A long second passes before he does. Robbie sags against the wall, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m suing,” he snaps.
“Get out,” Declan says. “You and your friends. Now.”
“You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“You want me to call the cops? Want me to show them what’s on the camera?”
He nods to a blinking red light on the ceiling. Robbie’s mouth snaps shut. “Whatever,” he mumbles, slinking off toward the bar.
“Make sure he goes,” Declan says to the guard, who merely nods and walks quickly after him, leaving us alone.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say shakily. “Thanks for being all macho.”
He rolls his eyes but some of the tension ebbs from his body. “Do you want to go home? I can call you a cab.”
I shake my head. “No. Don’t say anything to the others. It will ruin the night.”
“Sarah—”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Probably because I’m lying. I take a deep breath through my nose that does nothing to help me.
“It’s not because of him,” I say, planting one hand against the wall to balance myself. My stomach roils. “I’ve had a lot to drink.”
He watches me for a second, looking torn before he takes my hand and leads me further down the hallway to a small room at the end. It’s barely bigger than a closet, with a wooden chair and a small overhead light that offers little illumination when he flicks it on.
“Am I about to be interrogated?” I ask as he pushes me gently onto the chair.
“This is where we put the drunks.”
“Oh great,” I mutter.
“Head between the knees,” he says and exits the room, leaving the door open. He’s back in less than a minute with a tall glass of water. “Sip it slowly,” is all he says as he crouches before me. “It will help.”
It does help. And I manage to drink half of it before handing it back.
“Better?”
“A little.”
The guard appears in the doorway, knocking once against the frame. “They’re gone. We good here?”
“Yeah.” Declan doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Thanks, Danny. Could you tell the party at table four that their friend’s with me? They can have another round on us.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
He disappears before I can stop him. “I don’t want him to tell them that.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “An apology from the establishment.”
“No,” I say, too drunk to lie. “I mean tell them that I’m here with you.”
Declan places the glass carefully on the floor. I can’t read anything from his expression “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I moan. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean they already think we’re…”
“We’re what?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know the answer. The longer I look at him the more confused I am.
He’s still crouching before me, his face level with mine. He looks tired. Of course he’s tired. It has to be near the end of his shift. I realize then that I don’t think I’ve met a harder-working person than him. And I live with Claire. He would have spent all day working on the tour company only to come here and look after loud drunk people. Look after me.
“Sarah?”
Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and brush back a tuft of hair. I don’t miss the way he goes still beneath my touch.
“You need a haircut,” I mumble.
He smiles and when I try to drop my hand he catches it, holding it to his face.
For a long moment, we stay like that and I know I’m going to kiss him tonight. I know it. But the anticipation is nice too. The feel of his cheek beneath my palm.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says and I don’t understand him at first, too preoccupied with watching his lips move. “I know that’s what you’re scared of, but I promise you I—”
My fingers go to his lips, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper. He frowns and I drop my hand, swaying slightly on the stool. God, I’m drunk.
I lean into him and my heart races as he does the same. Then I catch it. The sour whiff of alcohol off him, the result of several long hours working behind a bar.
The mush of fries and sugary cocktails rise inside, too swift for me to fight it.
I clamp my lips together and he pulls back, concerned as my eyes widen in panic. “Sarah?”
And that’s when I put my head back between my knees and vomit all over his shoes.
22
“I know what I want.”
I’m barely listening as Claire leans across the kitchen counter, her face hidden by a gel mask.
“That’s good,” I say, staring into my sauce. Can you burn a sauce? It was one of my New Year’s resolutions to cook more. So far all it means is spending more money on takeout as I ruin every recipe I attempt.
“You said you’d do anything I wanted, right?”
“Right,” I say absently before registering her words. “Wait. What?”
“Six months ago when that guy you slept with kept stopping by the apartment—the one who wanted you to go see his one-man play? You said you’d do whatever I wanted if I convinced him you’d moved to Switzerland.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I stop stirring and turn to face her. I think uneasily of the few nice objects I own. “What do you want?”
“I want to borrow Declan.”
I wait. She doesn’t elaborate. “I’m not following.”
“For the Griffiths’ party tomorrow night. I want him to be my date.”
“I thought I was going to the party.”
“You are. You’re going because I need moral support. I need Declan to go to make Mark jealous.”
I snort and start stirring again.
“You said anything,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, but I meant helping you paint your room or being on trash duty for a year. This, what you’re describing, is insane.”
“No, it’s not. He’s very charming. I need someone charming. Did you see him at the singles brunch? He can talk to anyone. He’s perfect party material.”
“He’ll say no.”
“He won’t if you ask him. And I don’t think he will,” she adds. “I think he’s the kind of person who’ll love it.”
To this I say nothing. She’s right. No doubt he would love it. He’d probably think it was hilarious. But the last time I saw Declan was just under a week ago when I caressed his face and then upchucked all over him.
I mean, talk about mixed signals.
He’d been surprisingly chill about it, hazard of the job I guess, or maybe he knew I was already dying of embarrassment, but he helped me clean myself up and brought me back to the table as if nothing had happened. Now I can’t even think of the man without wanting to bang my head against the nearest wall. I’ve already resolved to be as professional as I can the next time I see him and the scenario that Claire’s describing is not it.
“What about Lazlo?” I ask.
“My gym instructor?”
“Our gym instructor,” I say. “I go.”
“You haven’t been in two weeks and you won’t change my mind. I don’t want Lazlo or some guy from your office or the cute FedEx guy. I want Declan.”
“The FedEx guy is pretty cute though.”
“Sarah.”
I purse my lips, turning the heat down. I’ve lost my appetite, but I can’t let her know that. “You two would go together?” I ask carefully. I don’t like that idea. I even more don’t like how much I don’t like it.
“This is purely for jealous-making purposes,” she says quickly. “Nothing more. And you still have to come. I only need Declan for the Mark bit. It would be awkward without you there.”
“It would be awkward with me there as well. I’m not going to the party by myself.”
“So bring the FedEx guy.
Please, Sarah. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything else.”
“Like talking to Mark?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “I’m not fourteen. I’ve talked with him. I’ve flirted with him. I’ve worn beautiful dresses and high heels. I’ve touched his arm and smiled. I’ve done everything short of employee misconduct and he still hasn’t done anything about it. I want him to see me as someone desirable. As someone other than the woman he works with. And I’ve helped you get rid of guys so many times so the least you can do is help me get one.”
She’s got me there. “I’ll ask,” I say, ignoring her grin. “And you’re right, he might say yes. But if he does that means I don’t have to go.”
She’s already shaking her head. “I need female support.”
I point the spoon at her. “You’re pushing it.”
“Please.” She climbs over our two-seater sofa to hug me. “Please, please, please. Anyone else would kill to go to one of these parties.”
“I hate being the third wheel.”
“You won’t be,” she insists, tightening her arms around me as though she knows she has me. “You can bring someone else. I’ll just add their name to the list.”
I run through potentials in my mind. The thought of bringing an actual date just makes me feel tired. I could bring a friend. Soraya would definitely be interested. Claudia, if I gave her enough time to get to the salon. But neither of them had shut up about “the younger brother,” as they’d dubbed Declan, and the thought of bringing everyone together makes me wince.
“Well?” Claire asks, still hanging off me.
I shake my head. “It’s tomorrow night. Who’s going to be free on a Saturday night at such short notice?”
“Are you done yet?” Will says loudly on the other side of the door. “Now is not the time to starting learning how to contour.”
“The more you complain the longer I’m going to take,” I yell back. I adjust the straps of my dress and hop, making sure my boobs aren’t going to fall out of it. I won’t last long in these shoes but Claire insisted I wear them, proclaiming everything else I owned to be “unsuitable for the occasion,” which probably means she thinks they look cheap. I didn’t take it personally. They were cheap.
I do a final scan in the mirror and open the door to find Will sitting on the sofa, sulking in his suit. He looks me up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yes. Why?” I smooth my hands over the skirt. It’s my best one. Blue and clingy and bought on sale. Sexy but not too sexy. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything.”
I take a calming breath. It doesn’t work. “If you’re going to be difficult—”
“You’ll what? Send me home?”
“No one’s stopping you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says shortly. “I canceled some very important Saturday night plans because you told me Amal Clooney is going to be there.”
“She will be. And what plans? You said you had the dentist.”
“Yes, and I intend to have him again.”
“Oh gross, Will.”
I lock myself back in my room and look in the mirror. He’s right. It’s all wrong. With a sigh, I unstrap myself and reach for my trusty black dress. It’s a slight improvement and it’s not like I have many others to choose from. Not for this kind of dress code.
I flatten the fabric against my body, nervous. Not that I particularly care about what Claire’s fancy colleagues think but Declan’s due to arrive any minute and I just…
I’d sent him a text, apologizing profusely about the whole “vomit gate” incident before segueing instantly into Claire’s request, trying to make it sound as ridiculous as possible in the hopes that he’d politely refuse if not outright ignore me. He didn’t.
And while I felt a little better when he assured me again that what happened in O’Shea’s was nothing he hadn’t seen before, I did not love the fact that he jumped at the opportunity to be Claire’s date. Even if it was a fake one.
“You look great,” I say to my reflection, just like my mental-wellness podcast told me to. “You look great and you deserve all you—”
“I can hear you,” Will calls.
I scowl into the mirror and open the door before I can change my mind. Will hasn’t moved.
“Well?”
He looks up from his phone. “What?”
“Is this better?”
“Oh. The other one was fine. I just wanted to annoy you.”
“Okay!” Claire says, coming out of her bedroom in her red dress and matching heels. I can’t tell if this is good or bad timing, seeing as I was two seconds away from killing him. “I’m ready.”
“No comments for her?” I ask Will.
“She looks great.”
“Are we on schedule?” Claire asks.
“Car’s arriving in five minutes.”
“And Declan is two minutes away. He texted me.”
“Did he?” Did he. “I’m getting a drink before we go.”
“I’ll have one too,” Will says. “Thanks for offering.”
I pour us both a vodka soda as the buzzer sounds through the apartment. Claire presses the button to let Declan in while my nerves increase tenfold.
“I guarantee you it won’t be an open bar,” Will says. “Rich people are the stingiest.”
“Does anyone want to put anything in my purse?” Claire asks, shaking her ridiculously large bag.
“You’re such a mom, Claire.”
“Says the girl who never has a tampon when she needs one.”
Will coughs into his drink.
There’s a knock on the door and it takes all my willpower not to start pacing. I force myself to remain by Will as Claire gets it.
“Well?” I hear Declan ask. “Will I do?”
“You look perfect,” Claire squeals. I’m shocked. Claire never squeals. I try to look around her, but she saves me the trouble as she brings him inside.
Declan stands in the kitchen wearing a midnight-blue suit.
He’s shaved but hasn’t done anything to his hair. Not that he needs to. It’s already perfect. He’s perfect. He’s—
Our eyes meet and I turn only to find Will watching me with a little smirk.
“Don’t say a word,” I whisper.
Declan approaches. “Hi, Sarah.”
“Hello,” I say, still not looking at him. “You remember Will. My assistant.”
“Of course,” he says as Will flashes me a glare. Declan reaches past me to hold out his hand and I catch a whiff of his cologne. “Nice to see you again.”
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Claire says, grabbing her purse. “We should go.”
I frown, only halfway through my drink. “I thought you wanted to be late?”
“Yes, fashionably late. Which we will be if we leave now. I don’t want to be late late. Then we’ll—”
“We’re going,” I interrupt before she can work herself into a frenzy. Will downs his drink as Declan winks at Claire. He looks genuinely excited about tonight.
“After you,” he grins, doing a little bow as he gestures Claire out of the room. Her delighted laugh echoes down the stairwell.
Well, that’s just… great.
I look at Will, who rolls his eyes. “Touch me and I’ll scream,” he mutters, stalking past me.
I turn to lock the door, closing it with a little more force than necessary.
Freaking great.
Claire’s boss lives in the penthouse apartment of a very large, very fancy building in Manhattan with his fancy family and fancy furniture and fancy party guests. I’m wearing the nicest jewelry I own, which isn’t saying a lot, and got my hair done at the salon that afternoon and yet I immediately feel underdressed.
“I feel like I’m in an HBO drama,” Will mutters, gazing around.
I swallow as I take in the large living space before us. It’s all beiges and cream, everything from the carpets to the wall
to the furniture. Manhattan glitters behind the large windows while someone plays a grand piano in the corner.
“How did you even get three extra invites?” I ask, trying to smooth my skirt without anyone noticing.
“I caught Mr. Griffith’s assistant stealing client gifts,” Claire says, ignoring our collective look as she searches the room. Why do I get the feeling the gifts weren’t a box of chocolates and a bottle of mid-priced Malbec?
Will straightens his tie, looking uncomfortable for the first time.
Only Declan remains unfazed. “Where’s the lucky man?” he asks.
“Over there.” She sounds nervous. “Beside the woman in the diamonds.”
We all follow her gaze, probably not discreetly at all, to a slightly older, attractive man chatting to a group of people in the middle of the room.
“He looks like one of the Mad Men,” Will says approvingly and I find myself nodding in agreement.
Claire’s shown me pictures of him dozens of times, but I’ve never actually met him. I can see instantly why she’s so fixated on him. He’s everything you’d expect a successful, rich person in this city to be. A tailored suit, a white smile, perfectly cut hair and a tan that no doubt comes from a holiday home in Barbados rather than out of a bottle. As soon as I see him, he’s all I can see. Like a magnet drawing you to him.
“And he’s so nice,” Claire said to me once after another failed date, when all she could think about was him. “And funny. You wouldn’t think it but he’s genuinely funny.”
As if on cue the group laughs and he grins at them all, shaking his head as he finishes whatever story he was telling.
Claire looks torn between wanting to jump him here and now or fleeing the room.
“How handsy do we want to be?” Declan asks, distracting her. “Level one, light hand-holding; level five, we need to talk about payment upfront.”
I glare at him, but Claire only laughs. “Let’s go for a two point five. Adjusting as needed.”
“At least make it a three,” Declan says in mock disappointment. “I got my suit pressed and everything.”
Make it a three. Ha ha ha. I’m so funny.
I scowl inwardly as they tease each other. His hand goes to the small of her back, guiding her further into the room and I have to drag my eyes away to keep from staring at it as I follow them. I concentrate on Mark instead, watching him from the corner of my eye and am surprised to find him already looking our way, his eyes on Claire even as he continues to talk. My mood brightens slightly. Maybe he isn’t as oblivious as Claire thinks he is.
One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy Page 20