“You seem to know quite a bit about the academic process.”
“I dropped out of medical school to pursue internet entrepreneurship full-time.” Alexander’s eyebrows climbed, but she shook her head as if to put an end to that line of conversation. “Anyway, that’s just my ten cents,” she said. “I don’t think you’d be interested in the idea and I’d have told Faye that if I’d read it carefully. However...” Her voice trailed off. “I really am sorry I tagged you in that photo.”
“That’s all right,” Alexander said. His head was still spinning as he processed everything that Delysia had just told him. “It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted. “In fact, some folks would consider it an opportunity. And I’m not talking about influencers, I’m talking about folks in my field. I’m just concerned about one thing...”
She lifted her brows and her wineglass.
“This photo... They think we’re together, and that’s not exactly true, is it? In fact, I would seriously doubt the veracity, or the possibility, of such a young lady as yourself dating a stodgy old professor like me.”
“There’s no way you actually believe that,” Delysia said dryly, and he fought back a grin.
“Perhaps not, but it’s a modest thing to say.”
“Modesty doesn’t exist in my line of business.”
He saw her visibly hesitate and was quick to jump in. “Oh, please just say it. I think we’re at the point where we can speak candidly.”
“Well,” Delysia said, drawing out her words, “my take on it? Say nothing, and let the images speak for themselves.”
“Images?”
“Images. Photographs of us talking, and planning, and spending time together, and perhaps if we grow comfortable enough, sometimes spent in close quarters, little moments of intimacy. People will take the smallest image and run away with it. Their imagination will transform it into something tailor-made for them. And honestly, what makes something like this the most enchanting isn’t the setting, or the food, or the wine. It’s the potential for romance. And if we give them that backdrop, well, anything is possible.”
There was something about the soft musicality of her voice that drew Alexander in despite himself, although the speed with which she’d come up with that answer made him wonder if she’d done this before, and exactly how cynical this life might make a girl like her. The lighting was low in the Sky Bar at this hour, and it felt enshrined in a soft, warm cocoon of intimacy. Alexander felt strangely lulled by her company. He had arrived incredibly agitated, but now he felt content enough to sit back and survey his dining companion, and carefully, from the top of her curly head to her small high-heeled shoes. She gave him that odd shy smile and lifted her wineglass.
“I must compliment you on your family’s wine, by the way,” she said, and he laughed, reached out, and took it from her. Their fingers connected with a friction of warmth and he lifted the glass to his own lips and took a long sip.
He tilted his head, considering. “I think...2011, it tastes like.”
“Very good!”
“It was a good year.” For wine, anyway. It had also been the year his father had died.
When Alexander passed her the glass back, she was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “So is that a yes?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not so sure,” Alexander said. “But I do know that you’re a lot more convincing than that publicist of yours.”
Delysia laughed out loud. “Faye is a good one to have in your corner once you get used to her. And whether or not you tell me yes, you’ve already caused a stir tonight. At least ten people in this room just took note of the Abbott-Hill family heir drinking wine out of my glass. And they’ll see us leave together,” she added. “If that is, in fact, your plan.”
“It’s rather late,” Alexander said.
“I’m headed to a birthday party after this. Perhaps you’d like to join me? Think of it as a test. If you enjoy tonight, maybe we can negotiate. If not, I’ll post a retraction in the morning.”
Alexander was more surprised than she was at his next words. “That sounds reasonable. Let me take care of the check and we can be on our way.”
“Faye would kill me for that.” Delysia smiled. “Don’t worry, this is all part of my business expenses.”
“Fair enough,” said Alexander. “Let’s head out.”
* * *
Despite the fact that he was still a stranger to her, Delysia was oddly grateful for Alexander’s steadying hand, hovering just at the small of her back without actually touching her. The wine she drank at dinner had been both heavy and sweet, and she felt a little light-headed.
I’m tired, she realized with an inward sigh. She wasn’t even sure where the rigmarole she had told Alexander that evening came from, but there was something about his gentle sternness that seemed to bring it out. Most of the time it was hard for her to believe her own nonsense, but something about him made her want to uncover something real about what she did, something palpable, something that she could say others would get out of it.
They rode down in the elevator in silence, Delysia sneaking peeks at his profile the entire time. When they reached the first floor of the SoHo Lounge, Delysia gestured at a side door she used more often than not. “We can get a car here,” she said, mostly to fill the silence, “and head over to the party. It’ll be fun.”
“Very well,” Alexander said. “Am I dressed appropriately? I have a graduate assistant who is horrified at the fact that I was coming to this place in my work clothes.”
“You singlehandedly managed to get up into the Sky Bar just by showing up. I doubt that your clothes are going to matter anywhere in this city.” And Alexander looked good. Quite good, although she wasn’t going to open her mouth and say that. He was just tall enough to clear her head even in her heels, and broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with his trousers hanging low enough to showcase a flat torso.
Alexander looked like he wanted to ask her something, but they had already reached the glass doors discreetly placed at the end of the hall. Alexander pushed one open and motioned for Delysia to go through. The minute she did and he followed, a flash of light bulbs blinded them both.
He fumbled for his shades, but Delysia was less prepared. She stumbled on the landing and Alexander caught her quickly, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her instinctively close to him. It took only one dizzy moment for her to register lean muscle and the good, clean smells of brandy, laundered wool, and soap. It was disconcerting, at best.
Alexander had her up on her feet in a moment, and his palm came up to the side of her face, shielding her eyes.
“Faye did her work well,” said Delysia, more than a little irritably. She rummaged through her pocketbook until she pulled out an enormous pair of sunglasses.
“Are you all right?” He was still holding her—not inappropriately, but closely enough to make something in her chest constrict. It had been a long time since a man had held her in a context outside of nightclub dancing. She lifted her eyes behind the shades; their faces were very close together. She could see little details now she hadn’t seen before, like a tiny scar next to his mouth, a hint of what might be fading summer freckles on his cheeks, a subtle dent in his chin.
His hand not only shielded her eyes but created a strange sense of privacy, as if he created a partition from the madness going on in front of them. “Is this what you meant by images?” he said, and his voice was low, almost as much as hers had been earlier. There was laughter in it, but there was a serious note there, too, that made her stomach flip.
Delysia allowed her lips to curve up into a smile, one more mischievous than she had allowed to slide all evening. Suddenly she was feeling better, much more like herself.
“Let’s see how well you can do, then,” she breathed out, a little mockingly. “Dr. Abbott-Hill.” She didn’t know where th
e words had come from or what on earth must have been in that wine to get her to say them, but she took a step forward and leaned in, touching her forehead to his and lowering her lashes.
“Is this all right, Delysia?” she heard him murmur in that odd accent of his. It wasn’t quite English, wasn’t quite New York, an odd mix of both, but was strangely sexy. She pressed her thighs together and cleared her throat.
She nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.
Delysia heard shouts and whooping, but it was all just background noise at the moment because she was being kissed, very sweetly, tenderly, deliberately. He kissed her as if they weren’t virtual strangers who were basing this on some stupid deal. He kissed her as if they weren’t standing in the doorway of the hottest spot in SoHo, and she was suddenly, violently, hungry for more.
* * *
It was probably a terrible idea to have kissed her like that, Alexander reflected, and sneaked a look at Delysia’s profile for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. The two of them were ensconced in the back seat of an SUV they practically needed a ladder to scale (“custom, elevated,” Delysia had explained) and driving downtown at what he felt was an alarming rate, given that they were technically still within city limits.
He cleared his throat, then instantly regretted it as he actually had nothing to say. Delysia’s silence was making him nervous.
She turned and focused on his face without actually meeting his eyes, and when crimson undertones deepened the smooth copper of her skin, he understood.
She’s embarrassed.
Well, he could understand that, perhaps. He certainly hadn’t intended to kiss her as deeply as he had, especially following his conversation with Dean McDermott the day before. However, when Delysia had whispered those words to him in that half-challenging, half-flirtatious tone—
Let’s see how well you can do, then.
His body warmed at the memory. It had been a very long time since he’d kissed anyone, and when he had, it was after weeks of careful courtship, not in a moment of heated impulse.
Wayne will understand, he’d reasoned before kissing her, thinking momentarily of the prickly Dean of Students. After all, Delysia was supposed to be his girlfriend, yes? University policy could hardly keep him from engaging in displays of affection with his partner on social media...
That was the last thing he remembered thinking before kissing her, drawing her close. Now all that remained of the moment was the sweet, subtle scent of her clinging to his clothing and hands.
He opened his mouth to ask her if she had been offended by how enthusiastically he’d taken on his role, but stopped short when she leaned forward, pointing. “There it is.”
Alexander wasn’t quite sure what “it” was. He could see a couple of bodegas, a Laundromat, and the heavy facade of what looked to be one of the district’s older factories, replete with scaffolding, boarded windows, peeling paint. “Are you sure—”
“Yeap,” Delysia responded, and hopped out of her side of the car.
“Yes,” Alexander corrected automatically, and took the opportunity to glance down at his watch.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes,” he repeated. Delysia stared, then shook her head and began rifling in her bag. It was nearly ten thirty, and now that he was outside the car he could hear faint vibrations that hinted ominously at loud music and heaven forbid, dancing. He sighed inwardly, tried not to think of his comfortably saggy corduroy sofa, or the monitor he’d rigged to his laptop so he could stream one of the deliciously long historical documentaries he favored and veg to his heart’s content. He ducked out of the car, watched longingly as it drove off.
When he turned back to Delysia, he caught her hiding a smile. “What?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she said, and gestured. “Shall we go?”
* * *
The doorman at this particular club had presumably never heard of the Abbott-Hills as the bouncer at the SoHo Lounge had. He gave Alexander and his tweed blazer a dubious look, then removed his sunglasses to peer down at Alexander’s ID. Beside him Delysia bit her lip, then reached down and took his hand in one quick motion. He caught another whiff of her perfume as she tossed her curls back.
“He’s with me,” she said airily, and nudged him. Alexander took the wordless hint and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close; he felt Delysia’s warm body tense, then relax into his until there was no space left. He chose not to dwell on how well their bodies fit together, and resolved to keep his lips to himself for the rest of the night.
The inside of the building was like nothing he’d ever seen before—and with Delysia stopping every thirty seconds to greet some remarkably well-dressed person who insisted they take a photo, he had time to look around. The floor was raw, unfinished wood, splashed with paint in various colors; the walls were dark and gloomy, draped with chiffon in shades of gray and mauve. Chiffon also hung from floor to ceiling in strategic places, creating gauzy rooms for revelers to duck in and out of, and he could see shadowy figures engaged in all kinds of activity—drinking, dancing, and in some cases making out. His fingers tightened on Delysia’s waist almost instinctively, and she did not pull away.
Instead, she drew closer, pulled out her phone and scrolled. When she found what she was looking for, she thrust her phone under his nose.
“The birthday girl tagged herself at the bar,” she said low, into his ear. Although it was the quietest sound in the room it stood out to him more than a scream would have. “Let’s go say hello, buy her a shot—then we can leave.”
Alexander nodded; the lights and noise had him completely overwhelmed. The last outing he’d been on with even a hint of a party atmosphere had been his cousin’s, a vineyard wedding out on Long Island. This was a Roman orgy in comparison.
His new companion—girlfriend, he could say, he supposed—gave him a shy half-smile, and they headed off in the direction of the bar. It became difficult not to gape—the party was absolutely bizarre. Servers covered from crown to toes in elaborate body paint circled round with canapés on heavy, Victorian silver trays.
Delysia stopped one and instructed Alexander to take a snap of it from above. “Your arms are longer.” She paused for a moment, watched him take the tray, lift it up, and peer under it. “Whatever are you looking for?”
“A name!” called Alexander over the music.
“A name?”
“Yes, or a stamp, or a hallmark...” Feeling rather silly at his impulse, he handed the tray back to the server. “I thought it might be an antique,” he said sheepishly.
Delysia stared for a full moment before her mouth began to twitch. “I can guarantee you they’re from Party City.”
“Oh, let’s just move on,” said Alexander, more than a little embarrassed. He spoke a little rapidly, to cover up his misstep. “I had no idea...”
She looked at him, lifting her brows quizzically.
“All this,” Alexander said, gesturing a little weakly.
He paused to peer at the rafters. Most of the ceiling above their heads had been removed so attendees could look up to the second floor through a network of rusting steel beams. Contortionists hung from them, draped in silk and chiffon to match the hangings on the walls, folding their long arms, legs, and torsos into elegant shapes that changed each time the thrumming bass announced a new song. Soft gray-blue and white lighting, cutting through a veil of bluish smoke that smelled bewilderingly of burned sugar, completed the scene.
“Is this what it’s like for you? All the time, I mean?” Alexander had come across influencers, of course, online. They invariably seemed to be young women with long hair and carefully painted-on faces shilling everything from weight-loss teas to holiday pajamas, and posting videos in which they danced side by side with what he assumed were popular celebrities, or teaching their adoring public how to draw on their eyebrows, or—wha
tever.
This was an entirely new experience. Delysia and her comrades seemed to have created a moving, teeming underground of excess, celebrating luxury in all its forms. He was as fascinated as he was out place; yes, he studied luxury for a living, but this was something he’d never encountered, not in fifteen years of scholarship.
Delysia was smiling another one of those tiny smiles that didn’t reach her eyes. “Commitment is the first step to success, and we’ve committed. Our audience eats it up.”
“Indeed.” The sight of a macaw balanced delicately on a server’s shoulder scattered Alexander’s wits completely. How was this hygienic? Weren’t there laws?
He started when Delysia placed a hand on his arm and leaned in again. “The Kims are a little ostentatious when it comes to parties,” she said. “Are you claustrophobic at all? You look a little peaky.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t think himself claustrophobic until tonight, then shut it and shook his head instead. He couldn’t compete with the noise.
A man on stilts with a diapered monkey on his shoulder and a tray of shot glasses alight with blue flame bent to offer them each one; Alexander shook his head vigorously, but Delysia took one, blew out the flame, and downed it almost thoughtfully. “Not bad.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a flaming blue ball,” she said with a straight face, and laughed. “I should have taken a picture.”
Alexander shuddered. He definitely could use a drink, but not a flaming—yeah. Definitely not one of those.
The bar took up a wall as long as a city block, and bartenders dressed as Gothic harlequins leaned over the polished glass countertop, taking orders and serving up drinks. Delysia squinted through her lashes before pointing at a throng of people clustering round a young woman seated atop a cornflower-blue chaise. A mime was topping up her champagne glass. She wore a glittery mini-dress and a tiara, of all things, her hair piled up high behind it. Curious, he squinted into the darkness. He’d done a bit of research on jewels some time ago, but he couldn’t tell which...
The Sweetest Charade Page 4