“Sure” was the word her lips let pass, traitorous damn lips that they were.
If the elevator ride up to her place was tension-filled for Mallory, it seemed anything but for Hope, who now appeared as laid-back as ever. She surveyed the structure of the elevator as she leaned back against the wall. “I’ve always found these old loft buildings super mysterious. Imagine all the things that must have been created in these walls dating way back. Paintings, sculptures, poetry.”
“That’s exactly it,” Mallory said, pushing off the wall and delving into a topic she felt immensely passionate about. “It’s a place to create. I love it here, and it’s been a great home for Savvy.”
“That’s right. You guys work in this building too.”
“We do. Sixth floor.”
“What’s it like working with your best friends?”
Mallory didn’t have to think long about her answer. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be half the person I am if it weren’t for those three.”
Hope nodded and the elevator dinged, stopping at last on the fifteenth floor. Mallory led the way to her door, her heart about ready to beat out of her chest. How had she gotten herself into this again? Because falling into bed with Hope was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Like something George W. would have thought up, and that wasn’t Mallory’s style. As warning bells sounded in her head, she stood for a moment facing her door, buying time in order to formulate a game plan. She could tell Hope that they should call it a night and thank her. Blame her work schedule, her imaginary cat, surgery in the morning. A space mission. Anything.
She turned around to eloquently express her regrets only to have warm lips meet hers as Hope backed her up against the wall of the hallway outside her apartment. And holy hell, it was something. Hope kissed her deep, slow, and as a result she lost herself in its play-out. In search of an anchor, she pressed her hand against Hope’s back as blond hair tickled her neck. Things were feeling hazy, but not so hazy she wasn’t able to enjoy the sensation of being kissed that way, wanted that way. The more they kissed, the more her body responded, craving more, and she couldn’t exactly remember why she shouldn’t take Hope into her apartment, systematically remove her clothes, and have her sweet way with her. Because that seemed like an awesome plan about now, and it seemed to be what Hope wanted too, evidenced in how she moaned quietly when Mallory’s tongue stroked hers.
They’d been kissing awhile, though it was hard to know exactly how long. She pulled her mouth away to find air, because something about kissing Hope made her forget to breathe. That was a new one. As she reintroduced herself to oxygen and its function, Mallory met Hope’s eyes. The blue was darker and carried an intensity she’d not seen in them before. Hope was anything but laid-back now. Quite the opposite in fact, and some part of Mallory took personal satisfaction in the effect she had on Hope.
“Thanks again for going with me tonight,” Hope said, taking a step backward. Mallory felt the loss of warmth against her immediately. Wait, Hope was leaving? After that exchange, she was leaving?
“No problem. I have a space mission or something,” Mallory said, doing her best to mask the overpowering effect that kiss had had on her. Wait. Had she just said space mission? She needed to recover from that. “But I was free tonight so…”
A smile touched Hope’s lips. Those were really good lips. “A space mission, huh? Who knew?” And then Hope did something that Mallory would lie awake half the night replaying. She came back in for one final, toe-curling kiss that had Mallory struggling to make her muscles work. Hope then kissed a path from her jaw to her ear. “Good night, Park Avenue,” she whispered, sending a chill up Mallory’s spine.
Oh, hell. This girl was trouble.
*
When Mallory slid open the door to the Savvy office at seven a.m. the next morning, she was surprised to see three expectant faces blinking back at her from their respective desks. Interesting and creepy.
She checked her watch. Nope, time hadn’t stopped.
“You’re all three here early again? We don’t have a half day planned.”
“What?” Sam said, shrugging. “We can’t all decide to get a jump on the day just because we’re driven, hardworking women who want to succeed in life and not live in the gutter?”
Mallory inclined her head from side to side, weighing the options. “It’s highly improbable.” Her gaze drifted from Hunter to Sam and landed finally on Brooklyn, the most likely friend to give up their scheme. “What gives, Brooks?”
“Leave Brooklyn alone,” Sam said. “She’s busy.”
“Is not,” Mallory pointed out. “She’s got Candy Crush on her screen. What’s going on, Brooklyn? You can tell me.”
Brooklyn did her best Bambi-in-headlights impression, which told Mallory everything she needed to know. She let out a sigh. “So I’m guessing you want to hear the details of my dinner with Hope last night.”
That did it. All three of them sprang into action like soldiers on a super-important mission.
“I’ll get the truffles!” Sam practically shouted. “Oh! Hunter, heat up that banana bread Foster Foods sent over when we wrapped the banana commercial.”
Brooklyn dashed for the door. “Starbucks run. Don’t let her say a word without me!”
“I’ll throw my body into the flames to prevent it,” Sam shouted back.
“Okay, that seems extreme,” Mallory said to no one because they were busy in mad preparation for story hour. She relaxed into her chair and let them prep, as she didn’t really see a way out of this.
Fifteen minutes later, with coffee, banana bread, and MollyDolly truffles to die for, they snacked around the large oak conference table used for meals and meetings. Brooklyn adjusted her hair for whatever reason and placed her folded hands on the table. “Okay. I’m ready for a sexy tale now. Let’s start with where you ate.”
“South Street Seaport.”
Sam nodded. “Oh, you mean at one of those trendy little restaurants along the pier. Super cute.”
Mallory shook her head. “No. On a bench facing the water.”
“Okay.” Samantha seemed to marinate on this. “On a bench, you say?”
Mallory nodded and swallowed back a smile at the memory. “I do say. We grabbed lobster rolls from a food truck.”
“Interesting choice,” Brooklyn said, exchanging a concerned glance with the others. “And how did you do with that?”
“I did fine,” Mallory said. “You people underestimate my ability to roll with the punches. I’m a skilled punch roller.” Another dubious exchange of glances.
Hunter shrugged. “I think it sounds cool. Unique.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” Mallory said, in wholehearted agreement. She shook off the unspoken judgment and wondered why she felt suddenly protective of Hope and their short evening together. It wasn’t even like she’d gone by choice. She hadn’t ended the night by choice either, but that tidbit of information was filed away just for her.
Brooklyn’s eyes sparkled with a newfound discovery. “Aha. So you were into the bench. I see. And did the stars twinkle overhead and the water ripple subtly nearby? Is that what happened?”
“I love it when water ripples,” Samantha said dreamily, her chin in her hand.
“Me too,” Brooklyn answered. “Water ripples are big time. Up there with solitary lampposts.”
Samantha pointed at Brooklyn, adding fuel to the romance fire. “Lampposts do rock. As do snow flurries.”
“Oh, I love snow flurries! Because then you can come inside and get all cozy, and then hot in other ways. And then there are layers to take off.”
“Layers,” Sam said, pointing at Brooklyn in wholehearted agreement. “Layers provide so many options.”
Hunter met Mallory’s gaze sympathetically as their two friends continued to analyze the romance value of different types of weather and their contribution to the perfect date night. Samantha and Brooklyn together could riff of
f each other for hours, so it was probably best she head this thing off.
“There was water,” Mallory pointed out, interrupting them in the name of productivity. “But I don’t remember it rippling the way you describe.”
“You should pay attention to that stuff more, the ripples,” Brooklyn said, which made perfect sense as Brooklyn treasured the little things in life. Mallory, however, was more of a big-picture kind of girl.
“I’ll try and work on that,” she said. “Put it on the old to-do list. ‘Listen for ripples.’”
Samantha leaned in, ready for more. “Okay, so dinner on a bench with a modicum of possible rippling. Maybe a star or two if I remember last night correctly. And then?”
“Then she took me home.”
The room fell into a frozen kind of silence. Brooklyn leaned forward, deflated now. “Wait. That’s it? Did you invite her in at least? For a quick drink maybe?” Mallory shook her head. “At least say she came inside.”
“She did not,” Mallory said. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“No, no. That’s okay.” Brooklyn sat back in her chair. “At least you had the bench. That’s something.”
Mallory stood and headed back to her desk. “There was a rather hot kissing session in the hallway,” she tossed oh-so-casually over her shoulder, which prompted three excited women to climb over the table and practically tackle her in the middle of the room.
“Kiss #2 is major!” Sam pointed out.
“It does say something,” Hunter said, sliding atop her desk.
Brooklyn nodded wholeheartedly, clearly feeling like this was Christmas morning as far as romance went. “It says they’re totally going to fall for each other!”
Mallory held up a finger. “It doesn’t say that, actually. It says we have physical chemistry and it turns out that Hope is a decent human being. Anything beyond that is simply not going to happen. Let’s be realistic.”
Deflated, Brooklyn walked to her desk. “So you’re saying you’re hot for her, but that’s it.”
It sounded so shallow when the words were said out loud, but Mallory had to call things as she saw them. She had certain requirements for her happily-ever-after, and Hope Sanders, sin-on-a-stick, simply didn’t fit what Mallory had lined up in her head. She tried her best to explain. “I need someone a bit more ordered and structured. Like me. Someone who keeps regular hours.” She shrugged. “We’d make dinners together and watch artsy films and maybe adopt a cat.”
“I didn’t even know you liked cats,” Sam said.
“I mean, I probably do,” Mallory answered weakly. “But that’s not the point. Hope’s incredibly good-looking and, as it turns out, not a bad conversationalist, but the practicality of she and I ever working out in the real scheme of things is in the negative zone. Not even on the chart, and you know how important charts are to me.”
“You’re not going to make a chart right now, are you?” Brooklyn asked. Mallory shot her a look and took a seat in her desk chair.
“But here’s the question,” Hunter said quite seriously. “What are the chances of future make-out sessions?”
Mallory felt the blush touch her cheeks before she could control it, and that seemed to be all the answer her friends needed to clap and cheer. She shouted over them. “Hey! Wait. I don’t know! I didn’t say there would be.”
“You don’t have to,” Brooklyn said, chair dancing as she went to work. “But I have a feeling there’s a good, strong whiskey sour in your near future.”
“Well, have you seen the bartender?” Mallory asked, facing her computer screen. Okay, so maybe this was a little fun.
“And we have liftoff,” Hunter said and popped a piece of banana bread into her mouth. After the laughter subsided, everyone fell into their respective morning routines and the office slipped into quiet. Was it possible that a steamy thought or two crossed Mallory’s mind as she organized her email?
Well, anything was possible.
Chapter Six
“Mom?” Mallory said into her phone to no avail. Her mother continued chattering on about the plans for her parents’ thirty-seventh anniversary party the following week. Honestly, who throws a party for their thirty-seventh anniversary? Only her parents, who were intent on one-upping anyone and everyone who hadn’t managed to stay together as long as they had. The Spencers knew how to play societal hardball with the Manhattan elite.
Mallory took a breath and attempted to wait her mother out, but she was a runaway train of party details. “So the guests will begin arriving at seven, so you and your brothers and sister should be here no later than six thirty. Oh, and don’t wear anything blue. I plan to wear blue, and the last time Chelsea and I looked like we’d coordinated and it was horrifically embarrassing.” Mallory smiled, as she was pretty sure her older sister had done that on purpose. Score one for Chels.
“No blue. Got it. But six thirty is going to be pushing it for me to make it across town already dressed.”
“And if you see Margaret Van Cleave, smile, make nice, but don’t tell her anything about my appointment at the dentist,” she said, emphasizing the word, which Mallory knew was code for the face-lift her father had purchased her mother six months ago.
“I understand. Mom, are you listening to me though? I’ll be at the party, but I might be late. I have client meetings booked through the afternoon, and traveling across town in rush hour will add time.”
“You’ll figure it out,” her mother said dismissively. “This is our anniversary we’re talking about.”
“Right,” Mallory said, rounding the corner onto Spring Street. She had a mountain of paperwork at the office to plow through. “Of course.” Her mother was a strong-willed woman and had passed on those traits to Mallory, who planned to use them for more noteworthy causes than societal gatherings and keeping the “wrong” people out of their building. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Remember to smile more at the party. We talked about this.”
“Of course, Mom. I’ll practice in the mirror.”
“Oh! That’s a wonderful idea, Mallory. Such a good head on your shoulders. Will you be bringing a date to the party? I need a catering headcount.”
“No. Just me.”
“Well, that’s okay too. Successful women do just fine all alone. Remember that.”
She closed her eyes at the backhanded compliment. All alone. That was her, all right. Seemed to be a popular theme lately. “I will remember that. Thanks, Mom.”
They said their good-byes, and Mallory clicked off just in time to see a familiar face a few yards ahead on the sidewalk. She’d never encountered Hope in broad daylight, and it was a little surreal running into her on the street now, even if they both lived in the neighborhood. Hope wore ripped denim and a baggy gray sweatshirt. Not how she was used to seeing Hope, but maybe this was her off-the-clock look. She was talking to a couple of guys in front of an electronics store and looking rather serious.
Mallory caught Hope’s eye and smiled as she approached. Hope, however, raised a pair of questioning eyebrows at her and paused the conversation. “Something I can help you with?” she asked in seeming annoyance. It caught Mallory off guard, that tone. She’d never witnessed Hope be anything but friendly.
“No. Sorry. Just passing by, thought I’d say hello.”
“Great.” Hope’s eyes followed Mallory’s progress, clearly waiting for her to be out of the way so she could resume the conversation with the two rather severe-looking guys. One with enormous muscles. She glanced back at his exposed bicep. Was that a tattoo of Jesus with a baseball bat? An interesting artistic choice.
As she walked the rest of the way back to the office, the encounter left her feeling a bit low. So she and Hope didn’t have a million things in common, but after the other night, she, at the very least, thought of Hope as someone she’d say hello to on the street, exchange pleasantries with. Another example, however, of how different the two of them were.
Why the hell did she ca
re so much anyway?
The answer to that question simmered there quietly, making her wildly uncomfortable. She shook her head and glanced up at the blue sky on what otherwise would have been a perfect day. She never should have allowed Hope to kiss her, and she certainly shouldn’t have kissed her back. Because now a woman who barely acknowledged her existence on the street was firmly underneath her skin. A woman she had no business getting mixed up with.
Damn it.
She should have known better.
New game plan.
Operation: Take Back Control was going into full effect.
*
It was only six that Friday night, but Hope noticed the traffic at Showplace already picking up. But then the weekends had a way of doing that. She’d booked a band, as she was still experimenting with the band vs. DJ concept and what seemed to jive best with her clientele. As she mixed a handful of drink orders, she kept one eye on the band’s set-up process in case they needed assistance. Honestly, this was one of those times when she should leave the bar to one of her hired bartenders, but it really was her favorite spot, where she could lose herself in what she did best. There was a fine art to the creation of a good cocktail. That’s what a lot of people didn’t realize, and she relished her craft.
“She’s getting good,” Teddy said as he deposited a tray of bussed glasses on the bar. “And the girl at table twenty-six has the hots for me. At last, a straight girl. The universe might love me after all.”
“Who?” Hope asked absently, as she mixed a Tom Collins for a guy in a sweater vest, an actual sweater vest.
Teddy pointed slyly. “The cute one on the right. She’s been giving me the up-and-down every time I walk by. She’s in love with Teddy. She wants Teddy’s clothes off. She caught the Teddy bug and needs an antidote of Teddy. I might give her my number.”
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