by Amelia Wilde
Aside from the hum of the air conditioner, my apartment is silent.
Manuel asked me what my plans were yesterday, and now that I’m here, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee on my couch, I wish I’d made some.
I while away the morning, eating breakfast at the cafe on the ground floor of my building and then standing in the shower for a full forty minutes.
For once, I linger over getting ready, straightening my long, dark hair until it falls shining over my back, then pulling back sections and holding them with strategic bobby pins. It feels good to have most of it loose. I leave my makeup simple and fresh, which still takes twenty minutes.
It’s best to be prepared.
By noon I’m ready for anything, my bright red sundress the perfect outfit for the holiday.
The only problem? I still have nowhere to go.
After another fifteen minutes flipping through the channels and trying to choose one of my New York acquaintances to text in hopes that they’ll be doing something I can attend, I can no longer stand to be in the suffocating emptiness of my apartment.
Up until yesterday, it seemed like a safe haven. Now it’s missing something.
Hunter.
No—not him.
Purse tucked under my arm, I’m about to step out of my apartment when my cell phone rings, sending my heart rate into the stratosphere. But when I pull it from my purse, it’s not Sandra who’s calling but my sister, Bee, inviting me to video chat.
For an instant I hesitate. I don’t want her to know that I’m spending the holiday alone. It only takes one rush of hot shame before I’m speed-walking back to the couch, raising the phone to a flattering angle in front of my face, and pressing connect.
“Cate!” she squeals as her image comes into view. “Oh, my god, you look so cute. Are you going out? I can call back later!”
Bee and I weren’t always friends as children, but now, as adults, she’s the closest person to me. Sadness pricks at my heart. I haven’t been talking to her much lately. Too busy on the job. I used to make it a point to text her on the way to and from assignments, but since I got the promotion to Sandra’s head assistant, everything else fell by the wayside.
“I was!” I answer, keeping my smile bright. “But I was…” What can I tell her that won’t exactly be a lie? “…leaving early. I have a couple minutes to chat. How are you?”
“Huge!” she jokes, shifting in what seems to be one of the beach chairs she and Dex bought for their back deck this summer. Bee is seven months pregnant with twins, so I can’t say she’s the slimmest I’ve ever seen her, but her face absolutely glows with happiness.
Envy flashes across my mind, but I remind myself sharply that I’ll have everything Bee has when I’m secure in my career. Not before. I learned that lesson from what happened to my dad.
I give her a little laugh. “You look great too, Bee.”
“Is that Cate?” Dex’s voice comes from somewhere offscreen, and then his handsome face appears, blocking my view of Bee. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on him during high school. The hottest guys always went for Bee.
“Hi, Dex,” I say, waving, and he returns the gesture before disappearing again.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask as Bee readjusts her oversized sunglasses.
“Dex is grilling.” He calls something unintelligible, and Bee laughs. “He says he’s cleaning the grill. I’ll have to wait for food.”
“If I know you, there’s a package of Oreos on the table next to your lawn chair.”
“You’re right!” Bee’s smile is incandescent. “I never wait for food. Not these days. So, where were you headed, Cate? Are you going to some Fourth of July party? Your dress is perfect for it!”
I can’t tell her the truth—that the only plan I have in mind is to walk to the office, check in on things, then walk home. “Yeah! A couple of the girls from the office are having a rooftop cookout.”
“Oooh!” Bee bites her lip. “I wish I could come hang out with you in the city.”
“You know you’re welcome any time,” I promise, even though the thought of having to entertain on top of work nearly makes me break out in hives.
“Maybe when I’m not so pregnant!” she shouts, then dissolves into giggles. Bee loves the summer, loves holidays, loves an excuse to lounge around on the deck all afternoon. When her laugh settles down into a smile, she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Well, I won’t keep you.” Then she peers at her phone’s screen. “Are you doing okay, Cate? Your makeup is gorgeous, but you look a little…tired.”
“It’s long hours,” I say dismissively, giving her a huge, played-up smile that she can’t help but laugh at. “I’m headed in a great direction, though.”
Bee’s face turns serious again. “Remember to take a little time for yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
Dex’s voice, halfway filtered by the phone, crackles across the connection.
“What did he say?”
“He said have a beer for him! And one for me, too. But be responsible, okay? Love you! Talk soon!” Bee blows me a kiss, and I wave frantically right up until the video call disconnects.
I sigh, missing her already, then stand up and smooth my dress.
I might as well stop by the office. It’ll eat up another hour, at least.
9
Jax
I’m a block away from the office, drumming on the armrest with one hand and steering my Aston Martin with the other, when I spot her on the sidewalk in a red sundress that’s long enough to be flirty instead of slutty, striding along in low heels, sunglasses covering her face. The mere suggestion of the curves of her petite body underneath the red fabric has me hard in an instant.
I don’t know what I was planning when I got into my car this morning. Because I’m a decent human being, I gave my driver the day off. Not my personal trainer, though. Carl showed up at my penthouse at 7:00 sharp and put me through my paces until the session ended at 8:00.
After that, all I had to do was kill time until noon, when I planned to leave for Marie Hantz’s Fourth of July party. We run in the same circles populated mainly with wealthy assholes like ourselves, and every year she puts on a huge production at her home on Meadow Lane in Southampton. I almost always go alone. Marie likes to invite her hottest single friends, and every year for the past four years I’ve taken a different one home with me at the end of the night.
Until this moment I’ve been dreading making small talk with all of those women, but as I wait at the light and track Catherine Schaffer’s delectable ass as she crosses at the intersection, scanning the street over and over for oncoming traffic, an insane mood strikes me.
When the light turns green I gun it across the intersection and glide into the only available empty space—right in front of a fire hydrant. I can see Catherine coming closer in my side mirror, and as she gets level with my car I roll down the passenger-side window.
“Miss Schaffer,” I call to her, and she startles, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t tell me you’re going to the office on a national holiday.”
She raises her glasses an inch and bends down to look in through the window, giving me an incredible view of the soft curves of her breasts. Her face, already flushed from the heat, goes a darker shade of red.
“I don’t think that’s your concern, is it, Mr. Hunter?”
I give her my most winning smile, and the edges of her lips turn upward a little. “So you were heading to work.”
“You know,” she says, glancing up and down the block, “you don’t have to worry about when I plan to be in the office. I’m sure we won’t be seeing each other much.”
New strategy. “We didn’t have the chance to get to know each other yesterday.” My original plan in the five seconds that it took to steer my car over here was to ask her to have coffee, which now strikes me as the worst idea on the planet. It’s eighty-five degrees out and climbing. Still, the words that come
out of my mouth next surprise me as much as they surprise her. “I’m going to a party. Come with me.”
Once I’m finished speaking, I realize that this is the solution I’ve been looking for. I absolutely cannot allow myself to get hung up on Catherine Schaffer. I won’t allow it. All I need is one day with her. This godforsaken bank holiday presents the perfect opportunity.
Catherine opens her mouth, closes it, and slides her sunglasses back down like they’ll help her consider her options in relative privacy. “Mr. Hunter—”
“Outside of the office, you can call me Jax.”
She smiles, and my brain splits in two. Half of me wants to do nothing but make her smile for the rest of my life. The other half recoils from the way the happiness in her face makes me feel—like I’m spiraling out of control.
“Jax.” She tastes my name in her mouth, then presses her lips together for a split second before she speaks again. “We’ve only spoken for what, a minute total? This is a major holiday. Isn’t there someone else you’d rather take?”
I dart my eyes toward the empty passenger seat, then focus back on her face. “Does it look like it, Ms. Schaffer? Don’t worry. I’m not looking for a romance. Only company at a party.”
Her shoulders relax a little.
“Outside the office, you can call me Cate. Everyone else does.”
It’s my turn to smile at her, even as images of her bent over the leather sofa in my living room flood my mind. “Get in the car, Cate.”
She hesitates one more time. “Where’s the party? Is it in the city?”
“No. The Hamptons.”
She blanches. “Where in the Hamptons?”
I can’t help but grin a little wider. “Southampton.”
Cate takes a step away from the car, straightening her back, and puts on a smile that rings false. “I can’t…” She pauses, swallows. “I can’t go to a party like that.” She gestures at her outfit.
I take in the red sundress. “I disagree. But if it’ll convince you to come with me, I’ll take you shopping for a different outfit right now.”
Her laugh is musical with a hint of confusion. I’m not entirely sure why I’m going to all this trouble. The insane energy between us will probably be gone by the end of next week. Who knows? Maybe the end of tonight.
There’s only one way to find out.
“If you wait much longer to decide, Catherine Schaffer, I’m going to get a ticket.”
For the first time, she glances down at the bright red fire hydrant, and her mouth forms a perfect O.
Then, without another word, she pulls open the car door and slides into the opposite seat, closing the door firmly behind her and pushing her sunglasses up over her hair. I get a glimpse of her unforgettable hazel eyes.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, glancing over at me with a look that sends a rush of heat to my cock. “Drive!”
10
Cate
It’s nearing 6:00 when Jax Hunter turns into a winding driveway on none other than Meadow Lane in Southampton. Three years in the city, and I’ve never been to the Hamptons before—much less the ritziest avenue on the island.
I have no idea why someone like Jax invited me to a party like this one, but once I got into the car, it was out of my hands.
He made a couple of calls on his cell and whisked me to a high-end boutique in the Garment District. When we got there, the owner had put a temporary closed sign on the front door and was waiting inside next to a rack of dresses in my size. Inside of thirty minutes, my red sundress had been seriously upgraded. My new dress was also red, but that was where the similarities ended. Dressing well has been a major part of my job ever since I started at Basiqué, but this dress was on another level.
Christine, the owner of the boutique, sent me out the door fully styled with new heels and jewelry and a sassy wink. “You owe me, Hunter,” she called as he opened the passenger door to the Aston Martin for me.
“I won’t forget.” Even from the car, I could see the pink in Christine’s cheeks. What is it about arrogant playboys that makes women fall so hard?
Jax drove fast on the way here, cutting the nearly two-hour drive down by at least twenty minutes, and thank god for that. My heart never stopped pounding with nervous jitters.
If Jax felt the same way, he didn’t let it show. His confident driving was a perfect match for his confident attitude, and over the music playing low on the car’s radio, he kept up a constant stream of well-rehearsed banter.
Like a fool, I fell for it. Hard.
For half the time, at least. The other half I spent furiously reminding myself not to get derailed by a man, not when my career is in such a precarious position. Especially not Jax Hunter.
You are a distraction, I told myself at least ten times on the drive. A man like him won’t need a woman like you for long. And more than that, he’s a thorn in Sandra’s side. Loyalty to my boss is the strongest card to play at work if I don’t want to end up in a situation like the one my dad found himself in. All of it adds up to one fact: Jax Hunter is completely off-limits.
Yet every time he says my name, my heart flutters with a secret joy.
It’s embarrassing to feel so giddy over him, but it probably has more to do with our destination than with the light, spicy scent of him that I catch whenever he moves. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on the road, but somehow I still get the impression that he’s looking right through me.
By the time we reach Marie Hantz’s palace of a home, I look calm and collected but inside I’m a hot mess. Jax holds out his hand to help me out of the car and tosses his keys to a valet waiting by the edge of the driveway.
The Aston Martin is pulling away and we’re halfway to the door of the house—the understatement of the year—when I lose my cool. Before I can stop myself, I’m tugging at Jax’s arm, forcing him to stop. I’m on the verge of losing my breath.
He looks down at me, the expression in his eyes a shifting combination of concern and irritation. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t—” I swallow hard. “I can’t go to this party with you. Look at this house. I don’t belong here.”
Jax steps closer to me, looking like he’s either going to laugh or sigh. “Catherine—Cate. What do you think is going to happen in there?”
“I don’t know,” I say, the last word coming out in a shameful gasp. “I work in fashion, for god’s sake. I’m not on their level.”
Now Jax does laugh. “Who gives a damn what they think? They’re people, Cate.” He leans down, putting his strong hands on either side of my waist, and puts his mouth next to my ear. “You look incredible. Not one person in there will think for an instant you don’t belong. You’re with me, remember?”
The heat from his breath sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. I want his hands all over me.
Maybe, for today, I can go along with it. Once I make the decision, the muscles in my shoulders relax. Jax feels it too, and presses in on my waist with a hint of pressure before letting go and offering me his arm again.
Yes. For one day only, I’ll allow myself to enter his world. It’ll all be over by tomorrow. The carriage will turn back into a pumpkin, and I’ll be back on the other side of the wall with Sandra, fighting to keep Basiqué—and my job—alive.
Today, I’m Cinderella.
The party is unbelievable.
On its surface, it’s not much different than any other Fourth of July barbecue…but the details give it away.
All the food has been catered by some of the biggest names in dining in all of New York. Basiqué doesn’t run features on restaurants, but Sandra demands nothing but the best. When she wants me to make reservations, she usually identifies the location by the name of its owner and nothing else, so as a result of hours of preemptive Googling I recognize two of them on sight. They seem to be mainly enjoying the party and making sure that all the dishes they prepared earlier are going out on time. Gordon Ramsay, on the other hand, is manning a mass
ive, professional grill and trading jokes with a gaggle of men dressed, almost to a one, in variations of preppy chic. Boat shoes are the hot item of the day, although no one here would be caught dead in Sperrys. Gucci is the entry level.
Marie Hantz turns out to be a woman who is a dead ringer for a supermodel but with the personality of a bubbly southern belle, if that southern belle was born in London.
“Aren’t you darling,” she says when Jax introduces us. She kisses me on both cheeks, gives Jax a sidelong look, and flits back off into the crowd.
Marie’s beachside mansion is the largest house I’ve ever been in, but the party is so well-attended that there’s hardly any room, which has made it very convenient to get closer and closer to Jax with every minute that goes by…and harder and harder to remind myself that he’s not looking for a relationship. He’s a man who has whatever he wants, and what he wants right now is me—for a reason I can’t fathom—but he was clear. It won’t last.
“Do you have any siblings?” he says into my ear as he grabs me another glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“One,” I say, my chest feeling warm and light from the drinks he’s been handing me all afternoon. “Her name is Abigail, but everyone calls her Bee.”
“It must have been hard, having a sister that was so jealous of you.”
“What?” I say, confused. “She wasn’t jealous…”
“Of course she was,” he answers, his voice husky. “You’re the most beautiful women on the planet. She couldn’t help herself.”
I give him a playful slap on the arm but I can’t stop myself from blushing a deep shade of red.
As the evening wears on, Jax stops introducing me to people and starts finding little pockets of seclusion—the corner of Marie’s library, a cocktail table that’s only big enough for the two of us—and he takes his game to another level, whispering softly into my ear, bringing me tiny plates of delicacies, making excuses to brush his hands over my skin any chance he gets.