by Tia Louise
“We’re planning to hire her full time.” My answer is too quick, and I feel Page give me a squeeze. Karen’s eyes flick to my face, and her laser gaze evaluates my response. Lifting Paige’s fingers to my lips, I give them a brush. “I have to stop being so distracted and think about work.”
Paige winks, and while Karen’s still suspicious, I think I covered my slip. “Well, we won’t interrupt your lunch date,” she says, leading Dickerson away.
I’m still internally fuming. Amy will not be working for Dickweed, Cocksucker, and Loveshead if I have anything to do with it.
“You okay?” Paige whispers, and when I glance up, she’s giving me an adoring smile.
Right. Head in the game, Marcus. “Feels like you’re all set.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That only leaves Saturday night.”
She smiles, and I feel a sinking in my gut again.
* * *
Amy
My best friend sits across from me at one of the wooden bars extending from the wall at Lamb and Lady. The room is loud and busy, and I poke at my beet salad with my fork.
“You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on at some point.” C.J. ordered a starter of lamb pizza, and he lifts a thin slice, folds it in half and takes a large bite.
I turn over his statement in my mind, taking a sip of white wine. Carlton and I have been friends since high school. He knows me as well or better than anyone else. If anyone would understand what I’m facing...
The server appears, sliding a plate of lamb empanadas with blueberries and avocados in front of me, and a side of roasted cauliflower with peppers and pine nuts next to my friend.
“Can I get you anything else?” He stands in his black uniform with a little lamb on the pocket waiting.
Despite being one of the top restaurants in the city, the atmosphere is surprisingly loud and casual.
“I’ll have another Italian grandpa,” C.J. shouts. My Chardonnay is only half-finished, so I wave that I’m fine.
Once he’s gone, I take a bite of empanada. “I can’t believe how well the blueberry goes with this.” A small cut of avocado is next, but my lupper (lunch mixed with supper—it was the only way we could get a table without reservations) date isn’t letting me off the hook.
“I saw Karen come after you last night.”
I don’t respond, choosing instead to steal a piece of cauliflower. It’s unbelievably delicious.
He doesn’t let my lack of response throw him. “When are you going to stop letting her get away with that shit? She’s such a troll. I hoped once you were back, she’d feel threatened enough to crawl back under her bridge for good.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Remembering Karen’s words, her cruel accusation, only makes me cringe, and I want to enjoy this nice dinner.
C.J. slides the last piece of pizza in his mouth and sits back as his martini is placed in front of him. The waiter removes the pizza plate and disappears.
“I can’t believe she’s holding onto that,” he says, sipping the cocktail. “I still say you were rufied. That guy has always been a slimy toad, even then.”
A shiver moves across my shoulders, and I deflect as per usual. “I drank too much in high school. You can’t sling accusations like that when I was always so messed up.”
My friend shakes his head. “Everybody goes through phases.”
“Not everybody.” My eyes are on the stem of my glass, my fingers circling the base.
“Some have theirs later in life.”
We’re both quiet a moment. Our thoughts drown in the echoing noise of the brick-and-wood West Loop establishment. We’re not terribly far from Marcus’s office, and I can’t help wondering what he’s doing. As much as I’ve struggled to put him out of my mind, he sneaks back in like a cherished addiction.
Blinking up at my friend, I can’t resist. “Invisibility or flying?”
“Invisibility. All the way.”
“That didn’t take long,” I say with a laugh. “Sneaky bitch.”
“Oh, you know it, girl.” He winks at me over the edge of his glass. “Pervy, too.”
This is why C.J. and I have always been so close. No matter how shitty my life gets, no matter how much the badness presses down on my shoulders, he can always make me laugh.
“Are you going to the gala?” I feel like I’ll survive the night if he’s there.
“Maybe. If I can get the hot little twink I met at Studio O to come out.”
I take a finishing sip of my wine and laugh. “I always took you as more of the Daddy type.”
“I’m vain.” He says, leaning back to button the slim black blazer he’s wearing over a white V-neck tee. “I’m looking for me.”
“I’ll be looking for you.”
“And I’ll be watching you and Mr. Merritt.” He adjusts his fake, horn-rimmed glasses, eyebrows rising. “I know why you choose to be alone, but rules are made to be broken.”
“Choices? Rules? Interesting words from a gay man.”
“A gay man who loves you.”
That makes me smile. “I love you, too.”
I might have come back for Sylvia, but Carlton is a close second reason to stay.
Chapter 15: Gala Explosion
Marcus
Everyone with any level of money or power is at the BGCB gala. It’s one of the longest-running traditions of the spring charity season.
“I remember being a little girl and looking at the pictures from this in the Sunday paper.” Paige sits across from me in the town car. We’re waiting in the car-line slowly moving up the pier to be dropped off at the red-carpeted entrance. “All the women looked like movie stars.”
“I’m sure that’s the idea, having a red-carpet entry.” I’ve always avoided being photographed at these events. It’s silly and self-indulgent, considering none of us are celebrities. Tonight, I’ll break with tradition and hopefully be done with this farce.
Glancing across the car, my date’s full-length, ocean-blue dress ripples around her in waves. The top twists in the center and drapes over her slim shoulders like a toga, and her hair is gathered up loosely at the back of her head. A gold-studded headband is woven through it and the length spirals down over one shoulder.
“You look like a goddess,” I say with a genuine smile. “You’ll fit right in, regardless of your backstory.”
“It’s hard to believe I’m here.” Her voice has changed. It’s serious, with a touch of wistful. She blinks rapidly and looks down at her lap. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me. I’m sorry I had to drag you down to my level.”
I reach across the space and clasp her hand. “Don’t say that.” My voice is a low command, and she blinks up to my eyes. “Nothing makes these people better than you. They just started closer to the goal line.”
I’ve thought a lot over the last week about why I agreed to help Paige. I’ve realized a big part is tied to the way I failed Elaine. I basically raised my little sister, and when the time came for her to spread her wings and fly, I stood by as Edward took out the scissors and clipped them.
Returning to Paige, I try to explain. “Business, society, all of it is pretty shitty to women, especially poor ones. You did what you had to do to make a living.”
“A pretty good one, actually.” She laughs and looks down at her nails. “Don’t underestimate the adult entertainment business. I paid cash for my very first car.”
“I’m sure.”
Hesitant blue eyes hold mine. “So many of the girls couldn’t handle it. They’d get hooked on drugs or stay with abusive men. They believed the worst about themselves. That we were all worthless sluts.”
“You didn’t.” It’s as much of a question as a statement of fact.
“I didn’t sleep around.” Her brow lines as she tries to explain. “I danced. I did lap dances and gave the occasional blowjob, but I never slept around. I danced because it was all I had.” She pauses for a brief laugh. “And I
made a lot of money doing it.”
“You were fucking amazing.”
Her cheeks pink and she looks away, out the window. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to remember you.”
I laugh and lean back in my seat. “I’m a popular guy. I get invited to things.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Still, you were different. You didn’t look at me like I was a piece of meat. It’s why I came to you in the first place.”
Traveling too far down this road isn’t a good idea, so I try to steer us back to the point. “You’ll get through this transition, and you’ll do very well. You’ll be the finest blueblood of all the old bitches one day.”
Her nose wrinkles in a cute way, and our car is finally at the entrance. It stops and the doors open, but before she steps out, she holds my arm. “Why?”
I don’t hesitate. “Because of how you survived.”
* * *
Amy
The grand ballroom of the Navy Pier glitters like an undersea concert hall. Gold lights line the beams leading to the top of the dome, and the white-tiled ceiling is lit up in ocean blue and green. On the floor below, round tables holding elaborate, flowing centerpieces are arranged in sections leaving the wooden dance floor open in the middle. Long tables covered in white cloth are decked out with hors d’oeuvres, desserts, and beverage stations.
Corinthian columns and natural vines are arranged near the exterior walls, and tulle hangs in curves and flows around the tables and chairs. Clearly the theme is Ancient Greece. I didn’t even check the invitation. I never cared about events like this growing up. They’re nothing more than an opportunity for people like Karen and her entourage to go on record as being so deeply humanitarian. We walk in on a red carpet as if we’re celebrities and have our photographs splashed all over the Sunday society page.
Armand is impressed by the spectacle, as he should be. Looking up and around, I try to remember the first time I attended a gala here, but it’s been too long ago.
“You’re beautiful, mon petit.” His voice is low, and he hasn’t stopped complimenting me since our car picked him up at the Drake.
“Thank you.” I run my fingers over the mint chiffon of my skirt. It’s thigh length with a wide, Aztec-inspired neckline that is high in the front but scoops deeply in the back, showing off my tanned skin. My hair hangs in loose waves over my shoulders and down.
Sylvia might have forced my hand on inviting Armand here tonight, but the desire simmering in my stomach for someone else sealed the deal. Try as I might to push him out, our weekend on the boat made a lasting impression on me.
I spent the week working from home, finishing up the bios for Merritt, Hampton, and Donnelly. Donnelly is the classic small-town boy turned big-city attorney. He’s salt-of-the-Earth, good people. Hampton is prep-school turned frat-boy, but he isn’t a wanker. He’s legacy, don’t rock the boat, conservative. Went to law school, got married, toed the company line. They’re both exactly the type of partners I’d expect Marcus to have.
I’d spent more time on Marcus’s bio than was wise, lingering over every detail as if they were precious heirlooms or clues to a cherished treasure. On paper, he’s a private-school national merit scholar. Scholarship to Yale Law, but instead of joining his father’s firm, he started his own. He’s a pioneer, but he avoids the limelight. He’s private, but he’s bold. He’s also fucking hard as nails in the courtroom, and I read more profiles lauding his ability to turn a persuasive argument on a dime than I could count.
Sylvia added her two cents—heard second-hand from Stuart, of course—about Marcus’s closing A Few Good Men-style speech to the prosecutor, resulting in Derek Alexander’s near-immediate release.
Add to all of it the off-the-record details he’d shared with me. A small-town southern boy, mother runs out when he’s eleven, father and older brother bury themselves in work. He’s left to care for his baby sister and himself, raising them both on his own.
All of these thoughts tangle together in my mind as I wait for Armand to return with my drink. I’m here because of Sylvia. I’m here because Armand needs to feel like he got a fair shake. I’m here because I need to see Marcus.
“French 75.” The deep, accented voice is at my shoulder, and I turn to take the pale-yellow drink from his hand.
“I’m surprised they’d heard of it.” Taking a sip of the citrus-gin-laced champagne cocktail, I smile up at him. “Usually Chicago bartenders only know the basics.”
Armand gently taps his tumbler of amber liquid against my glass. “Such as scotch rocks?”
I smile, looking down. “What did you do these last few days?”
He’d called me a few times inviting me to dinner, but I’d begged off, claiming to be too busy. I didn’t ask him to come to Chicago, and I wasn’t giving him false hope. I didn’t mention my early dinner with C.J. We’d sneaked off before it was fashionable to have one’s evening meal, and I’d managed to have a night out as a result.
“The usual, I suppose. John Hancock, Field Museum, Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Bean.” A sexy grin. “Now I’m at the Navy Pier.”
Nodding, I blink away, taking another sip. “Sounds like you’ve done the full Chicago lineup.”
“Still, I didn’t do the one thing I wanted most of all.”
“What’s that?”
His dark eyes narrow. “You.”
A flinch in my chest. Yes, his words still provoke a reaction in me, positive and negative. I can’t believe I walked right into that one.
“Armand,” I exhale. “Please don’t.”
“Dance with me.”
“I’d rather not.” Taking another sip of my drink, I let my eyes wander the large ballroom.
My drink is removed from my hand, and he replaces it with his large, warm one. “You’re not afraid?”
Interesting how much people learn about each other in relatively short amounts of time. A flash of annoyance floods my cheeks. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
He chuckles and leads me to the floor. Armand is an amazing dancer. It’s one of the first things I admired about him. A small ensemble on the stage provides the music, and we simply slow-dance.
His hand is on my lower back, holding me firmly against his tight body. A finger traces the exposed skin there, and our chests are together, faces close. Our hands are clasped at my shoulder.
It’s impressive how sexual dancing is, yet everyone does it without a second thought. Or perhaps I’m only thinking about it because I’m with someone I regularly slept with not so long ago.
His cheek touches my temple, and he speaks softly near my ear. “This reminds me of our picnic on Montmartre. Do you remember that day, ma chou?”
My insides clench. Of course I remember it. It was the most perfect fall day in France—cool breezes, sunny skies. We’d only been together a month, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
“Of course,” I say softly, looking over his shoulder to see who’s watching us. The bitch Karen has arrived, and it appears she’s still with Roland, the fucktard. Perfect match. God, how I hate them.
Armand’s rich voice placates the anger trying to rise. “Your dress tonight reminds me of the one you wore that day. It was about this length, and you were so beautiful straddling my lap, riding my cock.”
“Armand,” I whisper, heat flooding my core. “Stop.”
“We were near Sacré Coeur—very sacrilegious, I’m sure.” He sighs, warm breath tickling the side of my neck. “I ascended to heaven that day, cherie.”
I’ve had enough. I’m not sure why I agreed to do this anymore. It’s not like I plan to confront Marcus. Why would I? All I’ve accomplished tonight is putting myself on the front lines of attack on all sides.
“This was a mistake.” I pull out of his embrace and turn, but my breath disappears.
Marcus stands beside a table facing me, sexy as hell in a black tuxedo, his chestnut complexion accentuated by his white shirt. Brows lower over his smoky hazel eyes, and I kno
w he’s curious about who I’m dancing with.
The tall, dark stranger behind me oozes sophistication and wealth—and familiarity with me. I’m sure everyone is whispering about Armand. I want to say something, but she appears.
Paige “Goldie” Goldfarb glides up in a wave of ocean blue and cascading blonde. I don’t want to care that she takes his arm, and lifts her perfect chin to whisper in his ear. I don’t want to care that his eyes never leave mine as if he isn’t listening to her. My insides twist and churn, and I’m so angry I care about him this much.
Blinking fast, I take a step back and warm arms circle my waist. “Easy, my love.” Armand touches his lips to the side of my neck. “You’ll fall.”
I’ve already fallen.
Marcus’s eyes widen with what seems to be a flash of anger. My chest squeezes, and I pivot away from my escort, making a beeline to the glass doors surrounding the domed structure. I want to leave. I want to be far away—farther than New York, farther than even Paris this time—but how far do I have to go to get away from what I carry inside me? Australia?
Camera flashes go off in a blinding strobe, and the car line extends all the way to the pier entrance. I’m trapped on this mile-long slab of concrete, and it’s nothing but crowds and noise and people all around. Circling back, I go behind the dome to the relatively small courtyard on the opposite side of the entrance.
Rows of American flags line the guardrail, and a few tourists are strolling along, looking out across the lake. Below the waters of Lake Michigan, I drowned in the one thing I refuse to accept.
“Amy, wait.” I cringe at the sound of Marcus’s voice. I didn’t want him to follow me. Or did I?
I don’t stop until I’ve made it around a brick column, out of sight. Leaning back, the rust-colored brick scratches my bare skin. Blinking up at the fading twilight, the constant breeze pushes my hair away from my face. He knows I’m here, and he won’t stop until he finds me.
The click of his shoes on the pavement meets my ears ahead of him. Holding out an arm, he catches the side of the column, stopping short when he sees me.
“Amy,” he exhales, breathing a little fast. “Why didn’t you stop?”
