by Cat Carmine
“Yeah.” I frown. “I mean, I get it if he didn’t like the quality, or something about the editing or whatever. But he’d already approved the concept. And it’s a good concept. I know it is.” I haven’t been doing the marketing thing a long time, but I know what works. The best campaigns create an emotional connection, without being fake or cheesy. And maybe I lack objectivity here, but I really think this video concept achieves that. So what’s Wes’s problem?
Kyla gnaws at her lip as we both watch the video again. It’s hard to hear in the bar, but we both practically have the whole thing memorized by now. When it finishes, she shakes her head.
“I don’t know, Rori. I still think it’s good. Do you think he’d go for it if we just toned it down a little?”
I nod thoughtfully. “Maybe. Let’s start brainstorming some alternate approaches, but let me talk to him. Maybe I can get some more intel on exactly what he didn’t like about it.”
“Sure. Do you think that’ll work?”
“I have no idea.” At this moment, I have no idea what’s going on with Wes. But I’m hoping that being away at the wedding this weekend will help clarify things. Away from work, away from our obligations … maybe we can finally sort out whatever it is that’s going on between us, once and for all.
I take the train into Connecticut that night, then take an Uber to the hotel. Celia has a bunch of things planned for the wedding party, starting bright and early tomorrow morning, so I figured it made the most sense to come in tonight instead of rushing on Friday.
I check in at the hotel but I don’t even make it to my room before I hear someone screaming my name. I peek into the bar and see Celia and a group of people clustered around a low table, lounging in low black leather chairs and holding fancy cocktail glasses. I drop my suitcase and Celia and I fly across the room, embracing each other and spinning around like loons.
“I am so happy to see you,” I gush. I can’t believe the rush of warmth that comes over at me at seeing my BFF again. Everything is right with the world again.
“I know! It’s been too long. If I’d known I had to organize a whole wedding just to see you again, I might have thought twice about leaving New York.”
“I heard that,” Jace says from behind us. He’s chuckling and I pull apart from Celia and give him a hug too.
“Sorry, honey,” Celia deadpans. “Sisters before misters.”
He nods agreeably, grinning. “Can’t argue with that logic.”
“Where’s Wes?” Celia asks, looking behind me.
“He’s not coming until Saturday. He has work and I figured he’d be bored trying to entertain himself while I’m off with you.” I don’t mention the fact that things ended on a weird note with him today. He did text me while I was on the train though, just a quick message to say he was sorry about how the meeting had went and that he was looking forward to this weekend. So that made me feel marginally better.
“Makes sense. Everyone here is really anxious to meet him. Trent and Luke were grilling me about him, especially after they found out he was in real estate development. They were asking me questions about his projects and I’m like … guys, I have no sweet clue. All I know is his eyes are blue and that according to you, he has a great ass.”
“Celia!” I smack her arm playfully. “You did not tell them that.”
“Okay, no, I didn’t mention that part. But I know they’re looking forward to meeting him. Maybe they’re hoping he can help them open up some new stores in New York.”
“That would be awesome.”
Celia’s fiance Jace is the brother of Trent and Luke Whittaker, the founders of Loft & Barn, one of the country’s preeminent home furnishings lines. Their stuff is absolutely beautiful — and all designed and prototyped by Luke himself — but it’s hard to get ahold of around here. There are a few stores in Manhattan but they’re all so small that they don’t keep much inventory on hand. To get to the bigger stores, you have to go way outside the city, and who really wants to do that?
“Come on, come have a drink with us.”
“Can I go put my luggage away first?”
Celia raises her eyebrows. “Is that a serious question? Drink first. Luggage later. And you have to do what I say because I’m the bride.”
I pretend to roll my eyes. “You’re going to be completely insufferable this weekend, aren’t you?”
“You know it,” she grins, linking her arm through mine and leading me over to the seating area where I’m enveloped in warm camaraderie and ice cold vodka.
Twenty-Seven
On Saturday, I drive down to Connecticut on my own. Rori left a couple of days earlier, to do her Maid of Honor stuff. Even after two days, I miss seeing her, miss talking to her. I didn’t see her for twelve years, but now two days is too long.
I listen to music the entire way there, mostly old stuff I haven’t listened to since high school. Stuff that reminds me of Rori, of tearing around Highfield in my Sunfire, trying to impress her by speeding through yellow lights and passing anyone who dared to drive the speed limit. Which also makes me chuckle, recalling how often she used to roll her eyes at me.
I lean on the gas now too, but it isn’t because I have anyone to show off for. It’s because I’m anxious to see Rori again, anxious about how this weekend will go, anxious about ... everything. I have an overwhelming desire to make sure the weekend goes well.
The drive is only a couple of hours, even accounting for weekend traffic, but I do it in just over half that. As soon as I get to the hotel, I check in. Despite Rori’s concerns, the hotel still had rooms available, and I was booked into a room a couple of floors below hers. The rational part of me knew that was for the best, but there was an animal part of me that wished Rori and I were sharing a room. I drop my stuff off and text her to let her know I’m here.
Even though I’m early, she responds right away, telling me to stop by her room. I hesitate only long enough to pull on a clean shirt and then take the elevator up to the twenty-first floor.
Rori takes a few minutes answering the door, and as soon as she does, I can tell why.
“Fun night last night?” I smirk.
“Remind me not to mix vodka and Red Bull ever again.” She rubs her fingers against her temples. Her auburn hair is piled up on top of her head, and her eyes are dark with yesterday’s make-up. She’s wearing a short lavender-colored robe that shows off her bare legs. I try not to spend too much time letting my gaze linger there but ... well, it’s hard. The woman really does have killer legs. All those years of high school volleyball.
There’s a silence in the room that stretches between us. I don’t know if it’s because she’s hungover, or if it’s residual tension leftover from the presentation. I’d apologized over text message, and she’d seemed to accept that, but I knew I still owed her more than that.
“Look, I’m sorry about Thursday. Your presentation was really good and I should have given it more thought before I dismissed it.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. You’re the client. If you don’t like something, you don’t have to pretend you do.”
“It’s not that, Rori. I really did like it.” God. I can’t explain to her the real reason we can’t feature her friend Maria in a video. “Maybe we can just find someone with less of a sad story? Focus less on the hardships and more on the work. What do you think?”
She nods, clearly relieved. Another wave of guilt washes over me. “Yeah, that’s great. We can do that.”
“Good. Now let’s make a deal not to talk about work the rest of the weekend. Does that sound good to you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Now, tell me about this bachelorette party. Did you have a lot of penises?”
Rori tilts her head up. Her spark is back. “I’ll have you know it was a very classy affair. Not a penis in sight.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows. “So what’s that?” I gesture at the desk behind her, where a tumbler half-filled with orange juice sits. St
icking out of the glass is a bright purple penis straw.
Rori glances over her shoulder. Her cheeks turn a particularly vibrant shade of pink.
“Okay, there may have been a small amount of penises.”
“A small amount.”
“A perfectly reasonable amount.”
“I’d say that’s really a matter of perspective. From where I’m standing, for instance, anything above one penis is probably too many penises.”
“Well, you’re in luck — I expect the wedding to be virtually penis free.”
Hearing Rori say the word penis that many times in a row is starting to have an embarrassing effect on me, so I change the subject.
“How was the rehearsal dinner?”
“Also penis-free,” Rori laughs. Now I think she’s just doing this to torment me. She opens the door wider, beckoning me into the room. I sneak a glance around. Even though she’s only been here two nights, her things are strewn across the room. I’ve never been to her apartment in Brooklyn, but somehow I picture her bedroom there looking exactly the same. Maybe a little worse.
“So what time does this thing start, again?” I say, trying to avert my eyes from the sight of her bra draped over the desk chair. Not because I’m embarrassed to look at it, but because the thought of Rori sliding it off her shoulders is enough to make my little problem worse.
“The wedding is at three. Then I’ll have to go off and do photos with the wedding party. The bar will be open by then, though, and there’ll be passed appetizers while people mingle. That’s the only time you’ll have to be alone. I hope that’s okay.”
Rori gnaws her lips and I realize she’s actually concerned about me.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Honestly. Don’t spend a minute worrying about me. This day is for your friend, and you should be there for her, whatever she needs.”
“Thanks, Wes,” she says, relief covering her face.
The sound of my name on her lips is almost as dangerous for me as the word penis. I clear my throat, shove my hands deep in my pockets. “So what are you up to until then? Do you want to get some lunch?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry — I have to meet Celia and the other girls. Hair and make-up stuff.”
“Right. So you’re not going to the wedding like that?” I gesture at the messy way she has her hair twisted up.
She pats it, her face turned in mock concern. “What? You don’t think this looks good?”
“I always think you look beautiful,” I say. The words take both of us by surprise. Rori’s cheeks go bright pink again, which only makes her look even more beautiful. I imagine that flush spreading down her neck, across her chest, warming the skin beneath that little purple robe.
“Right,” she says. She twists her lips, like she’s trying to make up her mind about something, but she just gives her head a light shake. “Well, I have to jump in the shower and then meet Celia. Do you want to meet up after we’re done with the prep?”
I tell her sure. I hesitate for a second, then give her a quick peck on the cheek before I leave the room. It wasn’t all that I wanted to do, but it’s all I’ll let myself do. For now.
I decide to shower and change into my suit before I head downstairs. I’m not sure what Rori will need me for after she’s done her salon trip, and I figure I might as well be ready. After I’m done, I make my way down to the lobby and look around for the bar. A quick drink might help take my mind off the half-naked woman I just left behind.
I cross through the lobby, and that’s when I see her.
Fuck.
I debate ducking into the bar before she sees me, but it’s already too late. She’s spotted me.
“Wes? Wes Lake? Oh my goodness, honey, look — it’s Wes Lake.”
I plaster on a grin and walk over to them.
“Hi Mrs. Holloway,” I say, sticking out my hand to shake Rori’s mother’s hand. She ignores my handshake and pulls me into a hug. Guilt fills me. I haven’t seen her since a couple of days before the prom. A couple of days before I fucked everything up completely.
“Call me Janine, you silly boy,” she says. She takes a step back and looks me up and down. “My goodness, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.”
“Not so young anymore.”
“Well, in comparison to us, you’re still young,” she smiles. I glance over at Mr. Holloway, and reach my hand out again. He takes it grudgingly, not quite meeting my eye. Well, I can’t say I blame the guy for hating me — if some kid stood up my daughter, I’d probably try to have him killed.
“What are you two doing here?” I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.
“We’re here for the wedding, silly. Rori mentioned you were coming too.”
I wish she’d mentioned to me that her parents would be coming, I think. But I force another smile. “Great. I didn’t realize you knew Celia. I thought she was Rori’s friend from college?”
“Oh, she was, but those two were inseparable for years. Celia spent all kinds of time at our house, and we got to know her quite well. We’re actually doing the flowers for the wedding, did Rori tell you?”
I shake my head. “No, she didn’t mention that. Are Emma and Blake here too?” I glance around nervously. Rori’s parents might be too polite to say anything, but I wouldn’t put it past her sisters to give me hell.
“Yes, they’re great friends of Celia’s too. Blake drove in with us, and Emma was taking the train in today. What time was she getting in, Tom?”
Tom, Rori’s dad, glances down at his watch. “Oh, ‘round about noon, I think.”
“Oh, that’s soon!”
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” I say hastily, anxious to get away.
“We’ll see you later, right, Wes?” Janine says. “I’d love to hear what you’re up to these days.”
“Sure, yeah, of course.” I say my goodbyes and make a quick exit to the bar, where I order a double scotch, neat. I down half of it in one gulp.
I wish I had known Rori’s family was going to be here. Would I have still agreed to come? Well, probably. But at least I would have been mentally prepared.
I know what it is that’s eating away at me — it’s guilt. I know that what I did back then was unforgivable, and even though Rori seems to be putting it behind her, I have no expectations that her family should be as charitable.
And of course, if they knew what I was doing now ... well, I’d kick my own ass if I was any one of them.
I finish the rest of my scotch in one swallow and rest my elbows on the gleaming ebony bar. I’m about to start feeling sorry for myself and questioning all my life choices, when two guys stumble into the bar laughing. They’re both wearing tuxes, and I glance over as they grab seats at the bar next to me.
“Let me guess, you’re here for the wedding.” It’s not like me to make conversation with strangers at a bar, but they seem so jovial that the words just come out of my mouth.
“What gave it away?” the taller one asks innocently, while the other grins.
“I don’t know, I just have a sixth sense about this kind of thing.” I grin back. “In fact, judging by those pocket squares, I’m going to guess you’re part of the wedding party?”
“Are you saying real men don’t wear lavender?” the other one chuckles.
“Never.” I hold my hands up in mock innocence.
“Good guess, though,” the taller of the two says. “We’re here for our brother Jace’s wedding.”
“Jace ... as in Jace and Celia, right?”
“Right,” he looks surprised. “Are you a friend of the bride?”
“Sort of. I’m here with Rori Holloway.”
“Ohhh.” The two exchange a knowing glance. I look back and forth between them.
“What?”
“Nothing. Let me buy you a drink.” The taller one claps me on the back. He orders three scotches, and they’re delivered almost instantly. We’re the only patrons in the bar right now, so the bartender loo
ks glad to have something to do for a minute.
The other guy holds up his glass. “To happy times and happy couples — and hiding out in the bar to temporarily avoid them.”
I laugh as we all clink glasses and echo his toast.
“Wes, right?” the tall one says, after he’s taken a swallow of the drink in front of him.
“Yeah, sorry — Wes Lake.” I hold out my hand.
“Trent Whittaker. This is my brother Luke. Rori says you’re the more handsome half of GoldLake Developments.”
I nod, pushing down the tiny thrill I get from knowing she was talking about me at all. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“You’re the one planning to develop that public land out in the Lower East Side.”
My stomach turns to a brick. How the fuck did he know that?
“Where’d you hear that?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
“Word gets around,” he grins. “We’re looking for retail space out in that area and one of our sources tipped us off that you might be the man to talk to. Couldn’t believe our good luck when we found out Rori was bringing you here this weekend.”
I swallow. My throat feels like it’s coated in ash.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch what kind of business you’re in?”
“We run a furniture company — Loft & Barn.”
Loft & Barn. I curse myself for not recognizing the Whittaker name. I’ve heard of Loft & Barn, of course. Have a few of their pieces myself. No one makes an unbreakable bed like Luke Whittaker. And I’d heard that they were chasing properties out in the New York City area. I just had no idea they were interested in mine.
I raise my eyebrows. “No kidding? Rori didn’t mention that. I hope you guys didn’t bore her to death with questions about the space.” I try to laugh, but what I really want to do is put my fist through the bar. The thought that they might have inadvertently mentioned something to Rori is making my stomach feel like I’m on a ship that’s about to sink.
He shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah. The way those girls have carried on these past couple of days, neither of us got a word in edgewise.”
