Very, very nervous.
Christy wondered why.
Chapter Eight
“So how was work today?” Roark asked, taking a sip of his merlot as they sat at a table in the bar to wait.
Stephanie let out a sigh, swishing the sauvignon blanc around in the glass before speaking. Ugh, asking about work? That would certainly put a damper on her evening, which so far had been the only bright side to the day. “Do you really want to know?”
“That bad?”
Stephanie shook her head. “Just a bridezilla today.” There was a lot more to it than that. She could still hear her client’s stinging words. And the damn things still hurt.
She’d hoped this date would put the day behind her, and she could unwind a bit. While she still wasn’t crazy about the idea of dating Roark (and she wasn’t sure this would be very fruitful), spending the evening with a trusted friend could certainly make up for the stuck-up client she dealt with today.
“Was it a television-worthy bridezilla?” Roark asked.
“No,” Steph replied, taking another sip on her wine. “It was meaner than that.”
“Did you fire her?”
“No.”
Roark raised his eyebrow—that look where he was about to lecture her on the importance of standing up for oneself in the business world.
Stephanie held up her hand. She was not in the mood for one of Roark’s business talks. “I know. I should have. I shouldn’t have let her talk to me like that. But it’s a big account, and if I make it work, it’ll go a long way to helping my business out.”
Roark twisted the stem of the wine glass. “I thought your business was doing well.”
“It is. But it’s also the nature of the business— I’m only as good as my last gig. And this one’s a big one.” The waitress came by the table—a new one, and Stephanie wondered who the girl’s hairstylist was to make blonde so light also look natural.
Steph should get a referral.
“Who is it?”
Gah, is he still harping on that? “Heather Gesthouse.”
Roark rolled his eyes. “Why would you take her on, anyway?”
“It wasn’t bad in the beginning,” Stephanie said, waving her hand. “For the most part, she was pretty decent. I don’t know what was going on today, she just…”
“She just let her real personality come through?”
Stephanie smirked. “I forgot you ran with her crowd in school.” Which was only a half truth. Of course she knew Roark ran with Heather’s crowd, and so did Heather. She hadn’t thought much about it when the woman had initially hired her to do the wedding—Stephanie believed people grew up from high school.
Evidently not. Heather was no more mature now than she was when she threw a fit at prom because she wasn’t the queen.
Unfortunately, the Gesthouse name still had significant dollar signs attached to it, and dollar signs meant influence. Heather had implied if Stephanie did a good job for her, Heather would make sure everyone who was anyone used her for future jobs. Part of the reason Steph took the job was for the promotion. Though after today, she wondered if it truly was worth it.
“What did she say?”
“She only reminded me of where I stood in the grand scheme of this town.” You’re being paid by me. I expect you to make it happen. In essence, you are my servant…
Servant. The very word made Stephanie’s skin crawl. After growing up the way she did, everyone expected Stephanie to be no more than a “servant” as her mother—a subhuman, if the stuck-up attitudes were to be believed.
She’d worked too hard to be treated like a damn servant from the wealthy crowd. While she’d dealt with her fair share of the rich and uppity, for the most part, she hadn’t had anyone treat her like Heather did today.
It truly blindsided her.
Roark’s jaw clenched, and he took a sip off his wine. “What did she say?” he asked again. Roark gave her “that look.” He had this ability to make her spill her guts, and the stubborn side of her just wanted to kick him for it, like she did back in middle school. Though kicking him in this nice restaurant seemed a bit childish and over the top.
Of course, so were the stinging words that had stabbed her today, if Stephanie really admitted to it.
Didn’t help repeating it—only made the words that much more real.
She took another sip of wine, fortifying herself. “Basically that I worked for her, and I needed to do what she wanted, when she wanted, because I was her servant.”
Roark tensed. His hand that had been resting very casually on the table balled into a fist, clenching the napkin. “Did you tell her to find another planner?”
More wine taken in. She let her guard down. Whether this was a date or not, it was still Roark, and he was her best friend. She confided in him more than anyone else. She could tell him anything. “Oh, I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.”
He released the napkin and refolded it on the table. “I don’t know why you put up with that…” He gritted his teeth before spitting out the expletive.
“It’s called customer service,” she replied, trying to remain casual so it didn’t look like the words stung as much as they did. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” Her knee started to bob under the table.
He ran his finger down the crease of the napkin. “The difference between you and me is I won’t take that, even from a wealthy customer.”
“No, Roark, the difference between you and me is that you don’t have to work for anything—it was handed to you. I have to dig myself up from the trenches with my fingernails, and hope I make it to the top, if I’m really lucky.” Frustration poured out of her, fueling a fire in her belly she hardly recognized.
That was it. That was the reason they could never be together. He didn’t know, or understand, what it meant to have to crawl from the bottom. Best of friends or not, there were some things Roark didn’t get.
“Now Stephanie,” Roark started, but another voice joined their conversation.
“Roark! So good to see you!” The bridezilla, Heather, with her fiancé, James, sauntered up to the table. Stephanie had a big enough fire in her belly she just wanted to let her have it.
Maybe today at work, she’d been nice, sweet, and all kinds of proper business lady. Right now, Stephanie was at dinner with her friend, in the middle of a personal conversation.
How dare she.
Heather leaned over, did the whole just-friends-but-must-expose-cleavage-hug-thing to Roark. Stephanie couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide under the table or “accidentally” dump wine on the interloper.
Neither sounded like terribly bad ideas.
Especially considering the woman hadn’t even noticed she was there.
“Lovely to see you,” Stephanie said to Heather, jarring the bridezilla’s attention away from Roark.
“Why Stephanie, I didn’t see you there,” she said.
“Hard to miss me since I’m sitting right here,” she said, purposely sliding her chair closer to Roark’s.
Heather raised her overly plucked eyebrow at Stephanie, then returned her focus on Roark in that way the snobby could completely dismiss someone with a turn of the head. Stephanie believed, if this was 1800s England, she would have just been “given the cut direct.”
And the white trash girl, buried deep inside, wanted to show her how the poor gave “a cut direct.” Usually involving sharp implements.
Breathe. Surely she won’t be more than a few minutes.
Just breathe.
Roark shook the fiancé’s hand, then the typical male pleasantries were exchanged. James gave a cursory glace at Stephanie, nodding to her with a half smile on his face. She doubted he knew why he recognized her—they’d only met once during the wedding planning.
And then The Heather Show began again. “I was j
ust thinking about you today, Roark. I just knew I needed to have seafood tonight, and poof, here you are. How is your little shop doing?”
“Fine,” he replied, the smile on his face hard and forced. “You, of course, know Stephanie.”
“Of course I do,” Heather said, patting James on the arm. “You remember the wedding planner, right, darling?”
“Uh yeah,” James said, nodding to Stephanie, recognition passing over his face.
“Business dinner?” Heather asked Roark, her eyes widening. “Are you getting married, Roark?” Her loud voice alerted the entire bar area to the conversation.
Stephanie really wanted to throw her wine at Heather. “Not everything I do is business, Heather.” Let Her Snobbery take that however she wants.
Roark casually laid his hand on Stephanie’s leg. “I hope so. Someday, anyway.” He squeezed her knee.
Stephanie knew that signal and laced her fingers in his hand. Roark put their clasped hands on the table top.
“We’re both so busy, it’s hard to find the time.” Stephanie noticed his palms were moist. Or was that hers? She wasn’t sure.
Odd.
Heather rolled her eyes. “And I’m sure, Roark, when you’re ready, you’ll settle down.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “With the right woman, of course.”
“I think I might have.” He glanced at Stephanie just a second longer than necessary.
It’s part of it. It’s part of it, Stephanie repeated to herself. Regardless, the room suddenly got really warm, and Stephanie’s heart pounded. And not because Heather stood there. This was getting incredibly more intense as every second passed.
It’s not real. This is part of the deception.
What was the matter with her? This was just a ruse—why was she feeling so weird? This wasn’t the first time they’d done this—there was that time when his ex from Rochester was here, and the other time, when her ex had been at an event she had put together. This wasn’t a new thing.
Roark gazed at her with these loving, desiring eyes. While she knew his sentiment wasn’t real, it still made her uncomfortable.
Powers That Be, if you can get me out of this one with some dignity intact on both me and Roark’s part, that would be awesome. Thanks, love me.
“Forgive me,” Heather began, “but I thought you said you found someone.” She leaned over to Roark. “Surely you don’t mean her.”
“And why wouldn’t I?” Roark asked. “She’s one of my best friends.”
“Well, Lucy Chen is one of my best friends, and you don’t see me marrying her,” Heather said.
“Really, honey,” James said. “He can marry whoever he wants to. It’s not for us to judge.”
“And pardon me, but what marriage is this for you, Heather? Three? Four?” Stephanie added.
Heather’s eyebrows went up, her face cartoonish, it was so overly exaggerated. “You can’t talk to me like that. You work for me.”
Stephanie pulled her hand from Roark’s and laced her fingers together. Resting her elbows on the table, she glared at Heather. “Not anymore. You’re fired.”
“Excuse me?” Heather’s face turned a bright shade of red. “You can’t fire me. You work for me. Not the other way around.”
“Actually she can,” Roark said. “You entered into a contract with her. The contract states she can, at any time, remove you from her clients and cancel the contract.” He put his hand back on her knee.
“And how would you know what her contract says?” Heather blasted.
“I wrote it,” Roark replied. “I know it as well as she does.”
Stephanie put her hand on Roark’s shoulder. “Best friends and all of that.”
“Excuse me.” Their waitress pushed between Heather and her fiancé and sat down a tray with two glasses of champagne and a ring box.
A baby-blue Tiffany’s ring box. Complete with a little white ribbon around it.
Heather stared at the box, jaw falling open, then glared at Roark. She spun around in a huff and walked away—or stormed away, people practically rushed to get out of her stampede. Her fiancé tried to catch her, and even over the crowd of people, Stephanie could hear her muttering all the way to the door.
That right there was totally worth it. She smiled. Thanks, Powers That Be.
Then she glanced back at the table.
Shit.
There was a ring box on the table. With champagne glasses. Still sitting there. Untouched by either of them.
“Uh, Roark?” She pointed at the stuff. “Is that what I think it is?”
Roark looked as dumbfounded as she was, which made her feel a little better. Okay, maybe not, but still—just glancing at his face, she could tell this wasn’t part of his evening plans.
The waitress, who’d been hovering a table away, came back. “Wait, what table is this?” She glanced down. “Oh no! I have the wrong table.” She scooped everything up. “I’m so sorry. I’ll bring you all some fresh glasses of wine, okay? I hope I didn’t cause a problem.” She gestured over her shoulder to where Heather had stormed off.
“Actually, you made it go away, so thanks,” Roark said, smiling at her.
She grinned back. “Well that’s good then. I’ll be right back with your wine.”
“Thank you,” Roark said. Stephanie dittoed the sentiment as the waitress walked away.
Roark relaxed in the chair, but he didn’t take his hand away from Stephanie’s knee. “Well, that certainly made an interesting evening.”
Stephanie nodded, her heart still hammering, partially because she just fired the biggest client she’d ever had and she didn’t want to think of the ramifications of what that might do to her business.
Yet the doubts and worries started circling like vultures.
And the other part, because Roark still was touching her.
“You okay?” Roark asked.
She nodded. And then shook her head. “God, you know she’s going to tell everyone in the world what a bitch I am, and I’ll never get another big-spending client.”
Roark shrugged. “Or, you might get more because you didn’t put up with her crap.”
She let out a sigh. “There is that.” She didn’t agree with him, but his point was valid. There were enough people in town who didn’t like Heather. It might wind up making things better in the end.
Eventually. Hopefully before she lost her condo because she couldn’t pay her rent.
“I may need to sleep on your couch,” she said.
“Not a problem,” Roark replied. He squeezed her knee. “My bed’s way more comfortable, though.”
“You snore,” Stephanie countered.
“How would you know?”
“I’ve been at your house. I’ve heard it.”
Roark smirked. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be,” she replied. The waitress returned with fresh wine glasses. As she picked up the old ones, again apologizing, Stephanie couldn’t help wondering—scratch that—she knew this was only the beginning.
The trouble with dating Roark…
“If anything, this should only prove my point,” she said.
“What point is that?” Roark asked.
“Why we shouldn’t date. If not Heather, there will always be someone who’ll act like I’m a subhuman because I grew up on the needy list in town.”
“Heather is not what to expect. People with money, like my family, aren’t all horrible, snobby jerks.”
“Your family is nice. But it’s not the same. There will always be the uptight, uppity crowd. Even if we were to get together, then there’d always be speculation what I did to ‘entrap’ you. Prejudice would always be around, and I just don’t think I can take that every day, all the time.”
“So what are you going to do? Date guys according to their i
ncome level so you don’t offend anyone? That doesn’t sound like the Stephanie I know.”
“But think about it. We’re just too different. And you know it.” She slid her chair back to her side of the table.
“Stephanie, that’s not true. This is the twenty-first century. Not the medieval times.”
“Roark, you know I adore you. You’re my best friend. But we’re just not made to be together. We’re just from different worlds.”
And with that, Stephanie stood up, shouldered her purse, and walked out of the restaurant. She managed to hold her tears back until she got outside.
“Go!” Christy yelled at Roark. “Run, you idiot! Run!” He should be charging out the door, chasing after the woman he loved.
But he sat there. Dumbstruck.
Christy had to do something. And ugh…she’d lose the bet for certain, but she couldn’t let this end like that. She’d already used enough magic conjuring up the engagement ring.
Gah!
That boy needs some sense knocked into him!
Chapter Nine
Roark could hardly believe it.
Stephanie had walked out.
Practically ran.
It didn’t seem real. Or possible. Or both. She’d seemed into it. She’d dressed nice. She was talking, laughing, having a good time.
He thought he’d had her convinced being with him would be a good thing. Hell, he knew it would. He could feel it in his gut.
Yet powers beyond his control seemed determined to screw this up for him. What in the hell? Heather Gesthouse? Really? Of all the alums from school that could have been here, her?
The embodiment of the spoiled-rich brat?
A slam on his table jarred him out of his shock.
A little old woman in a blue dress and stereotypical silver-blue hair slammed her cane on his table again.
“You had better move it, sonny boy. We like it when you charge after us.” She had bright blue eyes, full of vigor and life, which startled him almost as much as her cane had.
Guys and Godmothers Page 5
