“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding someone to replace me. Everyone is looking for extra cash around the holidays,” Rosie said, putting some steel into her spine. “But you will have a problem keeping them. Especially if you keep reheating fish in the break room. That should be illegal. You, Martha, are the Le Squirt Bon Bon of bosses.” She tucked an escaped curl back into her bun. “Shall we, ladies?”
Rosie set down the perfume Bethany had handed her and swept down the aisle of glass cases, flanked by her two friends. At several of the registers, her coworkers stopped what they were doing to give her golf claps and respectful nods. By the time Rosie reached the exit, she’d grown several inches. Next time she came to this department store, it would be to splurge on another dress. No more perfume. No more puff princesses.
God, she was scared knowing she’d receive only one more paycheck and then she’d have to rely on her modest bank balance, but so be it. You couldn’t put a price on self-respect, and she desperately needed to take some back.
The cold October air reached right through her clothes upon hitting the sidewalk.
“Oh my God,” Rosie said, covering her cheeks with both hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“I can,” Georgie said, laying a sympathetic cheek on her shoulder. “After what happened with Dominic yesterday, you earned the right to stomp a name tag or eight. Martha is lucky it wasn’t her face, as far as I’m concerned.”
Bethany took Rosie by the shoulders. “Look, that was completely badass, but it was a big, bold move that’s going to come with changes. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Rosie shook her head, nerve endings snapping in her wrists and fingertips. “No. No, I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. But tomorrow I’m going to come back better than ever. I have to believe that. I just don’t want to think for a while, you know?”
“Girls’ night out,” Georgie piped up, breathing warm air into her hands and rubbing them together. “It’s the only solution.”
Bethany’s mouth curved into a smile. “Fair warning, ladies. I don’t do any half-assed girls’ nights out. If we’re doing this, we’re swinging for the fucking fences.”
Her sister whooped.
“Manhattan, here we come,” Bethany murmured, eyes sparkling.
A fire built in Rosie’s belly as she listened to Bethany formulate plans. How long had it been since she’d really cut loose? Tonight she’d make up for lost time.
Dominic had just ordered his second beer when Travis and Stephen walked in looking like someone had pissed in their Cheerios.
“Whatever it is,” Dominic said, taking a pull from his fresh Heineken, “I don’t want to know.”
Travis snorted and kicked out a stool, signaling the bartender as he sat down. “Shot, please. Whiskey.”
“One for me, too,” Stephen said, choosing to pace instead of sit down. “Make it a double.”
That gave Dominic pause. Stephen’s idea of partying was adding a second scoop of protein powder to his morning smoothie. His wife, Kristin, ran a tight ship, and since Stephen was trying to prove he was wholesome-family-man enough for her to start popping out babies, he didn’t drink beyond the casual beer. Whiskey meant the world was falling down.
Dominic knew a thing or two about that. He’d gotten shit-faced after the impromptu therapy appointment that had ended in disaster—and he was well on his way there again tonight. Every minute he spent sober, he replayed the moment Armie had told them his marriage to Rosie wouldn’t work. That it was really over. Deep in his bones, he knew that was impossible. But he had no goddamn clue how to prove that to his wife. Worse, if he could go back in time and relive that therapy appointment, he still wasn’t sure he’d come clean about the house. So there he sat. Flawed beyond belief and missing his wife like hell.
The bartender set down two shot glasses and sloshed whiskey into them from a pour spout, taking the twenty-dollar bill Travis slid across the bar. Travis tossed his back, the ex–professional baseball player swiping a hand across his mouth.
“You want to know,” Travis said.
“No, I don’t.”
Stephen leaned against the bar, holding his semi-full shot glass.
“Let me paint the scene for you,” Travis continued.
Dominic frowned. “Are you sipping that shot, Stephen?”
“I like to savor the taste.” To drive his words home, he took another dainty sip, visibly trying not to gag. “S’good.”
“Jesus, man. Just order a Coke.”
“A soda won’t erase the memory of my wife in ice-pick heels and a miniskirt trotting off down the driveway.”
“Christ. I knew this was woman-related.” Dominic eased back from the bar. “Look, I’ve got my own problems.”
“Yeah, you do.” Travis leaned an elbow on the bar and faced Dominic. “Again, let me paint the scene for you. I’m standing in my kitchen, minding my own business. Georgie is in the bedroom and I’m getting ready to . . . you know, go see her there—”
Stephen dragged his hands down his face. “That can’t be relevant to the story, you asshole.”
“It is.” Travis seemed to be fighting back a smile. “I was carrying her a glass of wine to the bedroom—our bedroom, Stephen—when she comes out . . .” His skin paled and he seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. “She’s in this dress I’ve never seen. It’s pure white. White.” He got off the stool and turned, looking back at Dominic and Stephen over his shoulder, one hand indicating his ass. “I could see the shadow between her—”
“Enough.” Stephen held out a stern finger. “Don’t say another word.”
“I’ve never seen those shoes, either,” Travis muttered, sitting back down and burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Dominic split a look between his friends, a growing sense of doom starting to mount in his chest. “Okay, so both of your women are dressed up. Where are they going?”
“Out,” Travis and Stephen stage-whispered, twin looks of horror on their faces. “Bethany showed up to both of our houses hanging out of the top of a limousine, drinking champagne straight from the bottle.”
The door to Grumpy Tom’s flew open and Wes walked in, tipped his cowboy hat to the bartender, and ordered a Budweiser. When he saw Dominic, Travis, and Stephen gathered at the bar, he nodded a greeting and made his way over. “You three look like your mamas told you to stop playing video games and take out the garbage.”
Travis slumped back on his stool. “Worse. Our women are on their way to Manhattan in stripper heels.”
Wes slapped a hand on the bar, but cut his laugh off midway out of his mouth. “Hold on a second, is, uh . . . is Bethany with them?”
“She’s the goddamn ringleader!” Stephen shot back. “You know what song she was blasting in the limousine when she showed up? ‘Like a Virgin.’ I’m going to hear it in my sleep tonight.”
Travis snorted. “Who’s sleeping?”
Dominic was barely able to hear his friends over the increasing tempo of his heartbeat. The beating spread to every inch of his body until he was one giant pulse. “My . . . wife wasn’t in that limousine. Was she?”
Travis threw up his hands. “Yes. She was. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Wes inserted himself between them, a look of concern marring his brow. “Was Bethany wearing the stripper heels, too?”
Acid rose in Dominic’s stomach like a geyser, and he leaned forward on the stool, forcing breath in and out through his nose. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Rosie was supposed to be home safe at Bethany’s. She wasn’t supposed to be leaving town, going to an unfamiliar place. Especially not when their marriage had been declared unsalvageable. Was this a sign that she was ready to shed him like a layer of old skin and move on?
A vein popped behind his eye and throbbed sharply.
All four men were silent for a good minute, none of them watching the ball game that was playing on the
screen above their heads. When the bartender poured them a shot on the house and walked away, they each tossed the golden liquid back without hesitation or a countdown.
“Well, boys. I’ll leave you to it. There’s a church lady babysitting Laura for the night,” Wes said, sniffing. “Might go get some grocery shopping done.”
Travis snorted. “You’re going into the city, aren’t you?”
Wes nodded about ten times and sighed. “Yeah.”
“Hold on,” Stephen said. “Is this an option? How come no one said going to Manhattan was an option?”
“I can’t just go chasing Georgie into the city and dragging her home,” Travis said, his expression incredulous. “You know how hypocritical that makes me? I partied for years before I found her and settled down. She’s never had a chance to cut loose. Besides.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest. “I trust her. She even gave me the address where they were going. Wrote it with little smiley-face o’s.”
“I trust Rosie, too.” Dominic’s voice emerged in a scrape. “It’s men I don’t trust.”
All four men growled. The bartender poured them another shot.
Wes sighed as he downed his whiskey. “Guess we’re taking a cab.”
Dominic was in mental hell, wondering where Rosie was, what she was wearing, what she was thinking, whether the night out was just the girls having fun . . . or if she’d needed it. They hadn’t spoken since he’d walked out of Armie’s office and that distance had been harder than a motherfucker. How hard had it been on Rosie?
Christ. He just wanted to give her good news the next time they met. If he was going to come clean about being a selfish prick, he wanted to have a solution to go along with his apology. I’m sorry I fucked up, honey girl. Here’s the money you need for the restaurant. You’re going to do amazing things. He’d been rehearsing those words in his head since officially putting the house up for sale.
Travis dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “Listen, man. You know how I get the inside scoop on the ladies now that I’m going to marry Stephen’s little sister and give her babies?”
“Fuck you,” Stephen muttered.
“Yeah,” said the other two men in unison.
Sensing something bad on the horizon, Dominic’s heart lodged in his throat. “What?”
“I think I know why they’re blowing off some steam.” Travis blew out a breath. “Rosie quit her job this afternoon. Like, told her manager to go jump in a lake and stomped her name tag to smithereens. That kind of quitting.”
Dominic couldn’t manage a decent breath. Panic seized him at the thought of her being harassed or upset. “Did something happen at the store?”
“No,” Travis said quickly. “Bethany and Georgie were there. Apart from her supervisor giving her some attitude, nothing happened. She’s fine. Georgie just said a girls’ night was in order.” He took his time pointing at each of the men. “That’s why we’re going to let them have it.”
Wes sniffed and drained his beer. “Fuck that.”
They all threw some bills onto the bar and walked out.
Chapter Eighteen
Rosie watched the lights of Manhattan pass by in a blur. Some of that blur was thanks to the champagne she’d downed on their limo ride into the city. Mostly, though, it was just the nature of tonight. The breathless pace of it, the freshness of the experience. She was dressed in silver sequins—straight from Bethany’s closet—her hair was in glossy spirals around her face, and she’d been decorated with dark, cherry-red lipstick. She barely recognized the woman looking back at her from the opposite window’s reflection.
Good. She wanted to be a different kind of Rosie tonight. A Rosie who took risks and made decisions for herself, for better or worse. Tomorrow morning, when she woke up, she wanted to be someone who wasn’t afraid to try new things. Maybe getting drunk and dancing with her girlfriends was a far cry from opening a restaurant, but she had to start somewhere.
She couldn’t blame Dominic for the sheltered life she’d been living. As much as she wanted to blame him for the fact that she never went out, never cultivated friendships or had fun, she had to take ownership. Once upon a time, she’d wanted nothing more than to be home with him. Just the two of them. But toward the end, staying home meant staying in silence. Bobbing around feeling like a disconnected spare part.
She refused to feel that way tonight.
With the expensive leather rubbing the bare backs of her thighs and the sounds of the city drifting in through the open moonroof, Rosie might as well have been living on a different planet. The lack of familiarity excited and scared her at the same time. With her axis already tilted, she was getting ready to tip it even more. Before the night she’d gone to stay at Bethany’s house, she never would have believed she’d leave her husband. This morning, she never would have believed she’d quit her job. Something was changing inside her. Throwing herself outside her comfort zone when everything was already in flux made her pulse race.
Bethany scooted closer on the leather seat. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yes.” Despite her answer, Rosie shook her head no. “I’ve never gone out dancing and drinking like this. Not without Dominic.”
Her blond bestie sipped from her champagne flute and tilted her head thoughtfully. “What are you worried about?”
“We’re not even in the club yet and I feel unfaithful,” Rosie admitted, cupping her knees in her hands. “I’m in this weird place where I’m not sure if I’m afraid to piss off Dominic or if that’s exactly what I want. And I would never look at another man while we’re still married—that’s not what I mean. Maybe . . . maybe I’ll never be able to look at another man. But this dress and this situation where he can’t confirm my safety would be enough to drive him crazy.”
Bethany sighed. “I’m sorry it’s so complicated right now,” she said. “Look at it this way—if going out in a sexy dress is enough to make him lose his shit, the deed is done. The shit has been lost. But you’re here. Might as well relax and enjoy yourself.” They both glanced toward the other end of the limousine where Kristin was trying to fix Georgie’s hair and getting her hand slapped away. “We didn’t come here to meet men, Rosie. It’s just going to be us girls dancing and curating hangovers. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Rosie’s spine straightened. “You’re right.” She blew out a breath. “I deserve this.”
“You’re damn right you do,” Bethany drawled, tossing back the rest of her champagne.
“I’m going to dance until I get blisters.”
“Ouch, but yes. Who says fun can’t be bloody?”
The limousine started to bump along the cobblestones that signaled their arrival in the Meatpacking District. Their destination appeared in the window, and Rosie’s excitement level rose, eclipsing her trepidation. While they’d been getting ready earlier that evening, Bethany had regaled her with stories of nights out at the Gansevoort Hotel. It was a sleek black building, looming high above the packed Friday-night street. After their driver helped them out of the limousine, the women linked arms and clicked on their heels toward the entrance.
As soon as the seemingly identical doormen swung open the double doors, sexy, earthy music rode over Rosie’s bare skin and she inhaled the myriad scents of expensive perfume, cologne, and the rich, polished tones of the hotel lobby. It was darker inside the hotel than on the street, the staff almost intimidatingly good-looking in all-black uniforms.
The women piled into an elevator with several strangers and hit the button labeled Lelie Rooftop. It took them to the penthouse club in three seconds flat, letting them out into one of the most decadent spaces Rosie had ever seen. Just like downstairs, the atmosphere was dark, lit up tastefully with modern chandeliers and muted red candlelight. The club took up the entire rooftop of the building, sprawling in every direction with lounge areas and a dance floor, with a bar in the center of it all. Every side of the club afforded a different view of the twinkling New York City skyline and the Hudson Ri
ver beyond. It was luxurious and magical.
“Wow,” Georgie breathed, getting off the elevator beside her. “And I thought the Waterfront was lit,” she said, referring to Port Jefferson’s favorite date-night spot. “I should have practiced dancing before we came. I’m going to look like a tawdry chicken out there.”
Rosie giggle-snorted. “No, you’re not.”
Bethany signaled a passing waitress, said a few words to her, and they were led through the undulating masses of people, through another set of glass doors, only to be seated in the very corner of the closed-in terrace on a collection of low leather couches. Around them, the avenues stretched out in between the tall buildings like arms wrapped in Christmas lights. They were high up enough to see the downtown sprawl that made up Lower Manhattan and uptown toward the Empire State Building, which was lit orange and yellow for fall.
“You weren’t kidding when you said this wouldn’t be a half-assed girls’ night out,” Rosie murmured when Bethany came up beside her to look out over the city. “I would have been happy with fancy sushi and a rom-com.”
Her friend was visibly trying not to look smug. And failing. “The club owner owed me a little favor. We were in a bidding war over some lighting fixtures online. I let him win in exchange for the VIP treatment next time I ventured into Manhattan.” She threw her arms out wide. “Witness the spoils of décor war.”
They high-fived.
“But wait, there’s more.” Bethany slipped something that looked like a credit card out of her clutch purse and pressed it into Rosie’s hand. “He hooked me up with a free room in the hotel. I thought you could use a night to clear your head.”
“I’m staying here?” Rosie took the shiny gold card, turning it over in her palm with a puffed laugh. “I didn’t bring my pajamas.”
“Don’t you know by now I think of everything?”
Rosie wanted to ask for more details, but Bethany left her standing at the railing and went to sit down. After taking in another deep breath of the city, she followed.
Love Her or Lose Her Page 18