“Do you have a ride to the polo field tomorrow?” he asks. At first he looks at me, but then he looks at Linda and that’s where his eyes stay.
Linda grins impishly. I know exactly what she’s thinking. She’s already pointed out that the man who stares everyone in the eyes can’t look in mine for more than five seconds, at least not from a close distance.
“Well, I figured I’d ride out with Maggie,” she says, thumbing in my direction.
“Oh, you have a car, that’s right,” he says.
“Vincent, it’s getting late!” the girl in the polka dot sweater calls. She’s in front of his office, watching him.
He pastes his eyes on my face. “Good night.”
Those two words unexpectedly make me shiver. I can feel his torment. “Good night,” I barely say.
He walks between the lines of cubicles separating our offices. The model-type woman takes his arm, and they walk to the elevator together.
I watch them. “See, he’s not into me.”
Linda snorts and nudges her chest. “He didn’t say good night to me like that.” She pauses. “Hell, he didn’t say good night to me at all!”
We laugh again. He turns back to glance into my office one last time before he and the woman disappear behind the elevator doors.
Chapter 5
Kick Me With A Polo Stick
I have drinks and appetizers with friends at Grey Smoke, a pop-up bar in the West Village. I twist my wrist to glimpse at my watch. “I only have an hour. I have to drive to Southampton in the morning.”
Cleo bites into a cherry on the stem. “For what?”
“A polo match.” Just saying that makes me happy.
“You’re glowing not because you finally got laid, but because you have to work on the weekend. Your priorities are all wrong,” Hannah says and flips her copper hair, which catches the eyes of a passerby.
“Whatever.” I catch them up on how it happened. I start with the voice mail from Jack. Just mentioning his name makes them swoon. Then I reveal my job title, and they applaud.
“That’s it. You’ve died and gone to corporation heaven,” Monroe says cynically.
I twist in my chair while fluttering my eyelashes. “Yes, my darling, I surely have.”
“Now you can work on your man-less situation,” Hannah says while making eyes at the guy who fell for her hair-flip trick.
The first man who comes to mind is Vincent. “I’ll probably work on it soon,” I mutter.
Monroe shoves Hannah’s arm. “Hey, don’t let her make you feel inadequate, Mags. Men are only worth their penises, and you can buy one of those.”
“That’s because she has,” Hannah says, taking a jab at her.
Monroe smiles. “I have a collection. And whenever you want it done right, I’ll let you borrow one.”
Someone squeezes the back of my neck. “Hey, Magnolia Bud.”
Charlie shoves up against the back of my shoulder. He has a pretty, petite woman by his side.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
On one hand, I’m surprised to see him, but on the other, I’m not. Charlie roams aimlessly, having no job and no responsibilities whatsoever. He always has a new chick on his arm. His tastes vary.
Tonight it’s a beautiful Asian woman with a slight frame. Her lips are aglow with bright red lipstick, but other than that, she wears no makeup. She’s exquisite. I’ve seen him with very dark African women with lengthy legs and flawless skin. I’ve seen him with women who are paler than me. Then there are all the women in between. I’ve never seen him with the same woman twice.
“I’m in town for a while. Hey, can we talk?”
I sigh. “I already know what you want.”
“Lily, use your hot ass to clear us a space at the bar. I need to have words with my cousin.”
Cleo gasps, offended as if he was speaking to her.
“She’s your family and you don’t fucking introduce me? You prick,” Lily says. Suddenly, she’s not the delicate flower that I thought she was.
Charlie squeezes her tiny butt cheek. “Just do it, sexy.”
She huffs but spins and moseys along. Lily’s wearing a thin sheath dress with no bra and thong panties. She can get away with it because she’s petite. I would look X-rated in that outfit.
Cleo blows a disdainful breath through her nose. “You are the worst kind of man, Charlie Lord!”
Charlie gives her a fake smile. “Cleo, good to see you too!”
She rolls her eyes.
“Hannah. Monroe,” he says, acknowledging them.
Both of them throw him the cold shoulder. They’ve seen Charlie at his worst. They’ve seen him whip it out to piss in corners. Once they went out with me in the middle of the night to find him after Jack called me. He was worried because somebody Jack knew said they’d seen Charlie fighting with the bouncers at the Pink Diamond Club and then stumble into an alley nearby. Jack couldn’t go collect him because he was in Hong Kong on business. So I had to do it, and he insisted that I didn’t go out alone. I called up all of my girlfriends, and we went looking for Charlie. We found him passed out in an alley near 2nd Avenue. He was smashed, bruised, and covered in his own piss. Come to think of it, I don’t think my girlfriends have ever seen him sober. I don’t think he’s been sober since high school!
He moves his mouth next to my face, and his one hundred fifty-proof breath blows me away. “Here’s the deal, Mags. I need to stay at your place for a few days in a few days.”
“You mean after you ditch, what’s her name, Lily?” I snarl. “When are you going to grow up?”
“Last time I checked, we’re the same age. If you’re a grown-up, then so am I, Magnolia Bud.”
“Stop calling me that. And age doesn’t make the man.”
“Yes or no?” he snaps.
“What the hell? Do you think I’m actually going to say no?”
“No.”
I shake my head. “What if I say no? Then what?”
“You should say no,” Cleo says from across the table. She’s been following our little tête-à-tête.
Charlie ignores her. “I have a key.”
“I know you do. It’s my mom’s flat, not mine. If it were mine, I’d lock your ass out every time.”
He kisses my cheek. I cringe away from his lips.
“See you in a few, Magnolia Bud.” He stomps off before I can call him Chuck.
Monroe snorts while looking away from me, but that’s her only reaction to me succumbing to Charlie’s request. Their silence speaks louder than words. They’ve accused Jack and me of enabling “Chuck.” The more we do for him, the worse off he is.
Yes, he’s infuriating, but he’s like a brother to me. I still have hope that one day he’ll ditch the booze and the broads and do something with his life. I can’t drop the ball before that happens. Lord forbid something terrible happens and we lose him forever.
We finish our drinks, and I scarf down two orders of shrimp tempura. I leave exactly an hour later and walk fast to the apartment.
I almost strip out of my suit and drop it on the floor, but the cleaning lady left a sticky note on my door that says, “Do not leave your clothes lying around like a child. You are a grown up.” Okay, I deserve that. So I pull off my suit in the bedroom, hang it up, shower, and set the alarm for four thirty a.m. I fall on top of the bed, curl into a ball, and fall directly to sleep.
The alarm seems to buzz seconds after I close my eyes, but I’m not drowsy. I hit the ground running. Brush teeth. Wash face. Eat breakfast. Put on the black suit. Grab keys.
I’m on my way to the garage ten blocks east to get the “house” car when my cell phone rings. “Hello,” I say without looking at the name or number.
“Maggie, it’s Vincent.”
I practically lose it. “Um, what do you need? I mean, how can I help you?” Damn, that didn’t come out right.
“I’ve arranged for three cars to drive everyone to the event. There’s space for
you and Linda.”
“But I’m already at my garage.”
“It’s better if you ride with us. You’ll be insured under our policy.”
“Oh.” That makes sense. “Okay.”
I trek twenty blocks to the office. Vincent is waiting in front of the main entrance by himself. He raises his hand to signal the driver standing next to a black limousine with tinted windows as soon as he sees me.
“Good morning.” I use my chipper voice.
“Good morning.” He doesn’t look or sound happy to see me. He opens the car door. “After you.”
I scurry over, look inside, and stop before I get in. “It’s just you and me?”
“The others rode out in the other cars.”
“What about Linda?”
“She’s with the others.”
I can do this. He’s merely my boss, and I must remember that. We both get in, and Vincent sits directly across from me, facing the back window. I turn on my laptop and try to concentrate on refining my pitch for End of March Powder in Aspen. Vincent works quietly on his laptop too, but I feel him concentrating on me. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning on a Saturday, and because of roadwork and street closures, traffic moves at a crawl.
“So what are you working on?” he asks.
I look at him. He has gorgeous angles to his face, both angelic and manly. “Um, just an idea for a meeting I’m having with Lena on Monday.”
“A meeting about what?”
“An event for the IK App.”
He smiles slightly. “I’m here right now, and I’m all ears.” He lifts a finger. “But first, do you need coffee or anything to eat before we climb on the expressway?”
I shake my head spastically because he put me on the spot. “No. I’m fine.”
“If you did want coffee, then how would you take it?”
I frown. Strange question. “Um, a French roast.”
“Nothing creamy and sugary?”
“If you mean designer coffee, then no. I drink black coffee with half of one packet of sugar.”
He knocks on the window separating the front of the car from the back. “I need you to stop at the C-cup Café on 97th.” Vincent slips him a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “Get two large coffees. One French roast and a packet of sugar and one regular black coffee.” He focuses on me. “Do you eat bagels?”
I hesitate. “Sometimes.”
“Eggs?”
“Yeah, but I’ve already eaten breakfast.”
“What did you eat?”
I happen to glance at the driver’s brown eyes. He’s waiting to hear my answer.
“Um, leftovers from Yang Chung from Tuesday night.” I didn’t have time to whip up a fresh breakfast.
He looks disturbed. “That was five days ago!”
“It was still edible.”
He snorts. “We’ll see about that in an hour. Moe, get two coffees and four plain bagels with cream cheese.”
“Got it,” the driver says.
A short distance later, Moe parks in the red zone in front of the café. He hops out and shuffles inside.
“So I’m waiting,” Vincent says.
“For what?”
“To hear your pitch.”
“Oh.” I go on about the winter sports competition in Aspen and lay out the reasons why it would be good for the company and the IK App. Vincent nods.
The driver’s side door opens. I’m waiting for Vincent’s response when he takes the coffee and bagels from Moe.
He sets the cups in a holder and fishes a bagel out of the bag. “Eat this. It’ll help absorb bad bacteria from the five-day-old leftovers.”
“Oh.” I take the bagel. It’s warm and soft. I’m impressed.
“This place doesn’t keep the old shit from yesterday. They start with a new batch every morning.”
I bite into the bread. “This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it. And I like your idea. I’ll give it some more thought and get back to you.”
“You are?” I ask while chewing.
“Yes. You’re smart, Maggie. You always have been.”
I’m caught off guard by his remark. “Why do you say that?”
He squirms. I’ve put him on the spot. What does he know about how I’ve always been? I knew of him for a couple of months in high school and didn’t see him again until the day of the wedding.
“I say that you’re smart because you’ve proven it and in a short period of time,” he says.
“No, the part about me always being smart.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs. “You were pretty smart in high school. I remember. We had Advanced Economics together.”
“You were in that class?”
He gazes out the window. “Yep.”
I feel as though he wants to say more. I’m trying to picture him in the classroom, but I draw a blank. Robert Tango’s alluring face is the only one that comes to mind. This is awkward. The cell phone in his suit jacket buzzes. I’m relieved when he answers.
He’s obviously speaking to someone of the opposite sex. His tone is soft, and he’s still glaring out the window.
“Had a good time too,” he says.
I want to shove my fingers in my ears so that I can’t hear him sweet-talk his girlfriend. Instead, I try to concentrate on typing the End of March Powder proposal. I can’t help but watch him through my peripheral vision. What’s happening is strange. There’s nothing going on between us, but something could be sparking. I think he paid more attention to me in the past than I’d realized.
“Sure,” he says lazily. He glances at me. “I guess so.” Pause. “Maybe.” Pause. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” He pauses for a long time.
When I look up from my computer, he’s watching me. He’s giving me the deep look, the one that Linda referred too. I’m so relieved when my cell phone rings. I hurry up and retrieve it out of my bag.
“Hello,” I say.
“Mags, I have a lot of suits I’m never going to wear. Do you want them? Since you’ve got a new job, I figure you might want to dress better for it.” It’s Monroe.
“Ha, ha, ha,” I mock. “Whatever.”
“See you later,” Vincent says. He ends his call and focuses on me. His penetrating gaze makes me clam up a little.
“I’ll bring them by tonight with a bottle of red,” Monroe says.
I squirm and face away from him. “Not tonight. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. How about tomorrow night?”
“Can’t. Dinner party at the Farmingtons’. Want to come?”
“Um, no.” The Farmingtons are her creepy friends in Brooklyn. They dress as though it’s Halloween every day, and their home smells like a hamster cage.
“What’s wrong with you? You sound strange. Are you alone?” she asks.
“No.” I put on my cryptic voice.
Monroe laughs in my ear. “Are you with a guy or girl?”
I glance at Vincent. “The first.” I think he knows I’m speaking in code.
“The first meaning a guy?”
“Yes.”
“Is he cute?”
“I guess.”
“Ah! So he’s hot?” she asks.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your ‘I guess’ means he’s hot. If he were simply okay, then you would’ve said, ‘meh.’ If he were fairly good looking, then you would’ve said, ‘it depends.’ ‘I guess’ not only means he’s hot, but you want a piece of that.”
“You’re nuts.” I chuckle.
Vincent’s scowl intensifies.
“This conversation’s over. See you Monday night, and don’t bring old, spoiled wine from your mother’s cupboard.” She laughs as we hang up.
I smile briefly at Vincent and then resume pretending to work.
“You said the event is End of March Powder?” he asks out of the blue.
I look up. “Huh? Yes.”
“There are only two weeks left in this month. When is it?”
I narrow my eyes. “It’s the Friday after next. I know I’m cutting it close, but I thought we could at least get in and, once we’re inside, make shit happen.”
“Is that what you do? Make shit happen once you’re inside?”
My mouth falls open. “Um…” That sounded a lot like flirting.
“Never mind,” he says. “I’ll make some calls.”
“Well, I was going to contact Jack. I thought he might know someone there.”
“No, I don’t want to take that chance.”
“What chance?” He’s so damn confusing.
“Forget it. I’ll make the calls, and I’ll get back to you on Monday morning.” His tone is definite.
I smile. There’s no use in arguing with the boss. “All right then.” I go back to pretending to type something meaningful. Vincent’s proximity makes it hard to concentrate. Our feet are less than an inch apart.
Moe speeds on the expressway. The heavy traffic is going in the opposite direction. I’ve heard about feeling someone’s energy, and I can feel Vincent’s.
My breasts feel as if they’re swelling in response to whatever vibe he’s emitting. I try very hard not to fantasize about him ripping off my suit and pounding me on the floor between the seats. I always thought I was above those kinds of thoughts and antics.
I bite my lower lip and glance at him from under my eyelashes. He’s already observing me. I drop my eyes and type nothing that makes sense.
I feel a hand pet my cheek, and something that feels like a finger glides across my lower lip.
“Maggie, wake up.”
“Oh shit…” I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep.
“You’ve been asleep for a while. Do you feel okay?”
I would sit up, but he’s leaning into me and our faces are too close. His breath smells like mint and coffee.
“I feel fine,” I whisper.
He smiles a little. “I’m going to be worried about you all day now that I know you ate five-day-old Chinese food for breakfast.”
I snort. “You don’t have to be worried. I’m a New Yorker. I have a stomach of steel.”
“Do you?” he whispers.
I gulp. Are we going to kiss? But why would we kiss? He’s into Victoria’s Secret models.
“Yeah.” I scoot away so that I can sit up without our lips bumping. “So this is it?”
There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story (LOVE in the USA, #2) Page 5