by Lauren Layne
For the first time he could remember, he genuinely looked forward to spending time with a woman. With Julie, there was no suffocating pressure. No expectation that he always be “on.”
They simply enjoyed each other in bed and out of bed, and there was never any tedious thought or talk of what they were or where they were going. Hell, Evelyn hadn’t been able to go a month without sitting him down for a “compatibility check” to make sure they still had the same goals.
Evelyn. God, that night at the opera had been up there with every man’s worst nightmare. He’d half expected John Blake to come at him with a shotgun. He might have preferred it. Instead the senator had treated him the way he always had—like a son.
And Evelyn—he hadn’t realized how much he’d hurt her. Maybe he hadn’t let himself realize. Somehow he’d convinced himself that she was like him, going along with the relationship simply because it was expected. But seeing her again, with her heart in her eyes, had ripped at him.
Because while she’d been making eyes at him, he’d only had eyes for Julie.
Julie, with whom there was none of the garbage, none of the boring stuff. Nothing but laughs and sex and fun. There was never any sign that she was trying to wangle a ring from him or turn his office into a nursery.
At least there hadn’t been until last night.
He took a deep breath and sat in the chair across from Colin. He wasn’t used to sharing confidences with anyone, much less coworkers, but he needed help. Advice.
“Julie suggested we stay in this weekend,” Mitchell blurted out. “For a movie night.”
Colin paused in the obnoxious swaying of his swivel chair. “Uh-oh.”
Exactly. Mitchell had nothing against staying in on weekend nights. He actually preferred it. He hated crowds, hated “the scene.” He and Evelyn had made a Friday ritual out of checking out the latest independent film releases, usually with a bowl of healthy air-popped popcorn and a bit of olive oil. Evelyn didn’t eat animal fats, so butter hadn’t been an option.
But he knew what movie night meant. It meant that you were a couple.
Mitchell didn’t know which had alarmed him more: that the fun-loving Julie had even suggested it, or that he’d been aching to agree. A movie night with Julie wouldn’t have resembled anything he’d experienced with Evelyn. For starters, she’d want to watch one of those tacky, blockbuster affairs. And from the way she’d devoured her greasy fish and chips that first night, he doubted she’d have a problem with butter on her popcorn.
The prospect was oddly appealing.
Colin read his expression correctly and gave a gleeful guffaw. “You said yes, didn’t you? I knew it. You’re falling for this girl. There’s no way you can see someone casually without convincing yourself she has future potential.”
“I’m not falling for Julie.” He almost believed it. “And I said no to movie night. I’m sure she only suggested it because she thought it was what I’d like to do.”
Because that’s what she did. Shaped herself to be whatever she thought people wanted her to be.
Colin’s smile slipped. “So you’re not seeing her? Remember, the deal requires that you have at least five dates, but it can’t go past August.…”
“I know what the bet is, Colin.”
And we’ve already had more than five dates. No need to tell Colin everything.
“So then what’s the problem?” Colin asked. “You told her no to movie night and she got mad? Is that it?”
“Not exactly.” As far as Mitchell could tell, Julie Greene didn’t do mad. He tugged at his tie, which inexplicably felt tighter than usual. “I kind of suggested that we go to a nightclub. In the Meatpacking District.”
There were several seconds of stunned silence before Colin began snickering. “Dude, have you ever been to a club? You know they don’t serve single-malt Scotch and play Bach, right?”
“Yes, Colin, I’m aware. It’s like I said when you first walked in. I made a mistake.”
Colin was still shaking his head. “Mitchell Forbes at a nightclub. Oh, how the mighty have fallen for the sake of a broad. But you made the right call,” he said with approval. “This will keep her at a distance on the off chance she was getting the wrong idea. A woman like Julie Greene will know exactly what an invitation to a club means. It’s not exactly aperitif hour at Bemelmans.”
Mitchell winced. Had anyone ever thought Julie might actually enjoy having an aperitif at the classy Bemelmans? Or had they always assumed that she wanted glitter and vodka shots? Just the way he had.
“And on the bright side, you’ll probably get to go straight to the front of the line. Julie’s hot and she’s a regular at those places. She’s there with a different guy every week.”
Mitchell’s mouth turned sour at the thought of being just another of Julie’s throwaway toys. But hell, that was why he’d picked her, right? This type of casual, meaningless dating was her world.
It was all she’d want or expect from him.
So just why the hell did that bother him so damn much?
Chapter Ten
Julie put Grace on speakerphone and set her phone on the bathroom counter so she could finish applying makeup.
“Are you sure he said he wanted to go to Pair?” Grace asked, sounding as baffled as Julie felt.
“Positive. I asked him twice, and even asked if he knew where it was. Definitely the Pair we know, on Little West Twelfth Street. Total bridge-and-tunnel crowd,” Julie said, referring to the mobs of partygoers who flocked to Manhattan’s trendy Meatpacking District from New Jersey and the outer boroughs. Translation: not Mitchell’s scene. At all.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Grace said as though reading her thoughts. “I mean, granted, I don’t know Mitchell well, but I thought he was more of a sip-whisky-in-a-hotel-bar type of guy. Not a clubbing, vodka-and-soda, hip-hop-loving douche bag.”
Julie paused in her mascara application and frowned down at the phone. “Hey, not all guys who frequent nightclubs are douches.”
She didn’t dare tell Grace just how many Friday nights she’d spent just like this one: applying smoky eyes, putting on glittery lip gloss, and donning her tiniest outfits.
“Greg wouldn’t be caught dead there,” Grace said loftily.
Julie’s hand paused in the middle of applying eyeliner. Well, if she’d been looking for a positive to the evening, that was it. The less Mitchell had in common with Greg, the better.
“What happened to movie night?” Grace asked. “Isn’t going to an impersonal club kind of the opposite direction you need to go for your story?”
Yes, exactly, Grace. Thanks so much for the reminder. “He didn’t go for it,” Julie replied, careful to keep her tone neutral.
“Really? I totally thought staying in would be right up his alley. I mean, not that I can picture the man vegging out in ratty sweats, but maybe one of those dressing gowns that old men wear?”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to him,” Julie said. “Maybe get him some nice tobacco to go with his pipe.”
That was, if they ever got to movie night.
“Well, I’m sure he just suggested Pair to impress you,” Grace said kindly. “If he knows anything about you, he probably thinks it’s your ideal way to spend a weekend night.”
And he’d been right.
Or at least he’d have been right just a couple of weeks ago.
She paused and studied herself in the mirror. What’s changed?
Her reflection gazed back. You know what’s changed.
“Whatever,” Julie muttered to herself. “Look, Gracey, I gotta go. He’ll be here in a few.”
“ ’Kay. Good luck. And if you have a heart, do not make that poor man dance.”
Julie hung up the phone, smiling at the absurd mental picture of Mitchell Forbes dancing. He definitely didn’t seem the type unless it was the fox-trot or the waltz.
So why had he suggested it in the first place? She wanted to think that it was for her sake.
That he knew her party-girl track record and was trying to appease her. But a nagging doubt had inserted itself in the back of her brain and wouldn’t let go.
What if he hadn’t wanted to do movie night with her?
And why was she not relieved at getting a free pass to skip movie night? She’d been dreading the very thought of that couch potato moment from the time Camille had mentioned the story.
But she hadn’t known Mitchell then. Hadn’t considered that the thought of curling up on the couch with him might be kind of appealing.
Hadn’t considered that as much as she didn’t think of herself as a movie-night kind of girl, a man wouldn’t either.
She looked at her perfectly made-up face in the mirror, itching to scrub it all off and put on her PJs. But she couldn’t
Because I’m not good enough for Titanic and popcorn.
The sharp buzz of the front door interrupted her moping. Mitchell was here. She fluffed her hair and pasted a smile on her face. She could do this. She’d done it a million times before.
She did a double take when she opened the door. She hadn’t put a lot of thought into how Wall Street would transition to Meatpacking District, but the effect was noticeable. And unsettling.
Julie’s first urge was to button one more button on his black button-down and add a tie. And where are your glasses?
He looked like every other guy she’d ever taken to a club on a Friday night.
She didn’t like it.
“You’re sure about this?” she blurted out as he slid past her with a peck on the cheek.
He glanced down in surprise. “Sure about what?”
“Pair. That’s really what you want to do?”
For a second she saw a twinge of regret. Like it was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Instead he gave her a brief show of dimples. “Of course. It’s Friday night in New York City.”
This was all wrong: his tone, his trendy attire, his too-laid-back attitude. Who are you?
“And besides, you look hot,” he said, reaching for her hips and nuzzling at her ear. Julie gave a forced smile. His compliment felt hollow. She didn’t want to be hot. Not to Mitchell. She wanted to be beautiful.
His hands slid up the back of her thighs and under the tight fabric of her tiny skirt. Normally Julie relished the process of picking out nightlife attire, but tonight little thought had gone into it, and she’d grabbed one of her defaults: a black mini, a sparkly black halter top that showed most of her back, and a pair of five-inch stilettos. She felt plastic.
“We should get going,” she said, pulling back sharply when he leaned in for a kiss. He looked confused and slightly hurt, and she smiled to soften the rejection even as she chided herself. Get it together!
“I got us a car,” he said as she grabbed her clutch from the table. “I figured it’d be easier than trying to deal with a cab on Friday night. Especially when you’re wearing heels.”
“Honey, these aren’t heels, they’re Louboutins,” she corrected. Honestly. Men.
Once they’d settled into the town car’s soft leather seat, she asked, “Have you been to Pair before?”
He set a hand on her bare leg, his thumb stroking the inside of her knee.
“I haven’t, no,” he said, eyes locked on the spot where his palm had found her thigh. “You?”
“Sure, a bunch of times. I actually know one of the bouncers pretty well. That should get us to the front of the line.”
Mitchell stared at her. “There’ll be a line? This late?”
Julie had to laugh. “Are you kidding? There’ll be a line because we’re this late.”
He looked vaguely disoriented. “But there have to be about a million other places to grab a drink in the city where one wouldn’t have to wait.”
“I’m sure there are, but that’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
Julie shrugged, annoyed at the question. “I don’t know. It’s about the scene, I guess.” He grunted, and Julie very slowly turned to face him, realization dawning.
“Mitchell … you have been to a club before, right? At least once?”
“Sure.”
He was lying. She was sure of it. Her spine stiffened. “Mitchell, why did you suggest this tonight?”
“I thought you’d enjoy it—isn’t this your thing?”
Julie tried not to be insulted.
Just a few weeks ago it wouldn’t have bothered her to have a “thing.” It wouldn’t have even bothered her that people perceived her “thing” to be partying with a different guy every week. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t quite get this guy to think she was relationship-worthy.
“If it were my thing, would I have suggested movie night?” she heard herself asking in a small voice.
He finally turned to look at her. “I thought you were only suggesting that because it’s what I would want to do.”
She met his eyes. “Is that why you said no?” Or am I not movie-night material?
He sucked in the insides of his cheeks briefly as though debating his best option: a careful lie or a painful truth.
“Honestly? Movie night seemed a little … intimate,” he conceded finally.
Ouch.
She almost wished he’d gone with the careful lie. But on the plus side, it was a great development for her story.
Rule one in taking things to the next level: Do not rush movie night, no matter how dull and predictable the man may seem. The rejection will sting.
“It’s no biggie,” she said, forcing a bright tone. “Oh, great, we’re here.”
Julie clawed at the door handle before Mitchell or the driver could open it for her, maneuvering onto the uneven cobblestoned street easily in her high heels.
“Julie, wait,” Mitchell said as he hurried to catch up to her.
“Come on!” she said. “Brent’s working tonight—he’ll get us in!” Immediately the intoxicated, glittery people in line began booing as she moved toward the entrance.
“Hey, wait in line, lady!”
Julie ignored them. Amateurs.
Mitchell grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him before she could get to Brent. “Would you hold on just a second?” he asked, sounding exasperated.
“What’s up?” she asked in a hyper voice, blinking rapidly to prevent tears from falling.
Crying in front of a nightclub because a man hadn’t wanted to watch a movie with her would be a first. And if she had any say in the matter, it’d be a last.
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking completely puzzled. “If you didn’t want to come tonight, you should have just said so.”
“No, it’ll be great,” she said, giving a brittle laugh. “You’ll love it.”
“Julie.”
“Mitchell.”
“Talk to me, please. You’re acting weird.”
She glanced down at the tips of her patent leather pumps, trying to rack her brain for what a girlfriend would say. What would Grace do?
Tell him the truth. No relationship can move forward on half-truths.
Unless of course the entire “relationship” was a half-truth. Still, it was time to take a chance. No journalist got a good story without taking a few risks.
She just wished this particular risk wasn’t so … personal.
“I’m tired of being the short-term kind of girl,” she heard herself say.
No! No, no, no! That hadn’t been what she’d meant to say.
She’d only meant to say that she’d gotten her feelings a little hurt. Instead she was spilling her guts while half the Jersey shore heckled her from the other side of the velvet rope.
Mitchell’s head snapped back slightly. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. And judging from the unhappy crease between his brows, it wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.
Well, too freaking bad, Mr. Forbes. It was out there now, so he’d have to deal with it. They both would. She lifted her chin and waited for his response.
&nbs
p; “I assumed that whatever was going on between us was just a fling,” he said finally. “That we were just having fun. I never meant for you to get the wrong idea.”
Julie almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the moment. Here was a short-term kind of girl begging for a long-term relationship from a long-term kind of guy who wanted a fling.
It was movie-worthy.
It was laughable.
It was … incredibly painful.
“Then a fling is what we’ll have,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Julie.”
She ignored him, grabbing his hand and yanking him toward the entrance. Julie went through the motions of flirting with the bouncer. She felt Mitchell’s eyes on her face, but she refused to meet his eyes.
Brent waved them in with his usual grumpy scowl, and Julie pulled Mitchell into the club, where the familiar throbbing darkness washed over her. For a second she faltered. In a space that was so densely packed with people, how was it that she could feel so utterly alone?
* * *
Mitchell might be a nightclub novice, but he’d apparently done his research.
Within seconds of entering the lair, he’d secured them a corner table and bottle service. The price was astronomical, but the alternative was fighting through a crowd six people deep just to get to the bar for a watered-down vodka and soda.
After their drinks had been poured, Julie kept her eyes fixed on the spot just to the right of his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she wouldn’t make eye contact. Couldn’t make eye contact. “To flings.” She raised her glass and waited expectantly for him to return the toast.
“To us,” he said instead.
She drained her drink in three swallows. There was no us.
“Whoa, slow down,” he murmured.
But Julie didn’t want nice Mitchell. Didn’t want gentlemanly Mitchell. She had only a limited amount of time left with this complicated man, and she was going to enjoy it.
“Another,” she said.
“Julie—”
She silenced him with a kiss that was hot and a little rough. Her teeth scraped at his bottom lip, wanting to hurt him. He set his glass aside and slid an arm around her back as the other tangled in her hair. Mitchell angled his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue parried with hers, his teeth doing some biting of their own. Julie relished the taste of anger on his mouth.
