by Alison Kent
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Prologue
New Year’s Eve, 2002
Home of Raphael Monticello, New York City
“HAPPY FREAKIN’ NEW YEAR,” said Arianne Sorenson, raising a flute of champagne to no one in particular.
It was an hour past midnight and the annual New Year’s Eve party at the home of famous shoe designer Rafe Monticello continued in full swing, but back here at the marble-and-gilt bar, there was only her, eleven empty bar stools and an Italian bartender who didn’t speak much English.
“Back at you, girlfriend!”
Arianne was so surprised to hear another female answer her that she turned rather suddenly on her bar stool and nearly toppled off onto her Dolce-&-Gabbana-clad butt.
“Natalie Trent,” the redhead said. “Mind if I join you?” Not waiting for an answer, she hoisted herself onto an adjacent stool and carefully set a signature gold shoe box on the bar.
Arianne supplied her name, deciding she liked her new friend’s direct approach.
Natalie tugged the hem of her black sequined skirt down a notch. “What are we drinking to?” She signaled the bartender for another champagne.
Arianne considered the question seriously. Before she could come up with a toast that simultaneously expressed present misery but left the door open for future bliss, another female voice broke into her thoughts, this one pitched lower than the first.
“Are we all playing wallflower? Great. I need a breather.” The third woman joined them, carelessly adjusting the plunging neckline of the unbuttoned man’s dress shirt she wore tucked into a fringed miniskirt. Mascara was smudged beneath her exotic eyes and lipstick blurred the shape of her mouth.
It was clear she’d been involved in more than the ceremonial New Year’s Eve kiss.
Arianne leaned closer and whispered, “You have a tuxedo shirt stud in your hair.”
With a husky laugh, the woman flipped her dark hair over her face, shaking out the stud. It fell onto the bar and she gazed at it with a small smile playing over bee-stung lips. “I always like to keep a party memento.”
“From a stud of a different kind, no doubt.” Arianne suppressed a sigh.
Everyone else always seemed to get lucky on New Year’s Eve.
“Pour another one, honey,” the brunette said to the bartender, who obligingly filled a third flute with Rafe Monticello’s vintage French champagne. As the bubbly liquid foamed, Natalie introduced herself and Arianne.
“Isabel Parisi,” the third woman replied, popping the stud into her evening bag before accepting her own glass.
“Arianne was just making a toast,” Natalie said.
The two women looked to Arianne expectantly, as though this were her bar and these her guests. Not wanting to appear like a lonely loser when they were both obviously having a much better time than she, Arianne skipped the present misery part and went straight for future bliss. “Here’s to fulfilling our dreams,” she said.
“Fulfilling our dreams,” the others echoed as they clinked glasses.
Natalie and Arianne took ladylike sips.
Isabel drained her champagne in one long gulp. “We should smash our glasses against the fireplace to make our wishes come true.”
“Oh, no. You can’t!” Arianne cried. “These are stem crystal. Seventy-eight dollars a glass at Saks.”
Because the other two were blinking at her as though she were under the illusion she was a contestant on The Price Is Right, she rapidly explained.
“I’m Rafe Monticello’s accountant. I see all the bills.”
“It must cost him a pretty penny to give away hundreds of pairs of Monticellos every year as party tokens,” said Natalie.
Arianne shuddered. “You don’t want to know.”
In the past few years, Rafe had put his Harvard MBA to work launching his Italian mother’s shoe designs in America. Since he became CEO, the company had gone from outrageous success to outrageous success. Blahnik, Choo and Monticello were the trio to make any shoe fetishist drool.
Natalie pointed to the pair of Monticellos on Arianne’s feet—the ones from last year’s party. “I saw those on Fifth Avenue for six hundred retail.”
Arianne nodded. “Even the wholesale price is more than I would ever spend on shoes.”
“I’d just as soon go barefoot.” Isabel crossed her long bare legs, lounging against the bar. She wore simple beaded ballerina flats. “But if we must put on killer stilettos, why not do it in style, courtesy of Rafe? He can afford the indulgence.”
“Beats going home alone.” Natalie let out a weighty sigh. “Again.”
They sipped for a while in silence.
“Well, aren’t we the cliché,” Isabel observed. “A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Three single chicks, sitting at a bar.”
“You’re single?” Natalie blinked and then looked briefly at the bag containing the stud’s stud.
Noticing the direction of her glance, Isabel said, “Are we talking tonight or for life?”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“Uh-uh. I love being single. I came here for the fine selection of French champagne and Italian men. Bellissimo.” Isabel kissed her fingertips at the bartender, who winked at her.
“Si, Bella,” he replied.
She turned toward the other women. “How about you two?”
“Fashion reporter,” Natalie explained. “I pretty much had to kill to get an invitation, but it was worth it. I get to hang out with people I want to interview, and take home a pair of Monticellos.” She smoothed her hand adoringly over the gold box.
Arianne shrugged. “It’s my job. Rafe is an important client. I come to make nice.” She lifted a foot in the air and let the light catch the soft gleam of expensive leather. “And I come for the Monticellos.”
“Don’t tell me you both prefer the shoes to the men,” Isabel teased.
“Hmm,” Natalie murmured, then drained the last of her champagne. “At least shoes only hurt your feet.”
Recognizing one another as veterans of the Manhattan dating wars, the three women shared looks of commiseration.
Isabel brightened her wry smile before their private party cycled downward into pity. “I’m in fashion, too.” She preferred to stick to career talk rather than explain her colorful history with men. “Fabric designer. I’ve been working with the Monticellos on their spring line.”
This spurred a lively discussion of who they knew in common, the upcoming Fashion Week and what was happening among the rich and famous fashionistas.
By the time they were ready to leave, they’d become friends. Isabel was already inviting them to a post-party rehash at her Elizabeth Street loft near SoHo for New Year’s day brunch. Natalie was working out how to use Arianne’s influence to get an exclusive interview with Lucia Monticello, the shoe designer and Rafe’s mother, and Arianne was trying to come up with a polite way to ask Isabel how she managed to show up at a party, get laid and still go home single.
They decided to share a taxi. As they prepared to leave the bar, Natalie pulled the others into a three-way hug and declared, “We have to make a solemn vow that if we’re all still single next year, we’ll do this again.”
“No man’s catching hold of me,” Isabel said with a saucy wink. “I’m in.”
“My engagement just ended a year ago,” Arianne said. “I’m sure I’ll be here.”
Natalie paused. “Look. I met someone tonight—” she bit her lip “—but he kind of disappeared. If he doesn’t reappear and sweep me off my feet in the next three hundred and sixty-four days, I’m in, too.”
“Swear it on your
Monticellos!”
Solemnly, each of them placed a hand on the distinctive gold shoe box and promised.
Chapter One
Susannah Quincy was furious. She smacked down her copy of Blissfully Single, the new guide for women who wanted to maintain their independence, keep their sanity and never, ever get married. Who could read at a time like this? Her gaze landed on the back cover photo of the author, a stunning blonde who looked entirely blissful.
“Probably because she’s single,” Susannah said angrily. Tossing the book farther away, she glared at her sparkling engagement ring. Pretty diamond. Signifying absolutely nothing!
She rose and checked the clock. Eleven thirty-five. “Carter is so not coming,” she muttered. “Carter is so a dead man.” He had always been a little unreliable, a little inconsiderate. But this was the last straw.
Susannah sashayed over to the mirror. She’d chewed off all her lipstick, but other than that, she still looked really good, if she did say so herself. A red dress with her flaming red hair was something she didn’t usually do, but tonight, she’d been willing to take the risk. It was New Year’s Eve, after all. If you couldn’t shake it up on New Year’s Eve, when could you? She loved her dress, she loved how her hair looked, all soft and wavy, with tiny sparkles that matched her dress scattered here and there. And yet here she was, home alone on New Year’s Eve.
The clock now said it was 11:40. She felt certain Carter must already be at the party, because there was no way he would skip something as important as the New Year’s Eve party thrown in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Marceau when absolutely every major player at Manley & Marceau International would be there, including both Manley and Marceau. Carter was way too much of a company man to miss this prime occasion for sucking up.
If he was already there, that meant he had gone without her, simply neglected to pick her up as planned and not even bothered to call. “Carter is a dead man,” she repeated, with more energy this time. Suddenly, she decided. “I am going by myself. I work there. I am entitled to be at the party. I am going to go in there, find Carter and throw the ring in his face!”
After applying a new coat of lipstick, she swept out of the apartment, fuming the whole way to the Hotel Marceau. Once there she zoomed up in the elevator to the lavish, wraparound penthouse suite.
When the doors opened, Susannah saw a crowd of well-dressed people sipping champagne against the twinkling backdrop of a big Eiffel Tower centerpiece. She tried not to soften her mood. But she did love this place. Tonight, it was more romantic than ever, dark and lush, with the tension of midnight fast approaching.
Intent on finding Carter before she lost her nerve, she squeezed into the party. Luckily, Carter was tall enough that even in this crowd, she quickly spotted the top of his head. Getting ready to confront him, she tried to wrest the ring off her finger, but it was too tight. How could she throw the ring in his face if it wouldn’t come off? So she gave up, marched over and tapped him on the shoulder. The minute he turned, she hauled back and slapped him across the face. Hard. “How do you like that, Carter?”
Except it wasn’t Carter.
It was a gorgeous man, a man she’d never met who happened to be about the same height and coloring as Carter.
Around her, people went crazy, chanting, “Ten! Nine! Eight!”
Staring at the man she’d just smacked, Susannah began, “I-I’m sorr—“
But the count hit Two and then One, and the penthouse exploded with horns and blowers and noisemakers. Everybody shouted, “Happy New Year!” as the man she’d never met bent closer.
And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Chapter Two
Susannah found herself tangling her arms around his neck, sliding herself up into his embrace…. And kissing him back.
Kissing him back?
There was so much noise and music. All around, people were laughing and shouting and hooting on their horns. This man, whoever he was, was a fabulous kisser. Was it her fault if she was overwhelmed by the atmosphere and the timing and the man?
As he slanted his mouth across hers, he shoved his hands into her hair, tipping her face so that he could take the kiss deeper. Was it the magic of the kiss that made her see stars? Or was that a cascade of tiny, shimmering crystals cascading from her hair?
Susannah hung on for dear life. Who knew New Year’s Eve could be like this? Who knew a kiss could be like this?
Finally, so dizzy she could barely see, she had to break away to breathe. She drew back, pushing a hand against his chest. “Who are you?” she whispered, eyes wide, drinking in the gorgeous man.
There was no way she should have mistaken him for Carter. He was tall, maybe an inch taller than her fiancé, with broader shoulders and an easy grace that made him look elegant even though his clothes were casual. Where most of the men at this party wore tuxedos, he had a white shirt with an open collar and a simple black jacket over jeans. Jeans? At the Hotel Marceau’s posh, black-tie New Year’s party?
And yet he looked perfect. His hair was light caramel brown, a bit darker than Carter’s sandy shade, and he had blazing blue eyes. Amazing blue eyes.
How funny that she was still having trouble getting enough air. “Who are you?” she asked again.
He worked his jaw, massaging it with one hand. “Maybe you should’ve asked that before you slapped me.” He smiled. “Who are you?”
“Maybe you should’ve asked that before you kissed me.” She touched her tender bottom lip with one finger, wondering if her lips would ever be the same.
“It was the stroke of midnight,” he said dryly. “I had to kiss you.”
She took another step back. “It’s not exactly a law.”
“Aw, come on.” His tone was light and teasing, which made him even more charming than he already was. Which ought to have been illegal. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Everybody is kissing everybody. “
“I’m not everybody,” she protested, trying to keep her wits about her.
“I already know that,” he mused. His eyes raked her up and down, and she wished she’d chosen a more conservative dress. This one dipped low in the front, plunged scandalously in the back, and was held up only by tiny threads of crystal beads. “You’re definitely not just anybody.”
Susannah felt naked in the middle of the party. She glanced up at Mr. Great Kisser, feeling bewitched and bewildered under his heated gaze. He had narrow, clever lips. Excellent kissing lips. With her red lipstick still on them.
Without thinking, she extended her thumb to rub away the traces. But he caught her hand.
“What’s this?” he asked, glancing down at her ring finger and then back up at her face. “Are you engaged? To who?”
Chapter Three
He waited for her answer.
“Am I engaged?” she echoed. She was staring at her ring as if she didn’t know herself.
“Just a hint,” Trey Jameson said tactfully. “It looks real to me. Not like something you got out of a gumball machine.”
The redhead he’d kissed at midnight, the one with the sparkling hazel eyes and the pale, glowing skin, was instantly wary. “How would you know whether it’s real or not?”
He shrugged, enjoying keeping her off-balance. Even if she was engaged, she was just too lovely not to play with. “I’m a good judge of jewelry,” he told her. Which only made her look at him with more suspicion. He noticed she still hadn’t answered his question. “So, are you engaged? Or did you just wear an engagement ring to hold off any strange guys who might kiss you at midnight?”
“I’m really engaged,” she insisted. But she stopped, considered, and then started again. “For now.”
Interesting answer. She was stunning, mysterious and a hell of a kisser. His New Year’s Eve just kept getting better and better. “Oh, I get it. That’s who you meant to slap,” Trey suddenly realized. “The fiancé.”
“Well, yes, but…No.” Her eyes clouded. “I didn’t plan to slap him. That w
as more spur of the moment.”
“But you’re only engaged to him for now. Hmmm…” He let his gaze sweep her again, lingering on the place where the shocking red of her dress slashed across the creamy white curve of her breast. God, she had gorgeous skin. “So the question is,” he began, tearing himself away from the view with difficulty, “how long were you planning to stay engaged?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Is he here?” Trey inquired.
“I don’t know that, either. I think so,” she stammered. “I was coming here to break up with him, actually, to give back the ring, but—“
“Good for you,” he interrupted.
“Good?”
Trey nodded. “I think people should take risks. And you’re way too beautiful to be engaged to some guy who doesn’t appreciate you enough to find you at midnight on New Year’s Eve.” His smile widened as he bent close to her ear. “His loss, my gain,” he whispered, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes and the way she seemed to catch her breath when he stood too close. “That’s what I’m doing. Taking risks, crashing parties, kissing women I’ve never met before. It’s a lot of fun.”
“I’m not the risky sort of person, and…” She edged away from him. “Now that I’m here, kind of out of the heat of the moment, I don’t know whether I can do it or not. Give him back the ring, I mean.”
“The fact that you stormed in here and slapped me because you thought I was him is a pretty good indication to me that you want to break it off,” he said logically. He nabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and handed it to her. “I think you should definitely dump the guy.”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?”
“The guy.” She gulped down the whole glass of champagne. “My fiancé, Carter. He just spotted me. And he’s headed this way.”