Perhaps the wine is getting the better of me, but the more Stephen talks about Max, the more I think about Trevor. It’s not that I wanted to hit him with a bottle. Well, maybe I did at first. However, after he chased me down the hallway, hitting him was the last thing on my mind. Besides, there weren’t any hard bottles around—not within reach. The only hardness within reach...
“Shana!”
“What?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Sleeping with your eyes open. I’m not cleaning up full-bodied wine from this comforter.”
I giggle. “I think it’s called daydreaming and...” I grip the stem of my wine glass tighter. “...I’m not wasting a drop. Our bottle is empty.”
It’s not exactly the pity party I had planned back at the fashion show. Instead, this party is more about Stephen and less about me. We’re sitting cross-legged on my king-sized bed. There’s some old ‘80s movie playing on the television at low volume and an open grease-stained box at the end of the bed that very recently contained the most delicious cheese pizza ever created. Now don’t think I’m exaggerating simply because I hadn’t eaten dinner, had consumed three or four lemon drop martinis, and have now added at least half a bottle of red wine.
It takes more than that to make me exaggerate.
“How could I have known he was here?” Stephen asks.
I sigh, thinking through his question. “I agree. I mean, if the last time you talked to him he never mentioned moving back to New York, how would you know he’s not a figment of your imagination?”
Stephen’s eyes squint. “Max moved to New York?”
I wave my hand, realizing I’m talking about Trevor and try to hide my intention. “Hell, I don’t know. I yelled at him. Did you hear me yell?”
Stephen covers his ears. “Babe, volume. You’re yelling now. Let’s not add getting kicked out of one of the nicer hotels in the Financial District—one, may I add, that’s being paid for by Saks—to our list of crazy-ass things we’ve done today.”
I fall back on the bed, kicking my legs out and nearly sending the pizza box flying. “Today. Just think about that. Twenty-four hours.”
“Okay,” he agrees less than enthusiastically.
I bolt up straight in the bed. “No, Stephen. Really. Think.”
“I’m thinking.”
I’m not sure I believe him. He’s pulled the small folder containing the room-service menu from the nightstand and is covering one eye while he reads the open page. Stopping him, I reach for the folder.
“Wait,” he protests, pulling it back. “I was thinking we should order one more bottle of wine.”
“That isn’t what I wanted you to think about. Think about all that has happened since this morning. The show is done.”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You did great.”
While I appreciate his undying support, I’d rather hear it from Vicky. Instead of arguing, I simply say, “Thanks.”
“Now that we’re done thinking about today, because as amazing as you were, the show is over and well, the last two hours...no, two hours ago. Yes. That’s when. The night sucked and not the good kind...”
His words trail away and I know him. I know he’s falling into a rabbit hole of memories, and if those memories involve sucking of any kind, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about it. I must change the subject. “So what are we thinking about?”
“Right now...”
“No,” I correct, “before that.”
“Wine. I say we get more.”
I shake my head slowly back and forth. “Not a good idea. My mom always says never drink more than you eat.”
“Your mom is so smart. What else does she say?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, some shit about marriage and babies and how happy she is for Kimbra and my cousin Kalli. And oh yeah, Pete, no, Patty...you know, that girl who works at the drug store who is now pregnant after years of trying.”
“Pete is pregnant?”
“No, Patty,” I correct. “She and I were in dance class together twenty years ago. She was also better at her pirouette than me.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can do a pretty pirouette.”
I start to stand and demonstrate my pirouette when the room begins to wobble. Just as quickly, I reach for the bed and hold on as the waves settle. “Maybe I can show you tomorrow?”
“That’s a good idea. What I meant was, what else did your mom say about eating because on the menu it says that they have nachos.”
“Nachos?”
“Yes,” he says enthusiastically. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“I still have his credit card.”
Of course, my mind goes to Trevor. We never got to the credit card point in a relationship. To be honest, we never got further than what happened in that hallway. “I want a credit-card relationship.”
“You want a what? Why? You have your own credit cards.”
“No, don’t you see? It’s not about credit cards. It’s trust. Max trusted you enough to share that information.”
“Shit,” Stephen says dejectedly.
“I’m sorry. What did I say?”
“You’re making me feel guilty for wanting to charge his credit card for our room service.”
“Why? He’s a no-good, awful, terrible person. He doesn’t deserve to have good credit. I say we charge the room and everything to him.” I stand, holding onto the bed before making the full commitment. “I know. Tomorrow, we will shop!”
“I love shopping. That’s tomorrow’s plan.”
“No, wait,” I say, remembering Trevor for the one hundredth time in the last two hours. “I might have a date.”
“A date? With sexy Trevor?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be happy if you’re not.”
“I know what will make me happy.”
“What?”
Stephen reaches for the phone on the nightstand. “Wine and nachos.” He looks my direction and bats his eyelashes. “So you’re good with another bottle of wine and a plate of nachos?”
“What will you say when he finds out?”
“I don’t think he cares what I eat at nearly midnight. Hell, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself and his pathetic assistant...”
I reach over, flop face-first onto the bed, and cover Stephen’s hand, thinking about what Trevor told me. “Maybe he just wasn’t sure? Maybe he didn’t know.”
“You want me to tell him what I’m eating?”
I shrug. “Not what you’re eating. But maybe talking to him is a good thing.” Yes, I’m no longer talking about Max. Despite my best friend’s heartache, I can’t seem to get my mind off of Trevor. Then again, maybe there’s some truth in this for both of us. “I think if there’s any chance that in two weeks something can happen, communication is key.”
“Why two weeks?”
“Because, no matter what, we’re going back to London in two weeks. Either to pack or live.”
“That could mean there’s more than two weeks, depending on what happens.”
I sigh. “I don’t want the job to have anything to do with feelings.”
“How can it not?”
I scoot around until I’m lying on the pillow. “I’m not a very good friend.”
“You’re a great friend.”
“I can’t think about Max when all that I’m thinking about is Trevor.”
“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t know that. Now for the last time, wine and nachos?”
“Yes, but put it on our company charge. After all, we’re recovering from the fashion show.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trevor
I can’t remember being more confused than I was last night. I didn’t know what happened and obviously, my sister-in-law was no more informed than I.
One minute we’re all standing around talking and laughing.
And while I was cont
ent to be part of the small group, I will admit that I was having trouble keeping my hands to myself. Shana was just too close and too beautiful. All the lies I’d told myself over the last year about how I could forget her flew out the window in that hallway. After that, I couldn’t stop myself from constantly touching her shoulder, hair, or neck.
I did try to make it not too obvious, as I was trying to hide it from Kimbra.
I won’t lie. That danger of discovery made it all the more exciting.
One of the great things about my sister-in-law is her conversational skills. I’m not sure how she and my brother will ever carry on the family name. I’m not sure she stops talking long enough for much more than wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Then again, I don’t spend a lot of time considering my brother’s sex life, only that his wife is beyond endowed with the gift of gab.
And then Max walked up to tell me it was my turn to play pool, and all hell broke loose.
Shana went full-out mother bear. I was lost.
It was kind of sexy seeing her all shouty and poking her finger at Max. The guy’s been my friend for a few years and we’ve always gotten along, but I can see how sometimes he may come off as a bit of a pretentious ass. Then again, that wasn’t what Shana was all up in his business about.
It was when Stephen walked up that the figurative pieces of the puzzle seemed to slide into place. I don’t know what history there is between Stephen and Max—Max refused to talk about it later—but whatever it is, it does not appear to be good.
As soon as they left, I sent Shana a text, asking her what happened. I know Kimbra sent her one too. When she didn’t respond, I sent another one that ignored the giant two-ton elephant in the room and simply asked if I could still call her in the morning.
She responded to the second one, saying yes and something about credit and cars. I took a screen shot of her reply and maybe one day I’ll ask what it said. There were a few words that were merely jumbled letters and even one with symbols. As far as I know, they don’t have any intelligible meaning. Maybe one day I’ll find out. In the meantime, I sent back a smiling emoji and held out hope that in the morning she’d answer my call.
She did.
That’s why I’m now here, at one of the girliest places I’ve ever seen.
Serendipity 3.
You see, I’ve replayed the scenes from the first time Shana and I were together over and over in my head. I’ve racked my brain to come up with something special, something to show her that I want to be part of her life. As much as I try to concentrate on those things, since last night, my thoughts slip back to the way she felt against my body while pushed against the wall and the pounding of her heart under that thin blouse. I can even imagine how her ass would have felt in the palm of my hands as I lifted her...
Yes, I’m more than a little aware that for our first official date, taking her to my apartment and doing what I wanted to do last night isn’t exactly the most romantic of ideas even if I have thought about it every which way and a few ways I’ve never tried but would be more than willing to give it a go. That is why I’m meeting her at Serendipity 3.
I have two reasons for this location.
First, the name means the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way—I looked it up. The way I remember the night that led her to my bed, it was completely a series of events of chance. I don’t think it could be recreated if we tried. The other reason is that this restaurant is world-famous for its amazing hot chocolate. And even though the springtime weather is warm and sunny, I recalled something she told me.
The morning she woke in my bed, she mentioned she liked hot chocolate.
Now, as I wait, I hope she’ll think this was a fun idea and not the desperate move of a desperate man.
I take a glance at my phone. As usual, I’m early. We didn’t agree to meet for another fifteen minutes.
It’s then that my phone rings. It’s my brother.
I look around the restaurant and decide to speak quietly.
“Hey,” I say.
“What the hell happened last night?”
“Great to talk to you too.”
Duncan laughs in the easygoing way that should not be associated with someone like him. He’s this big-time businessman who makes a fortune in shipping pharmaceuticals. It was a pretty ingenious plan that he and his friend devised. The idea was that as the population ages, medications will always be necessary. The production of medications, however, is too much work, not to mention time consuming and expensive. Instead, Duncan and his friend, Mike, decided the money was in logistics. Both the manufacturers and the distributors would pay big money for efficient shipping.
A man with that much on his plate shouldn’t be laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Then again, that’s one of the differences between the two of us. I’m the planner. It’s what makes me a good engineer. Constructing roads and bridges can’t be done on a whim. Apparently, starting a billion-dollar business can. Personally, I think his partner, Mike, is the true brains. Duncan is the charismatic one who keeps the investors and employees happy.
“Kimbra,” he says, “was going on this morning about Shana and her friend Stephen. It was something about them leaving the bar upset.”
“It was odd, I know. Kimbra and I spoke about it before she went home. I offered to call her a cab but being your wife, she was taken care of.”
“I’m all for her strong will. Hell, I love it,” he says. “But seriously, if she had her way, she would have come home alone via the subway.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “You know what, brother?”
“What?”
“You deserve her.”
“I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”
“It is,” I confirm. “You’ve always liked a challenge.”
“Oh, Kimbra is definitely a challenge. One I’m glad I have.”
Of course, my mind goes to Shana.
“So you don’t know what happened?” Duncan asks.
“I got the impression that my friend Max—Maximilian Cantel—and Shana’s friend Stephen have some history that isn’t good. All I know for sure is that Shana laid into Max and after they left, Max refused to talk about it. He said the weekend was about Eric, not him.”
“Hey, I’m glad you and Eric are still friends.”
I’m ready to end this conversation, but his comment has me curious. “Why wouldn’t we be? I’ve known him since college.”
“But weren’t you dating the woman he’s marrying? Isn’t she who you brought to my wedding?”
“What? No... oh, well... Um. We’re good. They’re better together. You know me...not much with the ladies.”
“That brings me to the other reason I called,” Duncan says. “Kimbra said something else about last night.”
It’s then that I look up and see Shana walking toward me. Immediately, I notice the flowing long skirt she’s wearing, and my thoughts go back to my fantasies about the hallway last night. Those damn sexy jeans would have been a problem. I’m suddenly a huge advocate for skirts and dresses.
Her smile lights up the room as she comes closer.
“Duncan,” I say, “I need to go. My date...umm, the person I’m meeting just arrived.”
“Trevor, wait. A date? Who is it? Kimbra said she was getting a feeling—”
“Bye, Duncan. Talk to you later.”
I hang up just as Shana makes it to the table, just in time to stand and pull out the chair for her.
Chapter Fourteen
Shana
It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date—one that I actually care about, one that I want to succeed—that I am second-guessing everything, from my choice of clothes to the way to wear my hair. I know it’s silly to act like a schoolgirl at twenty-seven years old, but I can’t seem to help it.
This morning after copious amounts of coffee, Stephen gave me a pep talk, which was sweet because I could tell he is still upset about seeing Max. He’s
also not feeling too well. I think it’s because he fell asleep before eating many of the nachos. I, on the other hand, made sure the plate was clean before placing it out in the hall. I won’t tell my mother, but I think the nachos saved me. Even though I wasn’t one hundred percent behind ordering them, I admit that I was feeling a bit tipsy before they arrived.
The fact that they also arrived with a new bottle of wine is simply another element added to my total alcohol intake for last night. Despite what some may think, I’m really not that much of a drinker. It’s just that some situations call for alcohol. Celebrating a stranger’s engagement and supporting your best friend are two that come to mind. I can’t even relegate the fashion show to a cause for imbibing.
The sales were better than expected. Last night, after Stephen and I ordered the second bottle of wine, I checked my emails. There were two from Vicky. Neither was complimentary, yet they did have links to the sales spreadsheets. All of the chosen outfits had better-than-expected sales and according to sales in real time, the white negligee I wore had increased sales during and after the finale. Her last email said that all of the designers were content with the numbers.
If I were the one sending out the emails to my assistants in juniors, I would probably be over-the-top with adjectives describing my enthusiasm for both their hard work and the show.
This morning I sent one to Chantilly and the other assistants telling them how much I enjoyed working with them and thanking them for their time and energy in making the show a success.
It is my word: success.
I’ve decided to embrace it until I learn otherwise. After all, when my job is boiled down to the nuts and bolts, it’s about sales. The sales were up. That equals success. So my drinking last night wasn’t about the fashion show, but in support of Stephen.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Each martini, each glass of wine...
No matter the amount or substance, I was there for Stephen. And he was there for me, following my mother’s rule. Don’t drink more than you eat. Last night’s lesson, regardless of the alcohol source, was that there’s something about gooey cheese, corn chips, and shredded chicken that apparently is very absorbent.
All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 47