The Test (The List series)

by Fenske, Tawna

  He gives my hand a squeeze then lets go and picks up his second corndog. “Come on. Let’s finish eating so we can get to the Warty Pig demo.”

  I laugh and pick up my phone, which just buzzed with an incoming text message. “That’s Sarah,” I report. “She says thanks again for helping with yesterday’s field trip to Helping Paws.”

  “It was fun.” He grins. “Junie and all her friends seemed to love it.”

  “She had a total blast.”

  He laughs and swipes his corndog through the ketchup again. “I loved how she taught that big Rottie mix to roll over. Duke’s been skittish around everyone else, but Junie just walked right up and melted his heart.”

  “She has that effect on everyone.” I take a bite of my corndog and suddenly remember something I’ve been meaning to ask him. I chew quickly and dab my mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of Junie, are you familiar with the Diamonds and Opals Charity Ball?”

  Dax gives me a guarded look and grabs a fry. “That fancy black tie gala they have in the Pearl District every year? What does that have to do with Junie?”

  “The proceeds this year are going to the Association for Down Syndrome Research,” I explain. “Simon’s on the board of directors, and he bought tickets for the whole family, but it turns out Missy and her husband can’t make it.”

  I let the words hang there for a second.

  “Are you wanting to go?” he asks.

  I nod and take a sip of my iced tea. “I was already planning on it, but now there are a couple of extra tickets. I was wondering if you might like to join me.”

  There, I said it. Well, I didn’t say it quite right.

  “Actually, no,” I say. “Let me rephrase that. I know you probably wouldn’t like to go, since you told me before you hate dressy events.”

  That gets a smile from him. “You have a good memory.”

  “Right. And I guess what I was trying to say is that I would love it if you’d accompany me to the ball. I’d really like to have you with me.”

  Dax takes a bite of his corndog and chews thoughtfully. “It’s the last Saturday of the month, right?”

  I don’t ask how he knows, though I’m curious. I also wonder if he realizes that’s the final day of The Test. If I say nothing, maybe he’ll forget.

  “It’s at the Markham Center this year,” I say. “Black tie only, of course.”

  “Of course.” He nods and sets down his corndog before taking a slow sip of soda. “I accept.”

  “You do?”

  I probably sound like a kid on Easter morning, but I don’t care. I’m giddy that Dax is going with me. “I promise I’ll make it painless. We can hang out with Simon and Cassie and mock snobby rich people all night if you want.”

  That gets a smile out of him. “You know how to push my buttons,” he said. “The good ones, I mean.”

  “I’m a big fan of your buttons.”

  He laughs and picks up his corndog again. “Okay, then. Want me to pick you up in a limo at six?”

  “You don’t have to do that—”

  “Nah, it’ll be fun. I rarely take the opportunity to be a wealthy jackass. Might as well give it a shot.”

  “Thank you, Dax.” I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Really. This means a lot to me.”

  “I know it does,” he says. “That’s why I said yes. Also, why I’d say yes to just about anything you asked me, especially when you do it with your shirt unbuttoned and that pleading look in your eyes.”

  I glance down to see all my buttons are, in fact, fastened. I meet his eyes again to find him grinning. “Okay. Maybe it’s just you.”

  Something flutters in my belly, and I do my best not to break into a little happy dance at the table. “Maybe so,” I say as I reach to steal the last french fry.

  …

  We walk into the ballroom of the Markham Center to a symphony of sounds. Literally, a symphony. There’s an eight-piece orchestra playing in the corner, while tuxedoed waiters float around the room like they’re doing the waltz with their platters of artfully arrayed shrimp puffs.

  I smooth my hands down the skirt of my black silk chiffon gown, a four-thousand-dollar dress I scored for mere pennies from Rent the Runway.

  Not that anyone here needs to know that.

  Judging by the number of designer labels I spot in this crowd, there’s more money in this room than in Bill Gates’s checking account. Ladies in beaded evening gowns laugh a little too loudly, everyone jockeying for attention. It’s the place to be seen for wealthy Portlanders, and I have to admit, it’s a scene I know well. I spot a former client across the room and give a friendly wave before looping my arm through Dax’s.

  “You doing okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, fine, why?” He glances at me and offers a smile made stiffer by the way he’s clenching his jaw.

  “Because you keep yanking at your tie like it’s strangling you.”

  “It is strangling me.”

  I reach up and adjust it for him, then stand on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth. He gives a sexy little growl and pulls me against him, going in for a deeper kiss.

  I’m breathless by the time I pull back. “Better now?”

  “Much.” He grins, a real one this time.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s grab a glass of wine. Maybe that’ll help.”

  “I don’t know if I can swallow with my neck in a noose.”

  “I’m sure you’ll give it your best shot.”

  I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow again as we head toward the bar on the south end of the ballroom. I survey the crowd, keeping an eye out for familiar faces.

  “Your sister’s here, right?” Dax asks.

  “Cassie texted to say they’re running late,” I tell him. “The board roped Simon into giving a last-minute speech, so they’re hiding out in the car scribbling notes or something.”

  “Or something.” He grins and glances down at me. “Is that code for making out in the back seat?”

  I laugh and clutch his arm tighter. “I see you’ve caught on quickly.”

  “I think it’s cool,” he says. “How they’re so into each other.”

  “I agree.” I step around a tuxedoed waiter and wonder which part of their couplehood Dax admires. The crazy-hot chemistry? The easy conversation? The fact that it’s so clear that Simon has Cassie’s back, and vice versa?

  Or maybe it’s the whole package. I can’t help wondering if Dax wants that for himself someday, the way I want it for me.

  I hold back on saying any of that, since a charity ball swarming with well-heeled masses is hardly the place for that sort of conversation. “They’re a great couple,” I agree benignly.

  We step around a massive ice sculpture that’s an architectural model of the new community center they’re hoping to build with funds from this event.

  “Pardon me,” I murmur to two ladies dripping with diamonds and swirling in a cloud of Hermes Perfume 24 Faubourg. The stuff sells for $1500 an ounce, so I can’t say I’m disappointed when one of them grabs my arm.

  “Oh my goodness, Lisa Michaels,” the redhead gushes. “I was just telling Ashley here what a fabulous job you did redesigning Peter and Bridget’s penthouse over in the West Hills.”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, delighted to be recognized for a job I’m pretty darn proud of. “How are Peter and Bridget?”

  “Fabulous,” the blonde says again, and I wonder if it’s the only adjective in her vocabulary “They’re at their place on St. Kitts right now, having a little escape.”

  “Well deserved,” I chirp, though I have no idea what two trust-fund billionaires without jobs would need to escape from. I smile anyway and gesture to the redhead’s diamond choker. “What a gorgeous piece.”

  “Thanks.” She strokes her fingers over the fat rock at the center and leans in conspiratorially. “Max bought it for me to make up for the fact that he spent fifty-grand without telling me on his last boys’ getaway. You know ho
w it is.”

  “Of course,” I say, though I have no earthly idea how it is. Not from personal experience, anyway.

  The brunette extends a well-manicured hand. “I’m Tiffany,” she says. “I love the work you did for Peter and Bridget’s place. The color choices in the formal dining room were exquisite.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “Aubergine and coral really pop in the right setting.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a card?” Tiffany asks. “I’m looking to redo my place in Lake Oswego.”

  “Absolutely.” I fish into my beaded handbag and extract a business card from my monogrammed silver holder. “My sister and brother-in-law live right there on the lake, so I’m over there quite a bit. I’d love to swing by sometime and take a look at the space.”

  “Wonderful,” she says with a little finger flutter that’s equal parts friendly and dismissive. “I’ll be in touch. Ciao.”

  “Ciao,” I echo, thanking my lucky stars she didn’t do that stupid trendy air kiss that got so popular with Portland socialites a couple of years back.

  As the ladies wander off, I feel Dax watching me. “What?” I ask, not sure how to read his expression.

  “You.” He gives a small smile, but I can’t tell how to read it. “You really know how to work a crowd like this.”

  “Thanks.” I’m not entirely sure that was a compliment, but I’m choosing to take it as one. “Schmoozing at events like this can be important for my business.”

  “I can see that.” He smiles and leans down to plant a kiss at the edge of my ear, and I shiver with pleasure. “And I can see right down to your belly button in that dress. Have I mentioned it’s fucking fantastic?”

  I grin and reach up to finger one of the beaded straps. “What, this old thing?”

  He laughs and grabs my hand again. “Come on. Let’s go get that wine.”

  We’ve almost reached the bar when an elegant blonde steps in front of us. She wears a glittering red Versace gown and a smile so big I could count her teeth.

  She reaches out to touch Dax’s arm, and I have to fight the urge to bite her hand.

  “Dax, honey.” She smiles wider, and I think maybe I can see her kidneys. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  Judging his tense expression, the feeling is not mutual. His arm stiffens in my grip, and I glance up to see he’s clenching his jaw again.

  He turns and looks at me with a stony expression, and I know.

  It’s her.

  “Lisa Michaels,” he says slowly. “I’d like you to meet Kaitlyn Whitaker.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dax

  The shock in Lisa’s eyes would be completely undetectable to anyone who hadn’t spent the last month watching for clues to her state of mind.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Kaitlyn,” Lisa says with so much poise and charm she’s practically oozing it.

  My ex-girlfriend extends her own manicured hand, and the two ladies exchange the most civilized, frosty handshake in the history of female handshakes. “Likewise,” Kaitlyn says, eyeing Lisa up and down. “Lovely dress. Naeem Khan, right?”

  Lisa nods and tosses her hair, cool as can be. “That’s right. Yours is beautiful, too.”

  “Mmm, thank you. It’s Versace.”

  “Yes, I recognize it. From their fall collection, yes?”

  I grit my teeth, understanding this as part of the mating dance that’s done between the social elite at events like this where everyone’s trying to figure out how some new introduction might benefit their career or social status. Three years with Kaitlyn made me familiar with it, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. The women chatter on about their shoes and handbags and I start to tune out until I hear my own name.

  “Dax, sweetie.” Kaitlyn rests a hand on my arm, and I wonder if Lisa recognizes it’s a power play. Probably not, since she has no way of knowing my ex was never an arm toucher or a pet name user during our time together. Kaitlyn’s shark smile is another indicator, and she flashes it at me before continuing. “How do you and Lisa know each other?”

  I glance at Lisa, waiting to see what she’d like to volunteer. How she’d like to frame our relationship. “We met at the Driftwood Room,” Lisa says, taking charge of the conversation and steering it back to safer turf. “Have you been there?” Lisa asks. “Their Sazerac is to die for.”

  “I haven’t yet, no.” Kaitlyn’s guarded expression says she’s weighing how crucial this might be to her social standing. “How does it compare to the Sazerac at Pepe Le Moko?”

  “Mmm, they use George Dickel rye and a splash of hibiscus tea simple syrup, for starters. Very fresh and unique.”

  I start to tune out again, wishing like hell we’d made it to the bar. I could go for two fingers of Jack Daniels neat right about now. I consider slipping away, or maybe signaling Lisa that I need some air. Then again, maybe a connection with Kaitlyn could benefit her business somehow. Far be it from me to fuck that up for her.

  I’ve lost track of the conversation again when I hear Kaitlyn’s voice addressing me.

  “So, Dax,” she says. “I hear you’re kind of a bigshot now.”

  The words are barbed hooks, but the bait is tough to resist. This is what I’ve wanted, right? A chance to rub my ex’s face in the fact that I’ve moved on to better things?

  One of those better things saves me by resting her hand on my arm and giving a reassuring smile. “Dax’s company was just mentioned in Oregon Business magazine,” Lisa says, giving my arm an almost imperceptible squeeze. “Maybe you saw the article?”

  “Maybe.” Kaitlyn glances at me, calculating. She picks up the event program off the bar table next to us and flips it open. “Well, then. Maybe you’d like to bid on one of the silent auction items? On behalf of the company, of course.”

  She holds the program open in front of me, and I glance down at the sea of words. Letters swirl in a chaotic alphabet hurricane that makes no sense at all. Words, so many goddamn words. A cold sweat prickles my forehead, and my pulse starts to hammer in my ears.

  I know this feeling. I know it so fucking well and I hate it.

  “Uh—” I jab a finger at one collection of indecipherable letters and shrug. “Sure. I think I’ll bid on that.”

  Lisa glances down at the page, and the two women titter with laughter. Kaitlyn covers her mouth in feigned politeness, but not before I see traces of a smirk. “Oh, Dax,” Kaitlyn says. “You’re useless.”

  Still giggling, Lisa gives a little head shake. “Come on, now. Men are always a little hopeless when it comes to that sort of buying decision.”

  Kaitlyn takes the program back and shakes her head at whatever the hell I’ve pointed at. “Yeah, but it would be just your dumb luck he’d end up winning it. Then you’d be stuck.”

  Rage is bubbling hot and sour in my chest. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but their words bounce off my eardrums like stones thrown at a brick wall.

  Useless.

  Hopeless.

  Dumb.

  There’s not enough air in the room. I yank at my tie, desperate to get out of here. Desperate to escape the money and the condescension and the fake laughter and clinking glasses.

  I mumble something about needing air as I turn and stalk out of the room. Laughter echoes behind me, and my mouth fills with the sour taste of orange popsicle and shame.

  I don’t stop walking until I find myself out in the parking lot. Standing there with my back against the building, I gulp huge lungs full of air until my breathing begins to slow.

  “Dax?”

  I turn to see Lisa approaching, her expression pinched with worry. “Are you okay?”

  She totters a little on too-high heels, and I hate myself for feeling judgmental instead of protective. But goddammit, who the hell chooses footwear that practically begs for a broken ankle? People who give a shit about appearances, that’s who.

  “Go back inside,” I say. “I need a minute.”

  Twin creases app
ear between her brows, and she glances uncertainly back over her shoulder. “Is this about the cufflinks?”

  “Cufflinks?”

  “The ones you pointed at in the catalog. The four-thousand-dollar solid gold Star Wars cufflinks. I’m sorry, I thought they seemed a little ridiculous, but I guess—”

  “Ridiculous.” The word is bitter and sharp on my tongue, and I spit it onto the pile of judgements that have been hurled at me throughout my life.

  “Dax?”

  I turn to see her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you here, Lisa?”

  She looks at me uncertainly. “I just wanted to be sure you’re okay,” she says. “Everyone around us got kind of worried when you went shoving through the crowd like a Walmart customer on Black Friday.”

  I know she’s trying to lighten the mood, but something about the joke makes me angrier. She’s standing here in her gazillion-dollar dress and gazillion-dollar shoes like someone who’s never set foot in a discount store. Never had to shop the sales or scramble for every goddamn penny.

  You don’t have to, either, dumbass. Not anymore.

  I might have money now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it feels like to go to bed hungry. To feel the scornful eyes of people like Kaitlyn and Lisa and all the rest of them.

  I clear my throat, recognizing that I need to be very, very careful right now.

  “You’d better go back inside, then.” There’s a dark note in my voice that I wish wasn’t there, and I scrub my hands down my face in hopes of resetting my attitude. “If you care so damn much what everyone thinks of you, you’d better not leave the gossip squad alone for too long.”

  Her expression shifts from concern to irritation. She folds her arms over her chest and stares me down. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I should just apologize for being an asshole, put my arm around her, and take her back inside to grab that glass of wine.

  But a lifetime of shame and anger and judgment are bubbling in my gut, and I can’t seem to stop them from frothing up through my stupid mouth. “It means I don’t belong here, Lisa. And clearly, you do.”

  She stares at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”