girls.”
Biggest hair says, “I’m Shelly.” She gestures to her right. “This is Melody.” She gestures to her left. “This is Sue Ellen.”
I shake my head. “For crying out loud. If that don’t beat all. Same three names on the dang note.”
“Can I see the note?” Sue Ellen asks.
“Y’all from up in Carolina, Raleigh, ain’t that right?”
“Yeah, so what?” Shelly says.
“Being a Southern gal myself, from an itty-bitty town in Georgia—Slutterville. Y’all heard of it?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand damn word you’re sayin’. We couldn’t care less where you are from,” Melody says.
“Well, dang girl. Looky here. Y’all don’t need to pitch a hissy. If y’all are goin’ to be like that, forget about it.” I sit back in my seat and fold my arms, adding what I hope is a Southern look of one offended.
Shelly hits her on the side of her big-haired head. “Shut up, you stupid bitch.” She looks at me. “Melody’s a bit high…um, falutin’. She’s sorry, Miss…?
“Miss Samantha. High-falutin’, she is not.”
“Whatever you say, Miss Samantha. She’s awfully sorry.”
“Did a cat catch her tongue?”
“What?”
“Can’t she speak?”
Shelly hits her again. “Apologize, you idiot. Or she won’t tell us what the note said.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Samantha.”
I nod.
Sue Ellen reaches over, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Would you please tell us about the note? Logan is special to us, ya see.”
How special? “All right, I’ll tell ya. Seeing as Mr. Romano is special to y’all. I’d show ya but I tore it up.”
“What?” they all say.
I lean closer to them. “The thing is, I didn’t understand the meaning of it.” I raise my brow a couple of times. “Asked the nice lady, Miss Georgia, over there.” I gesture over my shoulder.
They look at George.
She smiles and waves.
“Okay, so what did it say?” Shelly asks.
I flush, fanning myself. “Well... Mr. Romano said he’d like y’all to meet up in his hotel room, after the game.”
They lick their lips in unison as if they’d practiced it.
“Do y’all do the synchronized swimmin’ thing?”
“What?” they ask in unison.
I shake my head. “Forget it.”
“What else did it say?” Melody asks with an impatient bite.
I hold up my hands. “Don’t have a conniption! Just doin’ my best to inform y’all.” I shake my hands. “Dang! Well now I need to get me a beer.” I get up to leave and Sally latches onto my hand, pulling me back down to my seat.
“Don’t leave; we’ll buy you a beer. Look, I’m sorry about Melody. She’s a bit impatient. Ya see, Miss Samantha, she’s done got it real bad-like for Logan.”
Now it’s Logan. How bad-like? “All right then. I’ll get down to the…”
“Nitty-gritty,” Sue Ellen says.
I nod. “I asked the nice Miss Georgia what the note was saying, what it meant. I thought I knew the word but I needed to verify it, ya see. Now don’t be goin’ all plumb crazy on me. I’m not judgin’ y’all. Just not my cup a tea is all.”
“What the fuck?” Melody says.
I cover my ears. “Lord have mercy. Big Mama would roll on over in her grave! To her right, seein-how she broke her left hip. So she won’t be rollin’ to her left.”
They look as if they’re ready to murder, and then hang me. So I best get on with it. “Note said somethin’ about a ‘hook-up,’ I’m thinkin’ that was the word.”
“Get on with it,” Sue Ellen says, near shouting.
“Well dang. If y’all gonna holler, I won’t tell ya. I’ll just be on my way.
“Please,” Sue Ellen begs me. “Logan is so awfully special to us. Do you understand?”
“Like a brother ya mean?”
Melody bites her lip, looking as if she’d like to shoot me.
“Yes, like a brother,” Sue Ellen says.
“If y’all promise on your mamas’ graves not to freak, I’ll tell ya.”
“We promise,” they say.
“On?”
A bead of sweat runs down the side of Shelly’s face. She’s clearly losing it. I best reel the conversation in.
“We promise on our mamas’ graves,” they say, again, in unison.
“All right, I tell ya then. Said he’d like y’all to meet up at the Waldorf. Room 312. It went on a spell, said somethin’ about a quadsome?”
“A quadsome?” Sue Ellen asks.
Shelly slaps the side of her big-hair head. It’s damn near flat. “A foursome, you idiot.”
Sue Ellen smiles. “Really?”
I nod and dig the key card out of my jeans pocket and hand it to Melody.
“Did it say what time we should be over there?”
“No, ma’am. But if I were participatin’ in such an affair, which I would
never, ever, ever do.” I pause for a dramatic shiver. “I’d be gettin’ on over there real quick.”
They stand and put on their coats. Melody and Shelly wave as they walk down the aisle. Sue Ellen stops midway down the aisle and looks back at me. “Thanks, Miss Samantha.”
“Good luck to ya, Miss Sue Ellen. Make sure ya order up supper for y’all, and some of that high-falutin champagne, of course.”
“Of course,” she says and waves.
George comes over and sits next to me. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you did that.” We knuckle bump.
I stand. “Once again, George. It was wonderful to meet you.”
She salutes me. “It’s been a pleasure.”
I make my way out of the arena. As I send a text to my driver to meet me at the main entrance, I spy the Tweedles coming out of the restroom, giggling like horny idiots. Do I feel bad for what I’ve just done? Y’all know that answer. Not even one itty-bitty bit. Logan Romeo Romano can kiss my high-falutin ice-hole.
“Logan will you stop dragging your feet and help me find our table,” Allie huffs.
“I can’t believe you made me come with you.”
“Matt has a cold and there’s no way in hell I’d miss this dinner.”
“What’s so special about this dinner anyway? And what’s up will all the security? ID check, full-body scan, no pictures, no recordings, blah, blah, blah. Little overkill don’t you think?”
Allie and I reach the banquet room and step inside.
We freeze as our mouths gape.
“Wow,” we say simultaneously.
“Now do you get it?”
I nod. “Is that bar made out of ice?”
“Sure is. Erica and John represented the team last year and she’s still talking about the bar, the food, and the people.”
I take in the opulent room and the elegantly dressed NYC elite. “I didn’t expect there to be so many people here.”
“It’s the charity dinner of the year. Oh, my God. Look over there.” She points. “Isn’t that… oh shit, what is his name?”
“I don’t know. That actor guy.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Help me find our table, Romano.”
A man sporting a gray tux and a headset greets us. “Good evening and welcome. May I help you find your table?”
“Yes, please,” Allie says. “The Rangers’ table.”
“One moment.” He talks into his headset. “This is Ron. I need the Rangers table.” There’s a brief pause. “Copy that. Mrs. Allie Hutchings, Mr. Logan Romano, please follow me.”
We walk through a maze of tables and people.
“Here you are.” He pulls a chair out for Allie.
“Thank you,” she says, and sits.
He nods toward me as I sit next to her. “You will be sharing your table with two couples from the Rushman Foundation.”
Allie and I nod as if we know who or what the Rushman Foundation is.
“May I get you something from the bar, Mrs. Hutchings?”
“Sparkling water would be great.”
He nods. “And you, Mr. Romano?”
“Scotch, neat.”
He smiles. “Excellent. Your server will be back with your drinks momentarily, dinner starts promptly at seven thirty.” He nods and takes his leave.
We look at each other and laugh.
I take in the ice sculpture of a hockey player that sits in the middle of our table. “Man, that’s the coolest ice sculpture ever.”
“Every table has a unique sculpture,” Allie informs me as she looks around the room.
“I so need to take a pic and send it to Matt.” I unbutton my tux to retrieve my phone.
Allie grabs my hand. “Don’t you dare, Romano. They’re not kidding when they say no unofficial pictures. Erica told me that last year someone at the Governor’s table took a picture with their phone and they were escorted out by security.”
I raise a brow to that.
“Remember me telling you about the Italian restaurant Matt and I waited forever to get into?”
“Yeah, you said the best raviolis, ever. Better than my grandmothers,” I mock.
“I hate to say it, but they were. Anyway, the restaurant is called Polo and they cater this event.”
“How much a plate?”
She gestures a zero. “It’s a thank-you dinner for those involved with the Karen Ames Foundation.”
I look down at the stitched gold Gs on our tablecloth. “I though you said it was for the Grant Foundation?”
“The Ames Foundation is one of many foundations associated with Grant International.”
“Grant International? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a huge public and privately held conglomerate. I’ve personally never met any of the Grants; they’re different.”
“How so?”
“They’re closed off.”
“They’re snobs?”
“No, I didn’t say that. They like their privacy. Take great pains to remain out of the spotlight. I’ve heard they detest the press, especially the paparazzi. And well, you’ve seen the security. I think it might have to do with what happened a couple of years ago.”
“What happened?”
“It’s all hearsay and gossip, but someone was shot and killed at a party the Grants hosted about three years ago.”
Our server arrives with our drinks. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Just in case,” Allie says, “where are the restrooms?”
She smiles. “There are several but the closest is directly left of the entry.”
“Thank you.”
She nods and leaves us.
I take a sip of scotch. It’s rich and smooth, reminding me of the scotch Sam drinks.
“Since when do you drink scotch?”
I smile.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s what Sam drinks.”
I nod.
“Have you heard from her?”
Big frown. “No.”
“Well after what you did, I doubt you will.”
“In my defense, I had no clue as to where Shawna was seating her.”
She takes a sip of her water, rolling her eyes at me again. “Oh, come on, Romano. You must have known she’d seat her in the balcony with your Juliets.”
“I didn’t know that shit followed me to New York.”
“Yeah, right. I told you the Tweedles moved to New York.”
“Yeah, but I had no idea the stupid Romeo balcony followed me from Raleigh.”
“Logan, the Romeo balcony started in college and will follow you wherever you go.”
“The whole thing is just stupid. I’ve never even had sex with the Tweedles.”
“It doesn’t matter what hole you stick your dick into, it’s sex.”
“I disagree and so does Bill Clinton.”
She sits back in her chair and lifts her chin at me. “Okay, Romano. Let’s say, hypothetically, Sam went down on a guy last night. Gave him the best BJ of his life.”
“Are you trying to make me lose my friggin’ mind?”
“No. I’m trying to make a point.”
“All right. Point, Allie. But in my defense it’s been years since the Tweedles came anywhere near my dick.”
“If I were sitting at a game near one of Matt’s old puck bunnies, I wouldn’t be happy about it, even if it had been ten years since they were last acquainted.”
“All right. I fucked up.”
“I must say I like this Sam of yours. Setting you up like that… classic. I would have paid a million dollars to see the look on your face when you walked into your hotel room.”
“I’d pay a million dollars to obliterate the scene from my mind.” It’s been two weeks since I found the Tweedles lying nude, all but spread-eagle on my bed. When I told them it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, they refused to leave. I had to have security escort them out. The old me would have jumped right into a foursome, even with the Tweedles. Now, just the th
ought of it makes me ill.
“Sam had every right to be mad and upset. I can just imagine what was going through her head. George told me the Stepfords were baring their claws, making Sam and her a little nervous.”
“Al, I feel terrible about what happened. I can just imagine what she must think of me. None of it good.”
“So what’s your next move, Romeo?”
“I’m going to hire that PI I told you about. And when he finds her, I’m going to get down on my knees and beg her to forgive me.”
Two other couples join our table and introduce themselves. We chat for a few minutes before the lights dim and the orchestra stops playing.
Allie squeezes my hand. “I’m so excited. I could pee my panties.”
I smile. Please don’t.
“Thanks for coming with me, Logan. I know how you hate these things, but I sincerely appreciate it. You’re no substitute for Matt, but you do look mighty fine in a tux.”
I chuckle. Typical Allie. A well placed jab and a compliment in the same sentence. “I’m sorry he couldn’t make it, Al.”
She nods. “And I’m sorry about Sam. Matt and Krissy can’t stop talking about her and her friend Jules. Sam’s done the impossible, ya know.”
“Impossible?”
“She’s claimed and has begun to mend your heart, Logan. A heart that has been empty and broken for so long, I didn’t think it was mendable.”
I squeeze her hand. “Neither did I. I will find her, and make things right.”
She nods.
Applause commences and we look up at the podium.
A stunning woman stands behind it and the applause slowly dies down.
“Good evening, and welcome,” she says, and pauses, taking a moment to look around the room. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Alexia Grant-Ryan, co-founder and co-chair of the Karen Ames Foundation.”
More applause.
She holds up her hand. “Please, no need to applaud me anymore,” she teases.
Everyone laughs.
“No, seriously. If you do, I’ll be on my feet for too long, and my husband will strangle each and every one of you.”
“You got that right, babe,” yells a man sitting at one of the front tables.
Everyone claps or whistles. Allie does a whop, whop, and all but jumps out of her seat. “Oh, my God, he spoke.”
“Who?”
She points to a man with a goatee. “That’s Jaxson Ryan, Alexia’s husband and co-CEO of Grant International. He was voted the hottest bachelor in Manhattan three years running. He was featured in GQ a few years ago. And let me tell you, I’ll never throw that issue away, ever.”
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 11
