by Ashley McLeo
“Hello?” Abby asked breathlessly.
“Hey, it’s Selma. Were you waiting for a call? You sound excited.”
Abby was silent for a second too long. “Oh—hi. No, I ran across the room to get the phone. What’s up?”
Selma cocked her head at the change in her friend’s tone. From excited to aloof in an instant. Abby must be in one of her moods.
“Do you want to to out tonight? Maybe go dancing? You pick the place?”
“I already have a date,” Abby replied. “Gotta go.”
A dial tone sounded and Selma pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at it. While Abby had never been what Selma would consider a best friend, she could always be relied on to hit the town and blow off steam. She’d never brushed Selma off with so little explanation. Selma briefly considered calling Kayla but decided against it. The girl had always been more Abby’s sidekick, than her friend.
And Mary was out of the question.
A solo night. I guess that’s OK. I’ll go salsa dancing. Abby hates salsa anyways and now I won’t have to hear her complain about the music.
Upbeat drums woven masterfully with a trilling flute and guitar hit her ears before Selma caught sight of the old brick building that was La Boca Rouge, her favorite salsa club. The line was, as always, far too long, especially with the nip in the air raising goosebumps on her bare legs. Luckily, Selma had no intention of waiting in line, she needed to move, feel the beat, restore herself to normal. Really it was in everyone’s best interest that she be allowed inside quickly.
Ronny, the burly bouncer, who was surprisingly light on his toes on the nights he had off to dance salsa, perked up at her approach. “Selma! Good to see you. Looks like we’re a popular attraction tonight. Abby is already inside.”
A cleft formed between her brows as Selma pulled them together. That made no sense. Abby hated this place and Selma always had to drag her here. She thought back to their phone conversation and suddenly clarity dawned. Abby hadn’t wanted to admit she was coming to La Boca Rouge for a guy when Selma had to drag her here every time.
Oh, I will never let her live this down.
“Thanks for the heads up, Ronny. Hopefully I can find her fast.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Selma cocked her head and was about to ask Ronny what he meant when another man poked his head out of the door. “Room for two more, Ron.”
Ronny waved Selma through, and then two more after her with a wink. She nodded her thanks and stepped into the club.
Vibrations filled her and the music captured her hips, compelling them to sway from side to side. Although salsa wasn’t the fandango or jota folk dances she’d grown up dancing, she’d taken lessons years ago and learned it was as much a part of her as the dances of her homeland. Salsa was the dance of the sirens, sensual, captivating, a slave to the music. Her powers jerked to attention, and she pushed them down forcibly.
You’ve had enough fun lately. This is only for me.
She walked deeper into the crowd of people, all sliding, twirling, swaying to the beat. Eyes followed her, and she smiled, hoping to attract a partner with some flair. A partner to match her. She twisted her neck around searching for Abby, but to no avail. The shining, elevated bar came into view and Selma moved toward it. She hadn’t spotted the right partner yet, and the bar was the best place to check out all the merchandise. There was one stool left and Selma snagged it.
“Soda with lime,” she sang out to the bartender when he approached. The bartender moved down the long bar top and Selma followed his movements, smooth, like the dancers on the dance floor.
Too bad he isn’t available to dance. She chuckled. I seem to have a thing for bartenders tonight, Selma thought as an image of Rich’s warm brown eyes popped into her mind. Perhaps when she was done here she’d see if he was still at the bar for a chat. He seemed like a man with many stories to tell.
The bartender set her soda and lime before her and Selma, not wanting to be stuck talking to anyone at the bar who may pick up her tab, quickly paid. She was about to roam the bar and seek a partner, when suddenly, she felt someone staring at her. Her eyes searched the crowd and fell onto two aquamarine beacons staring her down.
Selma’s face tightened as the ice queen glared at her. She debated approaching Vivienne, telling her off for getting Selma evicted, but stopped. Didn’t the fact she was here send a stronger message? That she had everything taken care of no matter what Vivienne threw at her? Instead, Selma smirked and lifted her drink Vivienne’s way.
In answer, Vivienne shifted to the side.
Familiar black hair glinted and Vivienne’s lips turned up as she pulled Abby closer. For a moment shock, then pleasure flashed across Abby’s face. Vivienne bent down to whisper something in Selma’s friend’s ear and Abby turned.
Selma’s heart pounded as she locked eyes with her friend. A friend who had lied to her. Abby was out with the exact person she’d warned Selma about, a person Abby herself had called nasty and cruel on many occasions. She expected Abby to look regretful, surprised, upset even, instead Selma cringed as Abby’s green eyes narrowed and she turned her back on Selma.
What. A. Bitch.
Selma stood, intending to round the bar, to give Abby a piece of her mind. Instead, she turned and ran into a wall of man chest.
“Hi there, gorgeous. I saw you at the polo match yesterday. You were eyeing me hard. Can I buy you a drink?” A man, in his early twenties, placed a manicured hand on Selma’s hip. His brown eyes were large and framed with lashes most women would kill for. They were also glazed over with siren magic.
“Ah, no,” Selma said and attempted to get past the man.
“Baby, I know you don’t mean that.” The man shoved against her and Selma’s back rammed into the stool she’d just vacated.
“Actually she does.” A deep voice cut in and Selma looked up hopefully, only to see another man with hazy eyes and an overabundance of confidence. A man she’d undoubtedly enchanted on one of her many walks to blow off some siren steam. “She’s been trying to catch my eye since she walked in, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be talking to the lady now.”
A sigh escaped her and Selma stood as tall as she could. “And if you two don’t mind, I have people over there I must meet.” Selma nodded toward Vivienne’s crew who, by this point, were all eyeing her with disdain.
Vivienne’s sharp glare must have done the trick, because the men’s eyes widened almost comically. They stepped aside, but not before the younger one brushed her arm and whispered in her ear. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom in ten minutes.”
Blood rushed to Selma’s face, but she kept moving, relieved to be free with relatively little hassle as she made her way to the other side of the bar.
Abby met her outside the circle of Vivienne’s friends, hand on her hip and lips pursed.
“So, this was your date for the night? Why didn’t you mention you’d be here? You know I love this place. If you just said you needed it to yourself I would never have to realize how much of a backstabber you are.”
Abby inhaled sharply and her eyes widened—a slip—but she caught herself quickly and stood taller. “You don’t own this bar, Selma. In fact, you don’t own anything, definitely not me. Vivienne called me this morning and asked if I wanted to go out. I wanted to, so I said yes.”
“So glad you did," Vivienne proclaimed. “We’re having such fun aren’t we? I’ve known for months you were intriguing Abby but I lacked the confidence to call. Thank goodness I found some.”
It was a bold faced lie. Selma doubted Vivienne lacked confidence in anything. Or had ever even thought about Abby until she needed someone to hurt Selma with.
“You should have told me,” Selma murmured, ignoring Vivienne. “That way I wouldn’t have to see her.” She gestured to Vivienne.
“Don’t you dare insult Vivienne when you’re the whore trying to steal her husband,” Abby hissed. “Don’t think I don’t know what you�
�re doing. We watched you over there talking to those bankers. You’re always trying to steal someone else’s man. It’s disgusting.”
It felt as if a knife had pierced and twisted in Selma’s gut. “I wasn’t—I don’t even know them,” Selma stuttered, unable to think of how else to defend herself against her friend’s cruel, and in the case of Andrew, partially true words.
“See, Abby? The little whore can’t even defend herself.” Vivienne shook her head and the crowd of women around her shrieked with laughter. Abby joined in, but the laughter didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on now girls, let’s go dance. We don’t want to be seen talking with this one too long.”
The herd moved on, leaving Selma standing with a circle of emptiness around her.
Home Wrecker
Enough is enough. Selma’s fingers punched in Andrew’s home number on the dingy payphone outside the club. The ringer droned on, and soon enough a recording informed her the Van de Bergs were not home. She slammed the receiver down. Her hands shook. How dare those women treat her like that? Even worse, the look Abby gave her, full of disdain and condescension. If Selma hadn’t been so hurt she would have laughed. Wasn’t Abby the one purposefully going after rich guys and was then jealous when they were interested in Selma? Such a gold-digger.
She doesn’t even realize Vivienne is only using her to get to me. That this is all about me, she’s only a pawn.
A cab light came into view and Selma made her way out to the street to hail it. There was no point in going back into the club. Her night was ruined. Losing herself in the music would be impossible with Vivienne’s group flying about like vultures.
Ten minutes later her cab pulled up to the hotel. Selma paid and hefted herself out of the car to stare up at the monstrosity that would be her home for the next three months. The penthouse—gorgeous—but sprawling and cold filled her mind and she sighed.
I wish Mary was here.
No one stopped her as she walked into the lobby, and Selma thanked the heavens above that Leonard was not there. She peeked into the bar to find Richard wiping down the counter. He glanced up, catching her gaze as if he’d felt her staring at him. She briefly considered chatting with Richard as he finished his shift, but the heaviness inside her was too much and simply waved goodnight before retreating to her room.
As soon as the elevator doors to her room opened, she noticed a fire burning bright in the fireplace. Selma’s heart thumped. Leonard could access any room in The Plaza. His eyes, glazed with hormone laden magic, flashed in her mind. Would he do something so drastic? So intrusive? She stepped into the suite, fists clenched should she need to use them.
“Selma.”
The voice came from behind her and Selma swirled on the spot and released a sigh. It was Andrew.
She dropped her fists, but a scowl grew on her face. “What are you doing here? How did you get up here? Isn’t this a breach of privacy? Do I need to call Leonard?” She brandished the hotelier’s name like a weapon, warning Andrew that she, too, had connections.
“You didn’t notice I put my name on the room with yours?” Andrew cocked his head.
Who reads all that paperwork? Selma thought, biting the inside of her lip. But she said, “I did, but I didn’t think you’d take it as an invitation to come visit. I thought it was only because you were paying for the room.”
“Oh . . .” Andrew trailed off. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for at least an hour.”
Andrew had to wait an hour, how terrible. It was all Selma could do not to roll her eyes, especially after the day she’d had. She placed her bag on a table and poured herself a glass of water.
“I went dancing. In fact, I saw your wife there. She seems to have acquired a new minion. Abby.” Her voice cracked at her friend’s name and for the first time sadness welled over the anger. “You know, this is all your fault, right? If you hadn’t pursued me I would have moved on, and Vivienne wouldn’t be making my life hell.” She set the glass down and tears pricked in her eyes, the exhaustion of the past few weeks walloping her all at once. She was tired of fighting her feelings, wrangling in her magic, releasing it strategically, and always being on the defense. “If you hadn’t run into me in that damned fake forest, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have lost my only friend in the city, or my apartment. I wouldn’t have been so humiliated.”
In an instant Andrew was beside her. His hands on her shoulders, caressing them.
Selma’s magic roared to life, hungry for his touch. She pushed it down, intent on keeping control of the situation, but as it always did around Andrew, the magic flamed back up and released through her skin. The effect on Andrew was immediate. A loosening of his shoulders, a warming of his gray eyes, a parting of his lips.
“You never answered me. Why are you here?” Selma’s voice held the hint of a siren song in it—the melodious notes pure humans could not create, but which affected them so. She cursed her magic before clamping her lips shut and tilting her head, waiting for Andrew to respond.
“I did it. I left her. There’s a note at my house, she’ll find it when she gets home. You were so mad earlier that I reserved the other penthouse for myself as a backup. I don’t have to stay there, though.” His eyes moved to her cleavage, hips, and then back up to her lips, and finally eyes—drinking her in. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. I just needed more time.”
Selma bit her lip hard. Her body and magic still wanted him badly, more than it had anyone else. Ever. But now, somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a doubt. A flash of brown eyes and deep dimples that she couldn’t see clearly; not with Andrew leaning so close, his scent filling her nostrils, her heart beating so fast. Suddenly, the eyes and mouth dissolved as Andrew pulled her to him and their lips met.
There was no fighting it, and Selma decided once and for all, she didn’t want to. It felt too damn good to fight it any longer. So, she released all her holds on her magic, her ethics, herself and gave in.
Rapturous, her magic roared to life, engulfing the pair.
When she woke the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold. However, this time, Andrew had not left it empty. A note sat atop his pillow. She rolled over and plucked it up between her fingers, relishing in the feel of the thick, creamy paper as she read it.
* * *
Selma,
* * *
I hope I did not wake you when I left. I’m off to the office for a few hours today, but fear not. I will be back tonight! You can find breakfast in the kitchen.
* * *
All yours,
Andrew
* * *
P.S. I’m sorry for ripping off your dress last night. In the kitchen you will also find cash. Treat yourself today to a replacement.
* * *
Selma traipsed into the kitchen and gasped. Pastries of every kind lined the counter and the scent of bacon lingered in the air. She skipped to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of yogurt, homemade granola, and a plate lined with bacon. She fixed her plate and set it on the counter next to a white envelope. Her fingers opened the flap and Selma peered into the envelope. Her eyes widened.
Dios mio, I could get a dozen replacement dresses with that kind of money. Or a couple really nice ones.
Selma shoved down her breakfast. She dressed in record time and rushed out the door to be the first at the shops when they opened.
The Brink
Arms heavy with bags, Selma stepped into a cab and after giving the driver their destination, closed her eyes contentedly. She’d spent her morning trying on beautiful dresses and being pampered. And then, without blinking, paying cash for her goods. She’d bought not one, but five different outfits. She couldn’t wait to show Mary. Her friend would be just as in love with the dresses as she was.
I hope she left a message on my machine while I was out. There’s not much time left in her trip.
A loud thunk jolted her from her thoughts. Selma opened her eyes to find the cabbie
shaking his fist at a man who’d run into the hood of his car while they’d been stopped at a light. A man who was looking straight at her.
“Selma! I love you. I broke up with my girlfriend for you. Open the door! I can make you happier than him!” Selma peered at the man, taking in his hazy brown eyes, and sighed.
“You know this guy?” The cabbie asked.
Selma shook her head. “He must be mistaking me for someone else.” She did, in fact, recognize the man. Just as she recognized the half dozen other men who had approached her that day.
It had been scary at first. Tinged with fresh memories of the previous morning, when Mary had saved her, though with one major difference. This time when she claimed Andrew was her boyfriend, men believed her. At first Selma was astonished it had worked—but then she’d seen the headlines.
Sweeping inky lines proclaiming the Van de Bergs impending divorce. This time, Andrew had followed through on his promise and it was out for all of New York to see. When she’d first read the words, her stomach had dropped but hours of retail therapy had quelled the nerves. Now, the idea of her and Andrew being out in the open felt good—right.
She deserved this.
The cabbie shrugged and pulled forward slowly, so the man slipped off his hood. The man lunged to try her door, but the cabbie put his foot on the gas and they sped away.
“Good day, Miss Selma,” Leonard said sourly, all the flirtations of yesterday gone.
“Hello, Leonard,” Selma chirped, unfazed and pressed the elevator button.
The elevator zoomed up and Selma was in the sanctuary of her suite a minute later. She let out a contented exhale as she dropped her bags, kicked off her heels, and strode over to the window overlooking Manhattan.
