Choose Me

by Jo Leigh

  “I don’t mind,” she said truthfully. She expected nothing from this crowd. Which couldn’t be said about Charlie. She had to stop herself from touching her mouth like a lovesick tween, but God, he had great lips. No matter how she looked at it, there’d been no reason to kiss her, none at all, except he’d wanted to. There went her breath, and any hope of walking on her wobbly knees.

  “A room this size, it’s going to take a couple of hours. Make sure at some point that you get something to eat. I won’t be able to look after you as carefully as I’d like, and we can’t have you keeling over from starvation. Grab things when you can, or duck out to the buffet. I’ll be holding my cell, so I’ll hear if you call, and we’ll find each other.”

  She nodded. “Go. Work. Do your magic. I was always excited to read your Fashion Week blogs. You made me feel as if I was there.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, now that I’m here, not exactly, but more than enough. Don’t tell, but I like your reports better than the ones in W.”

  He grinned. “Now you’re just being nice.”

  “Nope.” She crossed her heart. “Mean every word.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s go meet some famous people.”

  Bree was tempted to pull him in for one more kiss, to make sure it had been real, but didn’t dare. Although it was hard not to imagine what it would feel like to walk across the lobby of his building, to go up in that elevator. Before her foolish notions got too carried away, she was reminded, quite spectacularly, of what she was doing now. A boatload of iconic symbols had come to life.

  She felt like a Lilliputian in a world of Gullivers with Charlie as her guide. He led her through paths between tables, ice sculptures dripping and corks popping, and always, always the intrusion of cameras. Around the perimeter of the party, the different celebrity gossip shows had staked their territories, and their camera lighting bounced off the white of the tent making the entire arena glow.

  They would walk two, maybe three steps, then stop as another celebrity, each one a surprise, approached Charlie. Interestingly, none of the familiar faces looked quite right. They were either better or shorter or skinnier or blonder than they looked in People or on TV.

  Bree was good with makeup. Really. She’d made a point of learning the correct techniques at a beauty school near her college, but there was an element of magic to the faces that passed by. And the clothes…

  She’d browsed through some of the high-end boutiques in Manhattan. D&G, of course, but a few couture houses, as well, showcasing their elegantly crafted suits and dresses, not daring to touch because each button or zip was worth more than everything she owned or would own for years to come. Now she saw those creations in motion, and it was poetry. No way to call it anything other than art. Each designer’s style was as individual as a Picasso or a Rembrandt. She felt humbled. And grabby.

  Instead of touching the fifty-thousand dollar gown, she snagged some hors d’oeuvres. Prawns and sushi and filet mignon, each with a little napkin and dabs of aioli. If she hadn’t been an adult person standing next to famous people she wouldn’t have stopped shoving them into her mouth because they were fantastic. The champagne was chilled, and she should switch back to pineapple juice because even with the food her edges were sliding toward fuzzy.

  She turned to Charlie, only Charlie wasn’t there. Not where she’d left him, but that had been before she’d followed the hamachi tray, dammit. She did a complete three-sixty, pausing as she saw clumps of celebrities, and that made her giggle, because certainly clumps wasn’t the proper collective. What was? A cavalcade of celebs? A coterie? An ensemble? No, a superficiality of celebrities. Ha.

  Bree pulled out her cell phone, pulled up Charlie’s cell number and typed. You’re not here.

  He could be anywhere, so it wouldn’t hurt to meander. Maybe get a small bottle of water. Her cell would vibrate when he texted back, so she could work on her Not From Hicksville Face as she gasped to herself.

  Where are you? CW

  Standing next to 1 of the Olsen twins. Not sure which 1. Doesn’t matter.

  Not able to find you via Olsen twin. Something more stationary please? CW

  Ah. Stella McCartney holding court.

  Perfect. But can’t leave quite yet. Ten min. CW

  Who are you with? Nvr mind. Ur busy.

  Bree lowered her phone, but it dinged.

  3 people who want in. 2 who’ll get in. 0 fun as U. CW

  She flushed with pleasure, even though it was a line, nothing more, and yet she’d never delete that text ever.

  ♥

  The second she pressed Send, Bree panicked. It was a heart. She meant he was being sweet. Not— Oh, crap, he’d probably—

  Um. I meant thank U.

  :-) CW

  She exhaled, still freaked out enough to barely glance at the second Olsen twin. She switched contacts, and texted.

  Rebecca, I screwed up.

  How?

  Sent him ♥

  ???

  SENT HIM ♥!!!!!

  No worries. He won’t mind.

  But—

  Hush. Trust me. & smile

  The ding from a different text happened. Charlie.

  Stay by Stella ETA 2 min CW

  Bree decided to believe Rebecca and smile. Then she dialed the grin down from eleven to a reasonable five. Her heart, however, wasn’t so cooperative. It was a silly mistake, that’s all. Not even a mistake. A ♥ didn’t have to mean anything significant. She used it with her friends all the time, and they didn’t think she was declaring her undying love.

  She was nervous, that’s all. The atmosphere, the date itself. The Olsens.

  And what came next. What might come next.

  As a sneak peek, the kiss held great promise. She liked Charlie more than she’d expected to, and he’d kissed her, so he didn’t find her repulsive or anything, so that was a point in her favor. Truthfully? She was equal parts good-anxious and insanely terrified-anxious about spending time alone with him. But first time—only time—sex with anyone was scary. So much potential for catastrophe. The ♥ was nothing compared to all the things that could go wrong.

  She’d had her fair share of errors in the bedroom. The memories of which made her blush. But now was not the time to brood about mistakes made when learning the ins and outs, so to speak, of sex with relative strangers. It was the time to look for Charlie, to appreciate every single moment of being here, in this miraculous room, with a date that made her nipples take note, favor or not.

  There were no twins at all around her now, but Ms. McCartney had a very large and enthusiastic crowd around her, and it was easy to see why. Although she couldn’t hear the designer, or even see her face very well, the people within ear and eyeshot were smiling. Not the kind of smile that made a person shiver, the kind that erased years and made it fun to eavesdrop. But there was Charlie, and his smile… .

  God.

  That was something. If it was fake, she’d take it, hands down over many other genuine things in life. Somehow, though, she didn’t think it was fake. No matter, she grinned back, honest as the day was long. It wasn’t that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. There were a number here tonight who would look better on a magazine cover. Of course, they were models, so that made sense. Charlie’s charm was in the reality of his face. There were lines, small ones, that would have been airbrushed out on a cover, but she liked them. They gave him character and made him look as suave as he was. They were smile lines, which were always a good sign. Especially on the King of Manhattan.

  She liked that he was thirty-one. Men in their twenties could have…issues. Fine, no problem, she was in her twenties and could make lists of all the things she wished were different, so no throwing stones, but guys were boys longer than women were girls, that was a fact. Charlie would be a wonderful lover, she imagined as she met him halfway to the dessert spread. That kiss had been an amuse-bouche. The meal would be like heaven.

  “You look
relatively unscathed,” Charlie said. “I’m shocked.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d have thought every straight man in the building would have been all over you.”

  “Stop.”

  “Not a line,” he said. “I mean it. I’m stunned. I rushed. Although I figured you could take care of yourself.”

  “Based on?”

  “Everything I’ve seen so far. You and Mick Jagger, for instance.” Charlie slipped his hand across her lower back. “What would you like to see next?”

  Bree met his gaze. “The view from here is fine.”

  He sighed, and because there was a momentary pause in the music, she heard it. The live music had stopped a while ago, and now there was recorded stuff—the mix excellent. Of course they’d have a great DJ at a party like this.

  “Tell you what. Let’s do one more circuit. I promise not to drag it out, no matter who we meet, but you’re allowed to linger as long as you like, anywhere you like.”

  “Wow. That’s very generous.”

  “I’m feeling magnanimous.” He nodded toward a waiter. “Pineapple juice? Champagne? Pastry?”

  She held up her water. “All set.”

  He hugged her closer and they began the procession, and she truly did feel like a princess. Her free hand ended up around his back, and somewhere around a very large ice sculpture of Michelangelo’s David that was a bit worse for wear, her head came to rest on his shoulder. There were a number of places she thought about stopping, because the odds of her seeing these people again were nil, but not even Michael Kors himself was enough to pull her out of the spell of being with Charlie, her one-night-only prince.

  5

  THE LIMO ARRIVED, AND THANK goodness Charlie knew the driver because all of the limos looked identical, except for the radical fringe who liked their Hummers and their Bentleys stretched and bedazzled. Chivalry wasn’t dead, Bree was glad to see, as Charlie stood in the safety position blocking her as she got into the backseat. When he climbed in after, he pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders.

  “That was amazing,” she said, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to get warmer.

  “It was. Everyone came out to play tonight.”

  “I’m still trying to get it in my head that it happened, that it wasn’t a dream.”

  “Nope. A hell of a lot of the pictures and videos coming out of tonight are for Naked New York. I’ll make sure you get copies, how’s that?”

  Bree looked up at him, astonished. “Really? Of everything?”

  “Yep. On disk, so you can Photoshop whomever. Just do me a favor and don’t publish them. That could get tricky.”

  “I won’t, I swear it. Not the Photoshop part—I’m totally going to do that, and I’m going to save every last nickel until I can get a color printer, but I swear I won’t publish. I wouldn’t abuse the privilege.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at him. “How can you not be? You don’t know me at all. I could be anyone. A competitor. I could work for Perez Hilton or Gawker, and then where would you be?”

  “You don’t, though. Because Rebecca likes you.”

  “She barely knows me, either.”

  “Rebecca has excellent instincts about people. You’ll do well to stick with her. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s very, very smart. The smartest one in the family, and we’ve got a couple of federal judges running around, in addition to a bunch of politicians.”

  “Speaking of, lately I’ve been seeing all these billboards for Andrew Winslow III. I didn’t think of it before, but are you guys related?”

  Charlie’s expression turned sour. “And so it begins. He’s a cousin. Not one I’m fond of. Although, I’m not fond of most of them. Rebecca is the exception.”

  Interesting, his distaste for his family. So different from her own experience. Sad, too. She didn’t know what she’d do without her family’s support. Best to get back to the relative he liked. “I’m enjoying the hell out of our friendship so far. Rebecca’s ridiculously funny. And she knows the city the way I want to some day. All the little places and the secrets.”

  “Why New York?” he asked.

  “The Chrysler Building started it,” she said. “I love art deco, although when I first saw pictures of the building I didn’t know what art deco was. Then I discovered fashion, then theater and what was available here, something incredible down every street. I fell for the city long before I stepped foot in it. And yes, thanks to Woody Allen, it came with a score by George Gershwin. I think I must have lived here before in another life. Not that I necessarily believe in reincarnation, but if it’s real, then I was here. This is home.”

  “There’s a heartbeat to this place that’s either in sync with your rhythm or not. I notice its absence every time I travel. If you’re one of the chosen, Manhattan becomes home base and every time you come back, it’s as if you can finally breathe again. That’s how it is for me, at least.”

  She smiled at him, as if they shared a secret handshake. She supposed they did. Then she leaned over, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “Thank you, Charlie. Tonight’s been one for the books.”

  Charlie closed his eyes as he pulled her closer. He agreed about the night. It hadn’t been easy to leave her while he worked, and when had that happened at one of these things? He couldn’t recall.

  Not that he didn’t like the women he asked out—he did. He liked women of all sorts, but he had some strong preferences, he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t just dating for his own amusement, after all. His image was part of the Naked New York brand, and so were the women he was seen with. Some were better than others, some he could talk to, some couldn’t string two coherent sentences together, but to a woman they were a type.

  Bree wasn’t even close.

  So far she’d surprised him in almost every respect, though, and as he’d plowed through the glitter, he’d tried to remember the last time surprise had been in the mix. Scandals were par for the course these days, scripted or not. Hell, scandals were the point, whether they were caused by celebrities or of his own creation. Parties were only excuses to be seen or heard or photographed. Everything was grist, and he was both the wheat and the miller. Surprises? Once in a blue moon.

  He wanted to know more about the woman warming his side, which was also rare, at least in this circumstance. He’d always been interested in people. That’s why he started the blog in the first place. Well, that and wanting to shove his parents’ plans for him where the sun didn’t shine. He wanted Bree’s details. The minutiae of the life she’d given up to come here, who she hoped to become. Something to do with fashion, obviously. Was that dress of hers a new design? Meant to stand out? Charlie might be around high fashion far more than a normal person should be, but that didn’t mean he was a member of the inner circle. As far as he could tell, Bree’s dress was nice. It showed her shape, the look of her skin, her curves and the soft skin of her thighs. He liked it. But was it fashion? No idea.

  On the other hand, maybe he didn’t want to know more. He’d hardly be seeing her again, even if she and Rebecca were friends. Charlie’s social calendar was a function of necessity, not desire, and however much he liked Bree…what the hell was her last name…she wasn’t on the agenda. Couldn’t be. Whatever had motivated Rebecca to set up this date, it wasn’t to fix him up. He’d known that the moment he’d set eyes on the girl from Ohio. But he wasn’t sorry for the time spent with her. She’d made his night.

  She’d fairly sparkled with how the event had dazzled her. He had to give her credit; she’d handled herself beautifully in the face of many challenges, but even so, there was no hiding her excitement. It was likely she didn’t realize how she came off. He had the feeling it might bother her to know that she lit up like a marquee every time she saw someone famous. The ideal fan, in truth. No squealing or flailing or “Oh, my Gods.” Just that inner light, the spark in her eyes, the coy and charming way she bit her lower
lip when it got to be too much.

  He breathed her in, glad the perfumes of the night hadn’t swallowed her whole. Another surprise came when he noticed he’d been petting her all during the drive home. Running his hand over her arm. By the time the car stopped, Bree was practically purring and from the look in her eyes, exhausted. Adrenaline drop, probably.

  She sat up, looked at the building, then back at him. “So, this is good-night?”

  Yes sat on the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth, but a second later she hesitated and concern took over. “You don’t have to. I mean, this was—”

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  She nodded sadly.

  He paused for a single beat. “Do you want to come up, anyway?”

  BREE WONDERED IF SHE WAS reading the situation correctly. She inhaled sharply as she remembered his kiss, the way he’d touched her. If this were Ohio, she’d have known exactly what he wanted. In New York? She’d have to take a risk. “I would,” she said, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt. She was going up to his apartment. To his bedroom! Maybe!

  Charlie helped her out of the limo, and slid his arm around her shoulders as she thanked the driver. They both nodded at the doorman, but nothing was said as she and Charlie crossed the lobby, his arm draping across her back, his touch warm.

  They were quiet during the ride up the elevator. She fit at his side, tucked in neatly. It felt amazing having his arm around her, warming her with gentle friction. She studied him in the mirrored cab, but only got as far as his eyes, staring at hers in return.

  They got out on eighteen and the doors opened to a small atrium and the entrance to his home. He pushed open the door and stood aside to let Bree walk in first.

  Even after reading Architectural Digest for years, watching rich people’s lives on reality television, she wasn’t prepared for the beauty and elegance of the room she entered. “This is…” she said, heading straight to the windows that made up most of the far wall. The view was spectacular, Central Park in its winter glory, the lights of the city sparkling.