by M. Malone
I hand him back the now empty cup. “That’s actually a good idea. Finish reviewing those sketches for me, per favore?”
His mouth falls open as I start for the door. “What? You’re leaving? We have a meeting this afternoon. Those investors Mamma introduced us to at the gala are almost ready to sign on.”
“I’m sure you can handle it. What was it you said? Everything won’t come crashing down if I pause for a little fun sometimes?”
He looks murderous but clamps his lips closed.
Before I can get to the door, it opens and my assistant, Kate, pokes her head into the room. “The models are here.”
I turn slowly to Philippe. “And I’m sure you can also approve the models for the next show.”
He shakes his head. “You’re seriously going to leave?”
Before I can walk out, a line of women passes by and I have to step back to allow them to enter. The last one pauses and squeals when she sees me.
“It’s you! OMG!” She pronounces it phonetically. Oh-em-gee. “I’m such a huge fan of yours. I’ve been following you on Instagram since the beginning.”
“Thank you for the support. Fans like you are what keep us in business.”
It sounds like a line but it’s the truth. No matter how tired or rushed I may be, I always take time out for fans who approach me in the street or at events. When I wasn’t sure I was going to get seed capital to start my line, online fans were willing to donate money to help me get my start. Those same fans support each new launch and promote our brand tirelessly for free. I am truly grateful.
“I hate to ask but can I have your autograph?” She blushes and glances over her shoulder to where everyone else is waiting.
“Of course.” My hand pulls a pen from my top pocket automatically. I wait, expecting her to produce a napkin or a notepad. I’ve signed everything from menus to receipts.
Then she pulls down her top, exposing her shoulder and the majority of her left breast. “You can make it out to Katy with a Y. I can’t wait to post this picture to Instagram.”
My hand moves as quickly as possible, scrawling my name right under her collarbone. When I’m done, Katy with a Y giggles again brushing her hand over my arm as she thanks me. She joins the other models, showing off my signature with a smirk.
Philippe raises a hand in a wave. “I’ve got this. Go do… what are you going to do?”
“Hell if I know. I just have to get out of here.”
As I’m leaving Jason Gautier, the company COO and one of my best friends, enters carrying a suit in a garment bag. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m leaving early.”
His eyes dart between me and Philippe. “Leaving early?”
Philippe looks amused. “Yes. He’s leaving early. Taking some time for fun. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”
Jason blinks. “When has he ever left early? Where is he even going?”
“To get coffee,” I shout over my shoulder as I leave my brother and best friend arguing over my workaholic nature.
As I’m leaving, I hear his perplexed “But you hate American coffee!”
After wandering aimlessly for almost an hour, I had to admit that my attempt at relaxation was a failure. Disgusted with myself, I finally just hailed a cab and went back to my hotel.
Only to discover that my mother was waiting for me to escort her to a charity dinner I never agreed to attend.
I grimace, hoping that I didn’t offend anyone tonight. Considering my mood, I’m sure I was terrible company but I couldn’t disappoint my mother. Although she pretends that nothing bothers her, I know she hates attending social functions alone. It’s something she still isn’t quite used to, even though my father has been gone five years now.
Now that I’ve done my duty for the night and Mamma is settled, I find myself at a loss. As I ride the elevator back down to the lobby of her hotel, I ponder an entire night to do whatever I want. No thoughts of work and no one to answer to. The freedom is almost daunting.
The doorman tips his hat as I pass and I respond to a friendly hello from one of the valets outside. I give him my ticket so he can bring my car around and then my attention lands on the other. He’s a young man but old enough for what I need. Probably still in college considering that he doesn’t look as though he’s fully grown into his large hands and feet. His eyebrows lift as I walk closer.
“Good evening. I want to go out. On the town. To have fun.” I force myself to stop talking, embarrassed by my own rambling.
The young man takes it in stride. Especially when I slide over a few twenties. He pockets the money and then points down the block. “There’s a nightclub called Hysteria three streets over that’s pretty popular. It’s the place to be. Difficult to get into but worth it from what I hear.”
I shake my head, already sure another exclusive club filled with rich people trying to impress each other is not what I want.
“No clubs. I don’t want a popular place with a VIP lounge. I want to experience some real American fun. Something normal. Where would you go if you had the night off?”
He looks skeptical but nods his head in the other direction. “It’s not that close, it’s in Adams Morgan. A bar called Hammered. They have the best happy hour and every Friday it’s half-priced wings. All night.”
“Excellent. That’s where I’ll go.”
My enthusiasm seems to surprise him but he quickly recovers. “It’s a really fun place. They have pool and darts, too. But you can’t go like that.” He gestures to my suit. “It’s … not a dressy type of place.”
I clap him on the back. “Oh, don’t worry. I have just the thing to wear.”
It doesn’t take as long to put together the normal guy outfit this time. The white shirt is unsalvageable so I grab the next in the package, a plain, serviceable black. Despite the sad fabric, I can see a certain beauty to dressing this way. Without external adornment, the focus is completely on me. When I look in the mirror, it’s like seeing myself for the first time after a long illness or being in a trance.
Like running into an old friend unexpectedly after years apart.
When I get downstairs I bypass the valets and go to the first cab idling at the curb. I looked up the bar online so I’d have the address handy. After I tell him my destination, the cab driver doesn’t speak except to curse occasionally at other drivers. Which is fine by me. It gives me some time to gather my thoughts.
The bar is nestled between a barbecue eatery with a huge sign shaped like a pig and a music store. I pay the driver quickly and as soon as I exit the cab, I’m enveloped in a crowd of people walking along the sidewalk and chattering excitedly. Luckily they’re going the same way I wanted to go and when they stop, I see that we’re at Hammered.
I step into the slightly dim interior and take a moment to take it all in. There are several televisions hanging over the bar broadcasting a football game. I’ve never followed American football so I don’t know the teams but when everyone in the bar lets out a rousing cheer, I find myself caught up in the excitement as well. A place opens up at the bar and I take a stool at the end.
“What’ll ya have?” The bartender is dressed similarly, in jeans and a black shirt except his has the name of the bar on the breast pocket.
“I don’t suppose you can do a Campari soda?” The look on his face tells me all I need to know. “Never mind. A beer, whatever you recommend is fine.”
I look around casually, taking in the general atmosphere and the people milling around in groups chatting. It’s been years since I’ve been to a place like this. After university, Philippe and I used to enjoy going out with Jason who has radar for the hippest and hottest new nightspots.
When did things change? When did we stop having fun?
The bartender slides a beer down to me and I’m pleasantly surprised when I try it. He chuckles at the look on my face.
“It’s our new summer ale. The owner brews it himself. It’s probably not the fa
ncy stuff you’re used to but…”
I lean over the bar. “Fancy? What makes you think I’m used to fancy stuff?”
His eyebrow lifts. “Dude, you’re wearing a Rolex in a bar.”
As he leaves to tend to his other customers, I take my watch off and put it in my pocket. It’s kind of funny. With all the work I put in to crafting a normal outfit, I completely missed the details. Maybe I should have called for backup.
I pull out my phone and dial Jason. He answers absently and slightly out of breath. The sounds of traffic filter though the line.
“Hey, are you busy right now?”
“Always busy,” he responds automatically. “Why, what’s up? We didn’t have a meeting tonight did we?”
“No. The opposite, I’m attempting to relax. I could use some help.”
He laughs. “Oh wow. First you leave early. Now you’re actually going out. This I have to see. Wingman on the way.”
Twenty minutes after I text him the name of the bar, he walks in still wearing a suit. He does a double take when he sees me.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else. You remind me of my friend, Andre. But he would never be caught dead in cotton with anything less than 800 thread count.”
I finger the T-shirt. “Maybe I’m trying something different.”
“Philippe told me about your little experiment. I’m all for it.”
“You are?” I ask, instantly suspicious.
He loves to tease me about being uptight but Jason has standards that are just as high as I do. I’m pretty sure he’d be physically ill if he couldn’t eat at Michelin starred restaurants and have VIP access everywhere. He grew up poor and has resolved never to return to that life.
“Hell, yeah. Anything that gets you laid is a good idea.” His eyes narrow. “So first, you probably should loosen up a bit. Lose the frown. No, don’t smile like a clown just look relaxed. Like you’re just hanging out.”
I try out another expression but he still looks alarmed so I give up. “Let’s just accept that this is my resting expression.”
He blows out a breath. “Okay, so when you see a hot girl, don’t talk about work, obviously. Ask her about herself, her job and whether she likes what she does. Chicks love that shit.”
This seems like common sense to me so perhaps I’m worrying for nothing.
“Oh but make sure she knows you have a job. Tell her you own a company just not which one. You don’t want her to think you’re a loser.” He points at my shirt. “Maybe this is a bad idea. These clothes are like pussy repellant.”
I take another swig of beer. “I can’t talk about work but somehow I need her to know that I own my company. This is getting complicated.”
Behind Jason’s head, I see a swing of brown hair that looks familiar. I peer over his shoulder and then stand so I can see better.
The beautiful girl that threw her coffee on me yesterday morning is standing in the middle of the bar. The too-tight shirt is gone and instead she’s wearing skin tight jeans and a halter that shows off her shoulders and the sweet curve of her perky little breasts.
“Clumsy Girl. She’s here,” I whisper.
“Who?” Jason pauses with a beer halfway to his mouth.
She’s walking toward us now. I whip around. The bar has filled up since I’ve been here and there are no more empty stools.
“You have to leave. Go, now!” I shove him off the stool right before she gets close. I barely hear Jason’s muttered curse over the sound of my heart pounding.
She looks at the empty stool next to me and then around at the crowded bar.
That’s right, beautiful. There are no other options.
After a brief pause, she glances over at me. “Is anyone sitting here?”
“No. Please, have a seat.”
She climbs up and then places her small bag in her lap. When she looks over at me, I quickly look away.
“Hey, do I know you?”
I laugh softly. “Maybe if you bump into me and spill beer all over my shirt you’d remember.”
Recognition lights her eyes and she smiles. “I knew you looked familiar. This is such an odd coincidence. But maybe this is a good sign for me. I think you’re my lucky charm.”
“Have I brought you luck, then?” I take the opportunity to stare at her and drink in my fill.
She’s the kind of pretty that many people overlook. Brown hair and eyes but she has small, delicate features that give her an almost elvish appearance. Her lashes frame her eyes and give her a sexy, slumberous look despite how young she is. Like a good girl just waiting to go bad.
She shrugs but her cheeks flush pink at my close scrutiny. “When I met you yesterday–”
“You mean when you accosted me yesterday,” I interrupt.
Her lips purse as she glares at me. It’s so cute that it makes me want to annoy her just for the hell of it. That murderous expression on her innocent face is adorable. Like one of those tiny kittens that’s convinced it’s actually a fierce lion.
“Bumped into you. I accidentally bumped into you, and one could argue that you were at fault for just standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that.”
I pretend to think about it. “I’m willing to accept a tiny part of the blame but I still lost a shirt in the process.”
She winces. “Sorry about that. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”
“No need. It was part of a three-pack. Three shirts for the price of one. Fantastic.”
“Okay then.” She laughs. “Not sure I’ve ever met a guy so happy about a thrifty deal. But that’s a good thing. Nothing wrong with saving money.” She glances at my empty glass. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Shocked, I just stare at her for a second. “You want to buy me a drink?”
“Yes! I’m here celebrating and it’s bad luck to toast with an empty glass. Or so I’ve heard.”
There’s no way she can know how rare it is for other people to buy me anything. Especially women. I’m used to picking up the check for my entire group of friends whenever we go out and the women I’ve dated expect flowers, jewelry and expensive gifts.
My lips curl up at this unexpected turn of events.
“I would love for you to buy me a drink. But it’s probably best if I don’t take a drink from a stranger. Andre.” I hold out my hand.
She accepts it with a firm handshake. “I’m Casey. Nice to meet you. Again.”
5
* * *
Two beers later, I’m still not sure what’s happening. After buying him a drink, we talked about the city (we’ve both recently moved here) and my plans to finish my degree. I’ve never met a guy this attentive and easy to talk to and it’s brought out a side of me that I’ve never felt before.
Who is this girl flirting with the sexiest guy in the bar?
Who is this siren confidently touching the back of his hand and flipping her hair as if she knows how to seduce someone?
I’m putting on a show but inside my inner dork is slowly melting down. What the hell am I doing? After dating one guy all through high school and then my fiasco with Thad the cheater in college, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience. But isn’t that the point of moving to the city and starting a whole new life? To do all the things I never got to do before, experience life and break out of my shell?
“So, I suppose it’s a little late to be asking, but what are we celebrating?” He winks as he takes another sip of his beer.
His throat works as he swallows and I have to turn away, startled at my intense visceral reaction to watching the muscles in his throat work. Heat creeps up my face and I have to work not to gawk at him like a teen girl with a crush.
“Actually the day I met you, I was on my way to a job interview. That’s why I said you were a good luck charm. I got the job! Now, I’m here to check out whether I want to apply for a second job here. So seeing you is probably a good thing. Maybe it means I’ll get hired here, too.”
He raises his glas
s. “Well, let’s toast to your new job. Congratulations. I hope it’s the start of something great.”
“I hope it’s the start of something great, too. I could use some good news for a change.” Not wanting to dwell on the crapstorm the last year has been, I smile and shake off all thoughts of the past. “Tell me more about you. What do you do?”
For the first time all night he looks wary. “I work in… retail. Selling men’s clothes.”
That explains a lot actually, namely how he makes a simple T-shirt and jeans look so damn good. Although I suspect the phenomenal genetics play a part in that, also.
“That must be fun.”
“It can be,” he says. “It can also be really demoralizing. Not that I’m complaining. I have a great life.”
“You’re not complaining just being honest. Nobody has a perfect life. We all have good things and bad things we’d love to change.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. I’m so grateful for the good things. And I love… clothes. So I’m truly happy with where I am.”
“That’s exactly what I want. In my career, I mean. Clearly I’m not talking about clothes. I’m not so good with clothes.” I wave my hand over the worn jeans and halter I’m wearing. Ariana had warned me in advance that the bar was extremely casual, something I was grateful for. I don’t have that many dressy clothes.
“You look great,” he shouts over the music. “Very comfortable.”
That makes me chuckle. “Just what every girl wants to hear. Although you can get away with saying that in your accent. You could probably say ‘hey you look like shit’ and it would sound elegant.”
He laughs. “My family roots are French, Italian and some English that my mother refuses to admit to. But I’ve traveled so much in recent years that my accent has become a bit muddled.”
“What was that again?” I lean over to hear what he just said. This bar is so loud but half of our communication has been flirty glances, anyway. Plus, it gives me an excuse to lean closer to him.