by Elena Armas
Taking in the state of my apartment, I massaged my temples. Not having walls separating the living room from the bedroom and kitchen areas was something I usually loved. Something I liked to see as an advantage of living in an open studio space—even if limitedly small since this was still Brooklyn. But inspecting the mess I had made of the entire apartment, I sort of hated not living somewhere roomier. Somewhere with walls that would stop me from wrecking the whole place.
There were clothes, shoes, and bags scattered everywhere—on the bed, sofa, chairs, floor, coffee table. Nothing had been spared. The usually tidy apartment that I had so carefully decorated in whites and creams with some boho details here and there—like the beautiful woven rug that had cost me more than I’d ever admit—closer resembled a fashion battlefield than a home.
I wanted to scream.
Tying the belt of my robe tighter, I grabbed my phone from the top of my dresser.
Two hours until seven sharp, and I was helpless. Outfit-less. Because I didn’t have any dress that resembled a gown. Because I was dumb. Because I didn’t know what I was dressing for and I hadn’t asked.
I didn’t even have Aaron’s phone number to text him an SOS and a few hostile emojis to make myself clear. It wasn’t like I had ever found pleasure in fraternizing with the enemy, so I had never needed his number.
Not until now, apparently.
Throwing my phone on top of a discarded pile of garments, I headed for the snug space that was my living room. Grabbing my laptop from the round ecru coffee table I had picked up from a flea market a few weeks ago, I placed the device on my lap and let my body fall onto the sofa.
Once settled in the padded cushions, I logged in to my corporate email account.
It was my last resort. With a little bit of luck, his workaholic ass would be sitting in front of his laptop on a Saturday. And wasn’t this … deal we had made a little like a business transaction? It had to be. We weren’t friends—or friendly—so that didn’t leave room for more than a purely I scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of deal. A favor between colleagues.
With no more time to waste, I opened a new email and started typing.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Urgent Info Needed!
Mr. Blackford,
I was irritated—at myself yes, but also at him—and I wasn’t in a first name basis kind of mood.
As per our last conversation, I’m still waiting for you to disclose the details of our upcoming meeting. I find myself without all sources of information, which will consequently lead to an unsuccessful completion of the contract discussed.
I had watched all seasons of Gossip Girl, and I knew the terrible consequences of wearing the wrong thing to a “social commitment” in New York freaking City.
As no doubt you are aware of, it is of utmost importance that you share all info needed at your earliest convenience.
Please get back to me ASAP.
Warm regards,
Lina Martín
Smirking at myself, I hit Send and watched my email leave my outbox. Then, I stared at my screen for a long minute, waiting for his answer to pop up in my inbox. By the third time I unsuccessfully refreshed my email, the smirk was long gone. By the fifth, little drops of sweat—which were partly due to the fact that I was clad in a winter robe—started forming in the back of my neck.
What if he didn’t answer?
Or even worse, what if all this wasn’t more than a prank? A mean way to mess with my head and make me believe he’d help me. What if he’d Carrie’d me?
No, Aaron wouldn’t do that, a voice in my head said.
But why wouldn’t he though? I had more than enough evidence compiled to prove that Aaron was very much capable of something like that.
Did I even know him at all? He attended “social commitments” that had to do with “good causes”, for crying out loud. I did not know him.
Fuck. I needed those cookies. I’d indulge.
When I returned to my laptop, cookie package in hand and mouthful of sugary and buttery comfort, Aaron’s answer was waiting for me. A tiny sigh of relief left my lips.
Biting on a new cookie, I clicked on Aaron’s email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Urgent Info Needed!
I’ll be there in an hour.
Best,
Aaron
“What in the f—”
A fit of coughs prevented me from finishing that, the mouthful I had been chewing on getting stuck in my throat and not moving anywhere.
Aaron was coming. To my apartment. In one hour. Which was an hour before we had agreed he’d pick me up.
Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the chaos. “Mierda.”
I shouldn’t care; I knew I shouldn’t. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I’d rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing Aaron, it wouldn’t be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.
And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any time to change into something that didn’t make me look like a human-sized Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.
“Stupidly punctual man,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped toward my apartment door. “Always on time.”
I buzzed him in.
Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.
He’s helping you. Be nice, I told myself. You need him.
A knock on the door.
I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as nice as I could manage.
Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one and threw the door open.
“Aaron,” I said in a clipped tone. “I …” I was about to say … something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I—” I started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. “I—hi. Hello. Whoa. Okay.”
Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked, hoping that my eyes hadn’t grown too big in my face.
Although how could they not? How couldn’t any pair of eyes not grow two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?
Because that wasn’t Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I knew.
This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.
Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch? How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to stutter like a schoolgirl?
Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and lean body that I shouldn’t have been noticing this much was clad in a black suit. No, it wasn’t a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you asked me.
Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in a breath. “Is this a joke? What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?”
“What am I wearing?” I watched his eyes leave mine and travel down my neck, looking me up and down a couple of times. “Me?”
Something changed in his ex
pression, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.
“Yeah.” Feeling extremely exposed and uncomfortable, I waited for his gaze to return to my face, not knowing what else to say or do. “What is that?” I whispered loudly for a reason I couldn’t understand.
“I feel the obligation to ask you the same question. Because I wasn’t specific.” He pointed a long finger in my general direction. “But I imagined you were smarter than assuming I’d take you to a slumber party.”
I swallowed, fully aware my ears were turning red. But I shook my head. This is actually good. This Aaron I could deal with. I knew how to do that. Unlike the other version that had punched the breath out of my lungs. That I had no idea what to do with.
Fixing my gaze on his face, I squared my shoulders. “Oh, you think I should really change?” I grabbed on to the hem of my pink robe, trying not to think of how ridiculous I was actually feeling and hiding that emotion behind all my bravado instead. “I wouldn’t want to show up overdressed to the slumber party you mentioned. Do you think there will be any snacks?
He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “How are you not boiling up inside there? That’s a lot of velour for such a tiny person.”
Velour?
“And that’s a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is made of two different pieces of clothing.”
An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn’t catch on time. He closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.
He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.
We won’t make it. We are doomed.
“First,” he said, regaining his composure, “you blatantly ogle me.”
That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.
“Then, you reprimand me for what I’m wearing. And now, you criticize my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests outside your door while you insult them?”
“Who said you were a guest?” Inhaling through my nose and not hiding my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away, leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. “You invited yourself over,” I said over my shoulder. “I guess you don’t mind letting yourself in either, huh, big boy?”
Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other way.
Still not able to believe I had really called Aaron Blackford big boy, I headed for the kitchen area of my studio and opened the fridge. The cool air graced my skin, making me feel only slightly better. I stared into it for a full minute, and when I finally turned, I did with a fake smile.
Aaron Blackford—and his tuxedo—leaned against the narrow island that delimited my kitchen and living room spaces. His blue gaze was somewhere above my knees. Still studying my attire, which he seemed to find so outrageously intriguing.
It bothered me, I realized. The way he looked at it made me feel inadequate even though I was at home and he was the intruder who had shown up earlier than we had agreed. It was stupid, but it reminded me of how small he had made me feel all those months ago when I overheard him talking to Jeff. Or how he had almost thrown that mug I had gotten him as a welcome gift at my face. Or how all the remarks and jabs that came after that had never stopped bothering me.
Rosie had been right; I was incapable of letting it go. I was still holding my grudge like my life depended on it. Like my grudge was a door floating on the ocean and I was out of life jackets.
“It seems rather inappropriate for summer.” Aaron nodded at my robe.
He wasn’t wrong. I was boiling up, but I had needed the comfort.
I imitated him and leaned on the kitchen counter behind me. “Can I offer you something to drink, Anna Wintour? Or would you like to point out any other way in which my robe is outrageous instead?”
I watched his lips twitch, fighting a smile. Me, on the other hand, I found none of this remotely funny.
“How about water?” He did not move a single muscle besides the corners of his lips, which were still battling against that smile.
“You know”—I retrieved a water bottle and placed it beside him. Then, I grabbed another one for myself—“you could have just emailed me back. You didn’t need to show up here this early.”
“I know.” Of course he did. “I did you a favor, coming here ahead of time.”
“A favor?” My eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Doing me a favor would have included showing up with your pockets filled with churros.”
“I’ll try my best to remember that,” he said, sounding like he meant it. And just as I was opening my mouth to ask him what that was supposed to mean, he continued, “Why didn’t you call me instead of sending that … intricate email? It would have saved us both some time, Miss Martín.” That last part he added with a scowl.
Ha, I knew that Mr. Blackford would strike a nerve.
“Okay, first of all, I didn’t ask you to come here. So, that’s on you.” I opened the lid of my bottle and took a gulp of water. “And secondly, how would I have called you if I don’t have your number, smart-ass?”
I looked at him over the bottle.
Aaron’s dark brows knit. “You should have it. On our last division’s team-building event, we passed along all our private phone numbers. I have yours. I have everyone’s.”
I slowly lowered the bottle and screwed the lid on. “Well, I don’t have yours.” I had refused to save Aaron’s number because, again, I was a grudge-holder. Something that didn’t make me feel all that great right now, but that didn’t change the truth. “Why would I have needed it anyway?”
I watched him take in my words for a moment, and then he shook his head lightly. Straightening, he leaned away from the kitchen island.
“What was so important then?” He got us back on track. “What details do you need disclosed with so much urgency?”
“I can’t pick an outfit if I don’t know where we are going, Blackford,” I pointed out with a shrug. “It’s like Dressing Up for Dummies 101.”
“But I told you.” One of his eyebrows rose. “A social commitment.”
“That’s what you said.” I placed the bottle on the counter and then brought my hands together. “And it wasn’t enough information. I need a few more details.”
“An evening gown,” the hardheaded, blue-eyed man answered. “That should have been enough information to pick a dress.”
Scoffing, I brought a hand to my fluffy pink chest and clutched my metaphoric pearls. “Enough information?” I repeated very slowly.
A nod. “Yes.”
I sneered, not believing my eyes. He genuinely thought he was right about this. “One- and two-worded responses are not enough information, Aaron.”
Especially after seeing that he looked ready to jump into an Upper East Side gala where people air-kissed each other and talked about their vacations in the Hamptons. I certainly didn’t have anything like that in my wardrobe.
“What’s so hard to understand about the words evening and gown?” His hand absently went to the sleeve of his tux jacket. “They are gowns for evening events. Dresses.”
I blinked.
“Are you really explaining that to me?” I started feeling a new wave of frustration rush to my head. “You are just …” I continued, fisting my hands, edging very close to really throwing something at him. “Ugh.”
Aaron’s hands went to his pants pockets as he eyed me, looking all … handsome and classy in that goddamn tux.
Something must have bubbled all the way to my face because the way he looked at me changed.
“It’s a charity event. A fundraiser that takes place every year,” he explained.
My lips parted at that crucial piece of information.
“We will have to drive into Manhattan—Park Avenue.”
No, no, no, no. That sounded fancy.
“It’s a black-tie thing, so you’ll need to dress up. A formal evening gown.” His gaze went up and down my body with doubt, finall
y settling back on my face. “Just like I said.”
“Aaron,” I gritted out through my teeth. “Mierda. Joder.” The Spanish bad words rolled off my tongue. “A fundraiser? A charity event? That is so … upper classy.” I shook my head, my hair almost coming off my knot. “No, it sounds upper I wipe my ass with dollar bills classy. And no, I don’t mean to be judgy here, but, Jesus.” Bringing my hands to my head, I started pacing the few feet that comprised my kitchen space. “A little heads-up would have been nice. You could have told me yesterday, you know? I would have gone shopping this morning, Aaron. I would have prepared, I don’t know, a few options for you to choose from. I have no idea what I’m going to do now. I have a couple of formal gowns, but they are not … right.”
It was past six in the evening and—
“You would have done all that for this?” His lips parted very briefly, giving him a bewildered air that I was not used to seeing in him. Then, his jaw returned to its former position. “For me?”
I stopped pacing. “Yes.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Why was he so shocked? “Of course I would have.” Studying his face, I took in the weird way in which he was looking at me. “First of all, I would hate to show up to your ‘charity event’ ”—I air-quoted—“looking like a clown. Believe it or not, I do have some sense of self-esteem and the ability to get embarrassed.”
Aaron’s eyes kept shining with that quality that made me nervous.
“And second of all, I wouldn’t want you to retaliate and wear God knows what to my sister’s wedding, just to spite me. Or like, back out on me for some kind of etiquette infringement now that I’m counting on you coming to Spain with me. I …” I trailed off, losing my voice. “I kind of need you, you know?”
That last part had somehow materialized on my tongue. I didn’t realize it had left my mouth until it was too late and I wasn’t able to take it back.
“I’d never do that,” he answered, catching me by surprise. “I won’t back out. We have a deal.”
Feeling exposed by my admission, I averted my eyes. I focused on his hands, which had fallen out of his pockets and rested by his sides.