by Scott, S. L.
“You graduated in May and turned twenty-three in July. It’s time to take on some responsibility and build something that will still be around in twenty years.”
“Like your career,” my mother adds as if that’s helping my side. It’s not. Clearly.
“I wasn’t dabbling,” I start. “I was . . . I am building something. My clientele list has doubled in the past four months alone.”
“Great. Let’s get them signed up and invest this extra money they have to spend.”
I wave my hand in front of my face because they’re not hearing a word I’m saying. My glass is refilled just as Tatum pokes me in the hip. When I turn to her, she whispers, “Don’t ruin your night with a fight.”
My parents have moved on and are talking to Tatum’s parents. Across the table from me, my brother frowns. He knows the last thing I want to do is be a broker. Other than that, I’m not sure where I fit into the family business. I twist my mouth to the side and shrug.
Resting her head on my shoulder, Tatum asks, “Are you ready to go?”
My mom says, “Congratulations again.”
“The real world is calling come Monday,” Tatum’s dad adds.
Tatum sets her napkin on the table and scoots back to stand. “On that note, it’s time for us to leave.” We’re given a round of applause, and she takes a bow. “Thank you for coming and for the lovely gifts.”
I may not see eye to eye with my parents, but I’m grateful for them. I move around and hug them. “Thank you for the generous gift and for this dinner.”
“You’re welcome,” my mom says before holding my hand. “I know you’re not excited about the position, Natalie, but sleep on it. You might find it’s something you can grow into enjoying.”
Dad adds, “The real world isn’t always sunshine and roses. It’s time for you to put your degree to work.” I am, but I realize they’ll never accept my dreams when they have the best-laid plans in place already.
A sympathetic grin creases my mom’s mouth. “I never would have thought I’d enjoy my job so much. And I’m good at it.” Caressing my cheek, she adds, “You have a big advantage over me with your degree. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish if you put your mind to it. We’d be very fortunate to bring on such talent. That you’re our daughter is the icing on top.”
She makes me want to say yes, but my heart just isn’t in it. “I’ll sleep on it. Thank you again for everything.”
We’re quick with the goodbyes to the rest of the guests, friends of our parents, and a few cousins who I never speak to but who came to suck up to my parents. After we escape, Jackson comes outside and waits with us for a taxi. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“Is it that obvious we’re not going home?”
“Yes, to anyone under fifty.” He bumps into me. “Nice job on keeping things light tonight. They’re in a great mood.”
“I always have Monday to rain on their parade. No need to ruin a perfectly nice Saturday night.”
“Taxi’s here,” Tatum says, tugging his tie. They’ve never hooked up, at least that I know of, but she flirts with everyone, and he eats it up. “The Delilah Hotel. I heard the bar is the place to be tonight. Are you coming with us?”
“Yep.”
In the back of the cab, Tatum sends a few texts and then contentedly looks out the window. My brother’s attention is glued to his phone screen. I actually think he’s working even though it’s already past eleven. Tapping his phone, I say, “This right here is why I’m not interested in becoming a broker. You haven’t even graduated from college, and the work never ends. I don’t want to live to work.”
He chuckles to himself. Cutting the light off, he looks at me. “Then work to live, sis. I know you don’t want to hear this, but if you join the company, I know you’ll be the best in the biz.”
Squeezed between the two of them doesn’t leave much room to wriggle out of this conversation. “I get it, everyone feels I need to put my marketing degree to use in another way.” I rest my head back, the lights from outside flashing through the windows. I nudge him with my elbow. “You’ve done your job in recruitment. Can we give it a rest tonight?”
My worries have resurfaced with a vengeance, putting an edge to my good time. I should have paid better attention to the fine print. My parents gave me a two-year loan to start my business and months to figure out my life. I can’t justify continuing STJ if I’m only breaking even.
Tatum and I have been working together, which has been fun. We’re alike in so many ways, but our parents are not the same at all. She received a blank check last May and was told to travel the world before settling down.
My parents could afford the same but have always said we need to earn our way in life. I don’t blame them. My dad following in his father’s footsteps and taking over the business when Grandpa had a heart attack was his dream. It’s even Jackson’s, who happily stepped up and joined the company part-time his freshman year in high school. It’s his dream to run it one day, and he’s well on his way, so why are they set on me being there to play second fiddle?
Tatum wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I have no doubt you’ll show everyone how determined you are. Together, we’re unbeatable, but enough business talk for tonight.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Great minds.” The taxi pulls to the curb, and she adds, “It’s time to party.”
She flashes her phone to the doorman, bypassing a line that extends halfway down the block. He steps aside to let us go inside. We cross the Art Deco-designed lobby and enter the bar. “Welcome to The Delilah. Follow me right this way,” a hostess says, leading us to a red velvet booth in the center of the room.
Tatum is quick to slip between Jackson and me to sit like the queen bee. I don’t mind since she loves the attention, and I’m perfectly fine letting her own it. Celebrities hidden in corners, socialites lining the bar, and the Manhattan elite fill the dark speakeasy.
Martinis have been flowing when Tatum perches herself on the top of the booth to chat with friends she’s run into. I know them as well, but Jackson’s been regaling me with stories from a business trip to Chicago last weekend. “He said he prefers traditional asses—round but firm.”
“Oh, my God.” I laugh behind my hand, worried I’ll spew an olive. “Instead of assets?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how Dad kept a straight face.”
“Me either.” I take another sip of the dirty drink, the liquor harsh when it hits my throat. You’d think I’d be used to it since it’s my third. It’s not smooth like the alcohol I drank in Avalon. I cough, wanting the burning to subside, then try to take a deep breath.
“May I get you a glass of water?” The male voice doesn’t contain the deep tones that harmonize to my heartbeats, but I still whip around, hoping to see the man from Catalina again.
I’m left disappointed. The guy isn’t bad looking with dark blond hair, lighter eyes, and a good build. He’s actually quite cute, but that instant spark I had with Nick doesn’t exist.
At what point do I move on from the best night of my life? When will I forget that I ever met Mr. Smug and Sexy? Is it even possible? I’m starting to believe it’s not, and putting effort into it otherwise is fruitless to boot.
Sitting up, I reply, “I’d like that.”
11
Natalie
Chad was much more interesting in the dark bar of The Delilah.
I was also on my third martini when I accepted his date invitation. His good looks can’t make up for the two hours I just lost sitting across from him at dinner. It’d be one thing if I only had to look at him all night, but he lost me when all he talked about was business.
Did I mention Chad is a stockbroker?
That should say everything, but to be more clear: Big ego. Little penis.
Whoever said stockbrokers are sexy was wrong. Come to think of it, though, no one says that. Except, David from my dad’s office once said it to me. Literally, those wor
ds. “Women find me sexy because I’m a stockbroker.”
He was being more arrogant than usual because he had scored a date with a model after flashing cash in his profile pic. That was the only date they went on . . . I heard through the office gossip grapevine when I was interning two years ago. But then he tried that same line again on me, flashed his photo, and then asked me out. When I didn’t reply in a timely manner—I was never going to answer—he emailed me the photo “for my personal collection.” Although my dad wouldn’t mind me dating a successful stockbroker, I have a feeling that wasn’t what he had in mind.
Instead of replying to David’s email, I forwarded it to my dad and brother and cc’d David.
He was fired that day.
As for Chad’s penis, I don’t know about the size firsthand, but I can tell by how he loves to brag that he’s pretty proud of himself.
He’s a dime a dozen in this city and boring, much like every other man I’ve dated in the past few months. Is it really a surprise I’m still single when this is the current pool of available men?
No.
Thank God dinner is done, and we can move on with our lives—preferably in different directions. I’ve learned my lesson. Embargos aren’t always so bad. Sometimes they serve a purpose, and mine just became clear—do not force a connection that isn’t there. If it happens, it happens, but being lonely shouldn’t be a condition to lower my standards.
I know magic exists.
I experienced it once on Catalina. But maybe, it’s just not my time. I have my company—at least for now—and a handful of good, trusted friends. And as they say, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. I just need to get rid of this one. Stat.
My mind ticks through this week’s to-dos as we walk down the sidewalk. I glance over, politely pretending to be paying attention with the occasional nod and “ah, I see,” but the latest sell-off that landed him in hot water with his boss doesn’t hold my interest. The bright yellow sign for the corner bodega does, though, luring me to go inside to buy a pen and pad to jot down the extensive list I’ve created.
Disappointment sets in when we pass it. It would be rude for me to make the detour, so I carry on, hoping he’s done talking before we reach the next corner so I can dash off. Friday night is bustling in this part of the city, and the sidewalk is crowded with people going in all directions. When some jerk passing by knocks my shoulder, I’m about to turn around and say something, but then I hear, “Sorry.”
I stop and spin around just in time to catch sight of the back of him. “Thanks.”
A jaw sharp enough to cliff dive off the side.
That grin that would give a rogue a run for his money.
And brown eyes that precariously balance a warm soul and mischievousness behind squinting lids. “Natalie?”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Nick?” I run into his arms without thinking twice. Not even once, if I’m being honest. Closing my eyes, I breathe him, savoring the energy flowing through my veins. It’s as if my body’s been dormant, and Nick’s the catalyst. “God, I missed you so much,” I whisper under my breath, unintentionally vocalizing my confession but not caring. I hate how we ended. Is it wrong to want an actual chance with him?
I instantly recognized his deep tone as if my insides had been wired to pick up on the frequency. And I could never forget those eyes and how they drank me in the first time we met. But it’s those arms, the same ones wrapped so tight around me now, that I’ll always remember most. Like in Avalon, he holds me like he doesn’t want to lose me, quenching not only his thirst for this connection but also mine.
When I look at him, his smile is better than I remember and he whispers, “What?”
I’m not going to admit that I missed him twice, though, when he hasn’t said it once. I mean, that would be embarrassing. We barely know each other. “I asked what you’re doing here?”
His warmth disappears with his arms as he lowers them and takes a step back. “Business.” He takes his time giving me a once-over, owning every lingering second. Goose bumps arise like a long-awaited wave covering my body. “Wow.” He stares at me as though he expects to see a glitch in the system to prove I’m not real. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Holding my arms out, I say, “Here I am.”
“Yes, you are.”
I’ve missed the dulcet tones that warmed my insides. His voice makes me weak in the knees as memories of Catalina flood back.
A throat is cleared, and Chad adds, “And so am I.”
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about him. I take a step back to include him in this exchange, though I’d rather just tell him good night. “Chad, this is Nick. I mean, The—”
“It’s almost been five months,” Nick says, with his eyes set on mine and ignoring my date altogether.
“Four months, three weeks,” I reply with a shrug. “But who’s counting?”
“I have been. Every day. God, it’s good to see you, Natalie.”
Suddenly, I wish I would have worn something instead of these jeans and a simple blouse that ties at my waist. If I’d know that destiny was going to play her hand tonight, I would have worn a dress, a dress with pockets, or one that’s fitted. I’m not sure which dress or the style, but I would have worn something different, a dress just for Nick, is all I’m saying. “You too. So good.”
Clearly Team Natalie, Nick comes closer, ignoring the invisible line of personal space. I can’t say I mind. “I’m not here long, but we should catch up.”
I’m startled by a loud clap. When I turn toward the sound, Chad says, “This has been fun, but Natalie and The Chad have plans.”
Nick’s face remains impartial for about point two seconds. Then he loses it. “The Chad?”
I’m right there with him on this one, but I refuse to get caught up in Nick, more than I am already, and force my eyes back to Chad. “We do?”
“Yes.”
Nice enough to move on, Nick asks, “What do you think,” as if it’s just the two of us, “about going on a date?”
Although my gaze shifts to the man standing next to me, I can feel the heat of Nick’s proximity melting me on the inside. Damn him and that, that, that electricity or chemistry. Whatever it is that feels like a fire heating a winter’s night that flows between us. Cracking a small smile, I keep my voice low as if Chad might hear me if I don’t, and reply, “I’m already on a date, Nick.”
“Yeah, Nick,” Chad adds loudly, awkwardly causing a scene by the wide berth people are leaving around when they walk by. “She’s on a date with The Chad, so fuck off, dude.”
I’ve had it with the third person reference. I was patient all through dinner listening to The Chad, but I’ve had enough. Just when I’m about to say something, I notice the warmth of Nick’s brown eyes turn cold when he levels Chad with a glare. Stepping closer, he leaves enough room to fill the space with a new, unrecognizable emotion—the playfulness gone the moment Chad opened his mouth. “Listen . . .”
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself when Nick glances at me. I assist. “The Chad.” Okay, maybe I’m not the most helpful, but it is funny.
“Listen, Chad,” Nick continues, not missing a beat. “I understand you thought this was going well, but I can tell you from firsthand experience that you don’t stand a chance of getting a good-night kiss, much less a second date.”
Chad steps closer and scoffs. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”
“Ask her.” Nick’s eyes only find mine a second, but it’s long enough for me to see that sexy confidence I remember so well from Catalina filling his irises.
Chad turns to me, putting his back to Nick. Tilting down, he whispers, “This was going well, you and I, before he showed up, right?” When I hesitate, he adds, “Tell him. We’re going back to my place uptown. We can have a nightcap—”
“Well . . .” Throwing my hand up, I place a wall between us. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Chad. It’
s been okay, at best—first person or third person—but not worth a nightcap.” I was feeling generous with the okay rating on the date. If this were an online survey, it would rate a one star, at best.
“What are you talking about? At dinner, you said you liked the pasta.”
Blinking rapidly, I try to make the connection between liking the pasta and liking him. “I did. It was great. Thank you for dinner,” I say, staring at him.
Chad’s eyes ping-pong between Nick and me but land in my direction again. With his mouth dropped open, he works his way up from my chest, a place he gave more attention than my personality while consuming said delicious pasta. Then he starts laughing deliriously while looking around. “This is a joke, right?”
“Ashton’s not going to pop out of the bushes.”
“Who?” he asks.
“Never mind.” I sigh, realizing the awesomeness of the show Punk’d doesn’t live on. Guess I’m the only one who loves to watch old shows. Clapping my hands together, I add, “I think this a good place for us to say goodbye.” I offer him a friendly handshake.
“What?” With a furrowed brow, he glances at my hand and then up to me. “Wait . . . are you blowing me off?”
“No. Not at all. The date was over, so I’m saying goodbye.”
“But I’m a stockbroker. I work on Wall Street.”
“Please don’t take this personally . . .well, I do hate lying. The fact is, it’s you, Chad. We’re just not a good fit, so I think goodbye is best.”
“Forever?”
“Yes, forever. Goodbye, Chad.”
His mouth falls open again, and then he shoots Nick a glare full of daggers. “Asshole.”
Nick shrugs. “You win some. You lose some.”
Chad looks back at me. “Don’t call me—”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have your number.”
The bitterness trails him as he storms away. When he’s out of earshot, Nick asks, “The Chad?”