Ask Me

by M. Malone

  This is mental torture, remembering that night when I know it can never happen again.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when Andre and the rest of his team finally get on the elevator. Once the doors close, I walk back to the reception desk. Hopefully no one noticed I left it unattended for so long.

  “Hey, where did you disappear to?” Anya leans over the desk to grab her bag of potato chips. “Bingo! I knew I forgot something earlier.”

  “Nowhere. I was just…uh… getting coffee.” I hold up the coffee cup I retrieved from the break room. Then I cover it with my hand before she notices that it’s empty.

  Anya puts a potato chip in her mouth with a loud crunch. “You’re being weird.”

  “I’m not being weird! I’m just totally embarrassed that I crashed and burned in front of everyone earlier.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.” Anya smiles sympathetically at my skeptical look. “Really, it wasn’t. And at least the client was nice about it. I haven’t seen him be that nice in ages.”

  I focus on my computer screen, my fingers hitting the keyboard with way more force than necessary.

  She stuffs another potato chip in her mouth. “You know, it’s funny that he should show up right after we were talking about having a fling.”

  My hands freeze, hovering over the keyboard. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s exactly the kind of guy that’s perfect for a casual thing. You have to pick someone who won’t expect any messy romance or complications. Someone sophisticated.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. “I think he might be a little out of my league, Anya.”

  She snorts. “Well, yeah but that might be exactly why it works. He’s so used to being harassed by the media when he dates actresses and Instagram models, that he might actually enjoy the chance to have a fling with someone under the radar.”

  It’s a real struggle to keep my face still. Anya has no idea just how close to the truth she is. Clearly Andrew, hah, was out trolling for some casual sex with someone who wouldn’t recognize him the night we hooked up.

  My heart sinks a little at the thought. Even though I sneaked out that night, I regretted it after that. We had a lot of fun just talking even before we left the bar. He’d seemed like a nice guy and I don’t meet too many of those anymore.

  Now I don’t even have a good memory associated with the last time I got laid, just the bitter knowledge that Mr. Lavin was clearly slumming it when he was with me.

  “Did I offend you just now? I didn’t mean anything when I said he was out of your league. He’s out of everyone’s league. Men like that are orbiting in their own galaxy. Okay, I’m shutting up now.”

  I laugh. “I’m not offended. But I don’t have time for flings, casual or otherwise. This is the best job I’ve ever had and I’m trying not to screw it up. I don’t have time for gossip.”

  Anya doesn’t look convinced. “If you’re going to be working with the marketing team on this, you need to make time for gossip. You need to know everything there is to know about Mr. Lavin.”

  Unfortunately she’s right. The little bit of reading I managed to do last night before I fell asleep wasn’t nearly enough. But I read enough to know this account is a big deal.

  Andre Lavin is a big deal.

  He’s also a client.

  Now I just need to convince my brain to think of him that way instead of as the best sex I’ll never get to have again.

  Even though I try to play it cool, I’m off my game for the rest of the day. Anya’s advice is running through my head as I transfer calls and then spend some time with Mya going over the new Lavin campaign.

  Ironically, the stuff she shows me is centered around Mr. Lavin’s Instagram account. I’ve never been a big social media person so scrolling through his feed is both fascinating and humiliating all at once. I have to stop when I get to pictures of him on a yacht with a famous Hollywood actress.

  Our lives couldn’t be any further apart. Maybe this is the reminder I need. By the time I get home, I feel like I’ve just worked the longest day ever.

  “Finally! You’re home. Get in here.”

  I squeak as the door handle is snatched from my hand. Ariana grabs my arm and yanks me inside the apartment.

  “What is going on?”

  Ariana crosses her arms. “Mya just told me about this party tomorrow night. So I took the liberty of checking out your closet. Which is kind of boring by the way. Who doesn’t have a porn stash or even a vibrator buried in the back?”

  I drop my bag on the floor. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’ll make sure to get something scandalous to amuse you the next time you’re snooping.”

  My point is clearly lost on Ari who just claps her hands. “Do that. But anyway, my point is that you’re going to this party, which Mya says is a big deal, but I don’t see any party clothes in your closet.”

  “I have a black dress.”

  Ari grabs something from the couch. “Not this black dress, I hope?”

  “What’s wrong with that dress?”

  She looks stricken. “There’s no neckline. And it looks like it covers your ankles. I know I’ve been kind of a crap roommate but there is no way I can let you go out like this. We’re going shopping. I already texted Mya.”

  It feels like I blink and I’m in a dressing room stall stripped down to my underwear. Mya and Ariana are outside arguing over whether or not I need stilettos. Clothes are strewn around the large space helter-skelter as if they were caught in a hurricane. Well, in a way they were.

  Hurricane Ariana.

  The woman is easily a category five when it comes to her powers of persuasion.

  “I’m not sure how I got here. I think I just blacked out.”

  Anya snickers behind me. “Famous last words.”

  “Thanks for coming.” I texted Anya to meet us at the store once I realized that Ariana was serious.

  Since it seemed I wasn’t going to be allowed to leave the apartment tomorrow night unless I had a dress that didn’t look like a sack, I figured I could use Anya’s expertise. She always looks amazing.

  “Are you kidding? I’ll take any excuse to go shopping. Here try this one on.” She hands over another dress, this one a deep amethyst color. It’s the kind of thing I’d never pick out for myself but I’ve stopped inserting my opinions over the last hour. It’s pretty clear my taste isn’t working out so well.

  The dress is tight so it takes a lot of work to get into it but once it’s on, it fits like a glove. When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, words get stuck in my throat.

  All I can come up with is, “Wow.”

  “You are gorgeous.” Anya claps her hands and then takes a bow. She blows imaginary kisses to herself in the full-length mirror. “Yes, I know I’m brilliant. She’s my greatest creation.”

  “I can’t believe that’s me.”

  I peer at the image in the mirror. Usually I avoid anything fitted because it makes me feel like every extra pound is magnified. But this dress makes those pounds look like they’re all in the right places. The fabric clings and flows around my hips, making me look like I have a perfect hourglass figure. I look seductive. Confident. All the things I’ve always hoped to be.

  “Did you find one?” Ariana’s voice seems startlingly close to the dressing room door.

  I hear Mya’s voice next. “Move back, you weirdo. She doesn’t need you eyeing her through the crack in the door like a stalker!”

  I unlatch the dressing room door so they can come in.

  “Damn, you look fierce.” Ariana nods approvingly.

  The mirror reflects four women, completely diverse in appearance but all beautiful. Normally, I’m completely content to fly under the radar but it feels good to be seen. There’s no doubt in my mind that even I can command attention in a getup like this.

  “This is a bold dress. Exactly what I need if I’m going to network with clients and make myself visible.” I wish Anya and I were alone so I could ask her thi
s next question but maybe it’s fate that Mya is here, too. After all, she’d know the answer better than anyone.

  “So, do most of our current clients attend? If I have to deal with the client from hell again tomorrow night, let me know now.”

  Mya scoffs. “Mr. Lavin? No, he never attends any of our events. To be fair, I don’t blame him. That’s a long way to travel just for a party.”

  I glance over at Anya in confusion. “A long way to travel? What do you mean?”

  Mya shrugs. “It’s got to be a nine hour flight, at least. Milan to D.C.”

  “Milan?”

  My confusion must be apparent because Mya stops fidgeting with her outfit in the mirror. “Yes. Mr. Lavin is Italian. Didn’t I mention that? He lives in Milan.”

  It takes a lot of work to keep my face blank. “No, I don’t think you told me that.”

  Anya shrugs. “It’s a good thing, right? You probably won’t see him for another six months, at least.”

  “Right. A good thing.”

  When I look up, Ariana is watching me in the mirror. I force a smile.

  “Okay, this dress is the one. Now I just have to figure out what I’m doing with my hair.”

  As I take off the dress and change back into my own clothes, I remind myself that I have no reason to be sad.

  No reason at all.

  10

  * * *

  I fidget slightly, my fingers clenching around my empty champagne glass as I stare up at the massive aircraft suspended in the air above my head.

  The Preview Gala is being held in the National Air and Space Center, an unusual venue but absolutely stunning. Waiters in black tie scurry back and forth hefting trays of champagne, and a small ensemble band plays soft jazz in one corner. A woman glides by wearing a necklace with emeralds as large as quarters.

  Not exactly my typical Saturday night.

  I stand up straighter, suddenly appreciative of all the times my mother corrected my posture and insisted I wear heels to church. We never had much money but my mother was determined to raise me the “proper” way, as a true Southern lady. I hated my mother’s old-fashioned ideas growing up but am extremely thankful for them now. The other women in the room look like the type to wear lace and pearls even when they’re sleeping.

  I’m definitely not in Gracewell anymore.

  I peer at the sign on the wall to read more about the exhibit. It’s a Boeing 314. I don’t know what that means but at least reading the information gives me something to do.

  A passing waiter offers another flute of champagne and I take it, grateful to have something to do with my hands. I raise the glass and take a healthy gulp. Everyone else is engrossed in their conversations and no one seems to notice me, which is probably a good thing. Someone passing on my left bumps into my elbow and champagne sloshes over my hand.

  “Oh hi, Casey. I didn’t see you.” Milo Hamilton holds my arm in a steady grip and flashes a toothy grin. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”

  It’s impossible not to smile back at him. “No problem. Where’s Mya?” A waiter appears like magic, taking my glass and handing over several napkins to mop up the spill.

  “Mya hasn’t arrived yet. She’s coming straight from an offsite meeting with a client. Until then, I’m forced to socialize on my own.” Right then the music changes to something up-tempo.

  Milo holds out a hand and I take it automatically. “Let’s dance.”

  When he moves toward the center of the floor where several couples are already dancing, that’s when I start to have second thoughts.

  “I’ll try not to step on your feet,” I joke.

  He takes me through the moves of the dance, leading with gentle nudges left and right. He spins me and my mouth drops open in surprise when I don’t stumble but execute a perfect turn.

  “Wow. I actually did it! You make this seem so easy.”

  Milo winks. “I figured I should go easy on you. I appreciate you taking pity on me so I didn’t have to stand by myself.”

  I laugh when he makes a pleading face. He’s being very kind. Because I can see from the jealous looks coming from the women around us that he would have no shortage of companions if he chose to mingle. It’s way more likely that he’s taking pity on me.

  “I’m more than happy to hang out with you. I was almost on the verge of leaving and going home.”

  Milo regards me thoughtfully. “I don’t think you want to do that. Not until you put your admirer out of his misery.”

  “Admirer?” Automatically my head swivels around the room. “What are you talking about?”

  Milo looks behind me pointedly. “You’ll see.”

  I turn slowly and scan the room. People move out of the way as someone walks through. My ears start buzzing and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

  Somehow I just know.

  Andre finally appears in the center of the crowd and comes to stand next to us. His eyes never leave mine but his words are for Milo.

  “This doesn’t seem fair, Mr. Hamilton. You can’t keep all the beautiful women to yourself.”

  Milo throws his head back and laughs. He’s such a handsome man with his wavy brown hair and blue eyes. But his laugh doesn’t make my heart race. His touch doesn’t make me lose my breath. Only one man has that effect on me and he’s standing to my side, observing us with a mixture of suspicion and hostility.

  “All I’m going to say, Mr. Lavin, is now we’re even.” Milo seems to enjoy Andre’s discomfort.

  I glance between the two men. “Even? What does that mean?”

  Andre growls something in Italian which causes Milo to grin even harder. I cross my arms as the two continue to stare at each other.

  “Hello? Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

  Milo shakes his head. “I’ll leave that for Mr. Lavin to explain. I’m getting out of the line of fire.” He turns and joins a group nearby.

  I turn back to see Andre watching me with an intense gaze.

  “Mr. Hamilton is just paying me back for a little misunderstanding that occurred while he was wooing Ms. Taylor. I’m starting to understand his position.”

  “Oh, you were dating Mya?” I can only hope the tremor in my voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to me.

  “No. He just thought I was. That was bad enough, believe me.” His eyes fix on my face. “So it’ll just be the two of us. Disappointed?”

  I place a hand self-consciously over my exposed cleavage. The movement draws his attention there and I watch as his pupils widen before he rips his gaze back to my face.

  “Of course not. I’m always happy to talk to you, Mr. Lavin.”

  He grimaces. “Don’t call me that. Please.” The last word is less of a command and more of a plea. “Call me Andre. We’re not in the office. There’s no need to be formal.”

  I can only stare at him for a long moment. He’s behaving so strangely. I have a hard time believing it really matters to him one way or the other what I call him. Especially since he didn’t seem too concerned with that when we met. I let out a soft huff. I was calling him by the wrong name all night and he didn’t say anything.

  “Okay. Andre.” Just saying his name brings a rush of heat to my cheeks. My heartbeat stutters and then begins to beat double time. “Why didn’t you care this much about what I called you when we met. I was calling you Andrew all night.”

  “I didn’t realize until it was too late. It was so loud in there and it sounds so close. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  But I want to tell him that it did matter. That everything we talked about that night has stayed with me. That for the past two months, I’ve wondered about the hot guy who sold men’s clothes and whether he ever got the chance to do something more. Something noble.

  Too bad it was all a lie.

  He has all the power now. With one word to Mya or James, he can have me not only removed from the account but probably fired. According to everything I’ve heard, he’s not a client they
can afford to piss off. So I’ll stand here and make polite conversation.

  But I’ll never again trust a word he says.

  11

  * * *

  There are times when I question my belief in a higher power. Too many bad people prosper while good ones suffer. But tonight, I found my belief in the principle of karma reaffirmed.

  Because watching Milo Hamilton dance with Casey felt like it could only be a karmic punishment.

  I glance over at her. Now that I’ve gotten her to myself, I should feel better but somehow having her alone still doesn’t calm this irrational jealousy I feel. Maybe because I‘m still seeing Milo’s hands all over her bare back. Where the hell did she get that dress? Clumsy Girl wears jeans and T-shirts not satin that hugs every curve and displays an alarming amount of glowing skin.

  Or is that sweat? Is she sweating because it’s hot in here or because she liked dancing with Milo? Just the thought makes me crazy.

  Luckily someone stops by to say hello, saving me from asking her about her dress, her sweat, or anything else that might earn me a glass of champagne to the face. The man shaking my hand vigorously is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company but I can’t remember his name. My mind is a complete blank.

  Well, not a blank. My mind is occupied completely with the memory of how Casey looks sweaty and wearing nothing at all.

  The woman in question has drawn the CEO’s attention. He eyes her appreciatively and suddenly I couldn’t care any less what his name is. Casey is inching to the left slowly, like she’s hoping I won’t notice her moving away. Time to end this conversation. I say a pointed goodbye and then turn to Casey.

  “Have you had anything to eat? Let me at least get you a drink.” I look around desperately for the food.