“Wow. This place is seriously cool.”
“I know, right? My friend’s dad owns the building. I love it.” Naomi slid open a closet door. “What would you like? Maybe a little Asian flare? This would be so pretty with your skin tone and dark hair.” She handed Hara a satin lilac dress with a mandarin collar and plum blossom embroidery.
Hara held it up to herself and then handed it back. “Very pretty. Not my style, even if it wasn’t sized for a starving child. I’m not opposed to wearing Chinese styles, but I’m Japanese. Much different.”
Naomi rehung the dress and continued rummaging through the hangers. “Are both your mom and dad Japanese?”
“Nah, my dad is Japanese American and my mom is African American. Guyanese, actually, but like four generations back. If I did one of those DNA tests, I think they’d find a little of literally everything.”
“I hear ya. My family is the same way. Here. This should fit. We can adjust the laces in the back.” She handed over a patent leather corset, complete with black lace that covered the cleavage area and ended as a high ruff around the neck.
“I don’t know. Why—”
“If you’re not dressed right, you ain’t gettin’ in the door.”
“Okay. Well.” Hara held the corset up to her long frame. “Victorian meets steam punk meets S and M. How do I even put it on?”
The process of getting it over her head took both girls, and nearly scraping off Hara’s nipples as they yanked it down. Once the piece was relaced, it was surprisingly comfortable and appealing. The boning held up her breasts and, while the corset was cut low, the lace was fairly thick enough to keep her from pole-dancer status. The smooth, shiny leather came to a point over her clingy, almost knee-length skirt, creating an hourglass. She couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror.
“Where is this from? Is it Vera Wang?” she asked, as if she knew what a Vera Wang corset would look like.
“No! I made it.” Naomi pointed to a sewing machine in the corner. “I bought a cheap corset off eBay, covered the boning with patent leather, and added the neck ruff. What do you think?”
“This is amazing. I’ll get it back to you, I promise.”
Naomi sighed. “Don’t worry about it. My boobs are too big.”
“You could sell this for a ton of money!”
“That’s how I got started—someone needed a seamstress. Now, I have an online business. I’ll show you sometime.” Naomi handed her a bundle of red metal bracelets and dangling red earrings. “There. Matches your heels and your bag.”
“That’s a lot of red.”
Naomi snorted, sitting on the edge of an overstuffed chair, reapplying red lipstick. “Whatever. Own it. Red is a power color. Be powerful.” She leaned toward her and dabbed some of the red on Hara’s lips. “You look phenomenal in red. It’s the perfect color for your perfect skin. With your height and unique look, you could easily be a model.”
“My mom would love it if I’d try modeling.” Hara rubbed in the lipstick and then pushed up her glasses. “Ain’t gonna happen. I’m too clumsy and I like to eat.”
Naomi tilted her head to the side, squinting at Hara. “Do you have to wear those glasses?”
“Yes.” The young reporter touched the frame. “Though I obviously need to get them tightened. They keep sliding down and it’s driving me crazy.”
“At least keep them off the tip of your nose. No offense. How about that bun?”
Hara shrugged, pulled the fasteners free, and shook out her hair until the shiny black locks waved down between her shoulder blades. She sighed in relief, rubbing her scalp.
“Ahhh. So much body.” Naomi fluffed Hara’s hair with her fingers, then twisted a few strands of her bangs. “Your hair is almost as big as mine.”
“I wish. Instead, it’s this half-assed mess, curly in some spots and flat in others.”
Naomi, running her fingers through her own fluffed-out, kinky hair, said, “Girl, with that beautiful skin and those crazy blue eyes, you all Vanessa Williams. You know, wall-poster Vanessa, from back in the day. Maybe a blend of Vanessa and Zooey Deschanel, sporting those cute bangs and trendy glasses. Don’t even pretend you don’t know how striking you are.”
“Psht. Right. Come on, let’s go if we’re going to do this.” Hara slid on her jacket over the corset. “I think this looks all right.”
“The point is to show off your figure, not hide it. Never mind, they have a coat check.”
* * *
Tunnel turned out to be a narrow underground dance club with soft overhead blue and lavender lights pulsing on a seething wall of bodies. Sofa benches lined the walls, and VIP sections were roped off in the back. Hara had been allowed in because Naomi was on a first-name basis with the bouncer. The hard, hip-hop beat reverberated in Hara’s chest as she followed her new acquaintance into the crowded room.
She tugged on the top of the corset nervously. She kept thinking of the story about the country mouse in the big city. It took every last drop of her willpower not to shrink into the shadows. She refused to allow herself to give in to insecurities and fear, not now. I’m going to party with the Fishers and I’m going to like it, dammit.
A gathering of women Hara had seen at the O’Donnell event were lounging on or around some of the players, tucked back into a corner. There were also the friends of the players, the posses who ran errands and made sure the drinks flowed.
She spied Gus, the towel-snapping basketball player with blond, floppy hair and wide surfer shoulders. He sat on the edge of a chair, entertaining a circle of young women nodding and giggling at his every word. Of course he was popular with the girls. If only he had a brain.
“Oh, I adore Gus,” Naomi gushed, pointing at him before wriggling through tight clumps of people to reach the bar. By the time Hara caught up to her, she was flagging down a bartender, who had an outrageously twirled mustache, and ordering them Camparis, heavy on the Prosecco. “You’ll love it. An aperitif my Italian friend likes to drink. Very sophisticated.”
“Unlike Gus,” Hara teased. “I don’t know why you’d adore him. Kind of seems like he got hit with the simple stick.”
“You should give him a chance. He’s nice, and smarter than you think.”
“I don’t know. My first impression is usually right. I’ll go with my gut.”
Naomi tsked. “Are you always so stubborn? What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not too worried about it, especially when it comes to surfer boy over there. He’s all yours.”
“I guess I’m not sophisticated, either,” said Naomi, making a face after a small sip of her drink. She handed it to Hara. “Here, you can have mine. I’ve found who I’m looking for, right over there.”
Hara followed her line of sight. She expected to see Gus. But no, Naomi was fixated on Charles Butler, sleek in a motorcycle jacket and tight jeans. He had women crushed up against him on a narrow couch. He ignored the females, however, instead leaning forward, waving his hands around and talking animatedly to the man across from him.
Hara was surprised when the man in the chair turned slightly and it was Derek, his elbows on his knees, a bottle of beer in one hand, paying close attention to his teammate. It was funny, he hadn’t seemed like the nightclub type. Too many people he might have to talk to.
“See. Like Derek Darcy,” Hara shouted to Naomi, pointing through the crowd and continuing their conversation. “From the second he opened his mouth, I had him pegged as a blowhard. I couldn’t have been more right.”
“You were only around him for five seconds. He might be a nice guy. Maybe he’s shy.”
“Derek is not timid,” Hara said, and then downed her drink in three gulps.
“Okay, then.” Without any further comment, Naomi nudged her discarded drink in Hara’s direction.
Hara grinned. “I don’t really like this, either,” she said, and took a hefty sip before continuing her rant. It felt good to unleash. “He’s a snooty meat bag with money and
the ability to play ball and that’s it. Though, I could probably forgive him for being an arrogant asshole if he hadn’t insulted me. He told Charles I’m a terrible reporter.” Hara set down the drink and pushed her glasses up her nose. “And he made fun of me blinking. It was mortifying. He thought I looked like an idiot.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Naomi said. “Who in the hell gonna knock what you got goin’ on?” The confident young woman put the Campari back in Hara’s hand. “Come on, I need to talk to Charles. Let’s go show these men who they dealing with.”
Naomi strode through the crowd, and in an impressive maneuver, wedged herself between Charles and the girl closest to him on the couch, who practically convulsed in rage. Honey Badger don’t care, Hara thought to herself and laughed, as Naomi leaned in and commenced a whispered conversation with Charles that left his teammate hanging. She obviously was not worried about pissing off the Tina she’d mentioned at the party last night.
Sitting back in his seat, now ignored, Derek scowled with irritation. Hara felt a twinge of satisfaction.
The rookie stood up as she approached, which surprised Hara. Despite her dislike of his personality, his physicality continued to throw her, with his solid, lean build and chiseled chest highlighted by a tight, black T-shirt. And those impossible copper eyes, intent on her.
“Here. Please. Take my seat.” His voice was deep but pleasant, a perfectly toned drum.
“What?” She caught herself. She could smell him now, a spicy earthiness that made her inhale involuntarily. “That’s nice of you. Are you sure?” He’d probably spilled something on the seat. She would sit down and end up with a wet ass. But inspecting the cushion, and then his face, she could find no evidence of foul play. “Thank you.”
He nodded. After she sat, he stayed next to her, occasionally shifting from foot to foot, not saying a word.
“Sooo.” Hara couldn’t bear the awkward silence. “Now that you’ve had some time to process, what do you think about the game?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hara sipped her drink stoically. This was shaping up to be the exact opposite of a good time. Every bit of her wanted to walk away while she still had some dignity left. But there was Charles, who was much nicer than Derek. Right there, across from her. All she had to do was tap him on the knee, interrupt Naomi, and see if she could get the star to talk to her alone for five minutes. Go big or go home.
She bent forward and said, loudly, “Hi, um, Charles? Would you mind if I talk to you for just a minute?”
He didn’t answer. Granted, it was impossible to hear anything over the music, but Charles was immersed in Naomi, his fingers in her thick hair. He didn’t even know Hara was there. She was going nowhere, fast. Charles was ignoring her. Derek was ignoring her—and he could use some good press in order to build his reputation. What was she doing wrong?
Derek stared at his beer bottle like it was talking to him. On the couch, Naomi had her lips pressed against Charles’s ear, either offering words or a tongue. It was hard to tell. He wasn’t hating it, letting his fingers trail down her side.
If Hara tried to engage him now, she’d just come off as a freak.
The rest of the basketball crew, the friends and hangers-on, laughed and gossiped, clumped in small groups around them. Hara struggled to not be envious of her new, younger acquaintance. Naomi, unashamedly going for what she wanted. The girl knew she had an audience and made the best of it, running her hand through her hair, or licking her red lips with a slow, languid motion—Charles was mesmerized.
When Hara grew up, she wanted to be able to flirt like her.
Charles was a baller but Naomi was, frankly, a bombshell. The power of a woman over a powerful man.
Hara sighed. Maybe it’s time I found myself a boyfriend. Or at least a date. She’d settle for someone to talk to right now. The young reporter glanced at Derek standing next to her, his hands in his pockets, face averted. He wasn’t interested in talking to a human.
She tried again, anyway. “This is a fun place. Is this where you guys normally hang out after games?”
“Not me. Not my scene. Everyone trying to get with someone else.”
“I don’t know, I guess it’s not so bad when you find someone you get along with.” Someone who was at least interested in good manners.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But desperation isn’t attractive. And everyone here looks the same, acts the same. Even you, all dolled up. Beautiful and dressed for attention. You sure you not here looking for a star to warm your bed in a brand-new house?”
“You—” She stopped herself, but not for long. “Are you serious right now? I’m out here because I’m trying to launch my career; I need to look like a rag while I do it? I’m not allowed to be attractive and successful? Pretty women can’t be smart and independent? Because I sure the hell don’t need some man to complete me. But, like a normal woman, I don’t mind having one around. As long as he’s not a dick.”
It was disappointing, really, another successful male exposing his feet—and brain—of clay.
She turned her back to him, fuming.
* * *
There is no reason for me to stand here and look stupid, Derek thought, glaring down at his beer bottle again, trying to avoid looking at Charles and his fling, or the sight of the humping couple in the corner, or the hot, quarrelsome woman next to him.
This was ridiculous. Charles was determined to fuck up. Who was Derek to stop him? And now he had to make sure this reporter didn’t walk out with a story. Charles could not afford any unnecessary attention right now.
A light perfume floated up to him. He breathed in deeply, almost unconsciously. Mmmm. She wore something that reminded him of lathered soap and a sunny hayfield.
He shook his head.
Inhaling again, savoring her aroma, he let his breath out slowly. The girl was definitely a distraction, whether he liked it or not. Derek could feel the irritation rolling off her, which did make it easier to keep his distance. He knew it was his fault, that he’d insulted her, but it hadn’t been his intention. He had just been honest.
But in retrospect, maybe too blunt. He shouldn’t have said anything about her appearance. It was true, she was beautiful, with the most stunning eyes he’d ever seen … but she was probably on the prowl for a rich boyfriend just as much as a story to cover. Derek supposed she didn’t care to be called out publicly, though. And his not wanting to talk about the game—well, that was because he would have to think carefully about what to say and how to say it before feeding details to a reporter, making sure his comments stayed glib and positive even if taken out of context. Frankly, exhaustion had killed off what little interpersonal skills he had. He didn’t have it in him to parse words.
The adrenaline high from the intense game gone, and no winning glow to keep him going, he was bone-deep fatigued and filled with regret about decisions on the court that may or may not have cost the game.
Charles. He’d dropped a major bomb on Derek, leaving him all wrapped up in worrying about his friend and his mom, then he acted weird about Derek’s performance, and here he was now, behaving like a horny teenager, no cares in the world. Charles and Naomi were laughing over some secret, oblivious to the reality around them.
Derek, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t just that Charles was getting away with breaking the rules. When his mother took that money, she became part of a growing national controversy, a trend that could ruin colleges and kids’ lives. If an athletic kid could be bought, then the rich schools were going to get the best players. The colleges that couldn’t afford blackmail bids would lose the ability to draw athletes, and then their funding was going to go down the toilet. Which would affect all the students at that school.
The professional basketball season was lurching into full tilt. He didn’t need this crap. Derek shut his eyes and had a brief flash of intense hatred for … not for Charles, but for the ethical quandary he’d put Dere
k in the middle of. What was he supposed to do with this information? What was the right thing to do?
Derek needed to stay focused, to get back the respect he’d lost last year, sitting on the bench like a loser, taking up valuable space and giving nothing to the team. He had the next few months to prove he deserved to be back, maybe even as a top scorer. He could do it. He just had to put his head down and work for it. Charles’s problems weren’t his concern.
So, no distractions. No more worrying about Charles.
Stop smelling her.
He moved back a step, but was caught once again by the reporter’s eyes. There was no denying Hara was an attractive girl, gorgeous, even, with her unusual eyes, her long black hair, her cute glasses. Her bare, creamy-caramel shoulders and pert breasts in what had to be the sexiest top ever created, yet almost queenly with the ruff neck. He’d seen her with her hair up and down, glasses and no glasses, dressed for a cocktail party, dressed professionally, and now dressed for clubbing … the woman could work a grain sack. He’d love to see what she looked like in the mornings, naked on satin sheets.
Derek sighed. He had to get his house in order before he could let in a girl.
* * *
Well, I can sit here and look stupid, Hara thought, or I can put myself out there, maybe gather some intel. She slowly stood up, gratefully putting distance between herself and Derek, joining the crush of women. They were hardly less intimidating than the athletes.
“Hi there. Are you a reporter?” asked a pretty young woman with an Italian lilt to her vowels. “Did I see you talking to the team last night?”
“Just a couple of them. The owners brought me in to do a feature on Charles.”
“Ah ha! Of course they did. They need to make sure the public is behind their rising star.” The Italian girl stuck out her hand, a large ruby ring face out. “I’m Kitty.”
Hara realized she was talking to the famous young heiress Kitty Morretti. Kitty kindly went out of her way to introduce her to the other women. None needed Hara to give them publicity, since many of them were recognizable models or TV personalities, but most were friendly. One woman was a famous trial lawyer, another owned a successful fashion line. All of the women were draped in gold and diamonds, to the point that Hara felt like she was in a jewelry commercial.
The Wrong Mr. Darcy Page 8