by Molly Harper
Rowley had succeeded in making my life very difficult, recommending the job to Josh. He liked to think he had a lot of influence, and he had a vendetta against me for the whole blackballing thing. He would love to think he got at me through the system. And arranging for an impressive candidate to interview for the job I wanted was definitely getting at me. He’d probably shown up at the Derby party to gloat. Asshole.
But I wouldn’t give him any hint of how well his “referral” was working out, because that would make him happy. And I was willing to devote a lot of time and energy to not making Rowley happy.
I thought I’d managed to keep him at a distance so far. How had he managed to sneak into this party? Had Josh invited him as thanks for getting him the job interview? Had he snuck in from a gathering on some other level of the complex? Security was supposed to be checking the lists before letting people through the doors. Kelsey probably would have flying-tackled him if she’d seen him. Maybe some other disillusioned, well-meaning guest had vouched for him?
“Mr. Rowley,” I said, just barely separating my teeth to speak. “So nice of you to join us, have you seen the door? It’s right over there.”
And by “nice,” I meant, There could be an army of zombie jockeys breaking down the doors to devour us. By comparison, this situation is nice.
“Well, even though my invitation seems to have been lost in the mail, you’ll find that I’m still welcome in most circles,” he said, his tone biting.
“I’ll keep that in mind before leaving my drink unattended,” I said sweetly.
“Now, that’s a silly thing to say,” he said, his mouth pressed into a bitter, cold line. “I wouldn’t go around making ‘jokes’ like that. You know, I am really going to enjoy watching you make a fool out of yourself. I heard about the hoops you’re going to jump through to get your promotion. I am going to savor watching you hop through each and every one.”
“ ‘Savor’ is a pretty fancy verb, Rowley. Did you read it on your word-of-the-day calendar?”
He sneered, leaning even closer so that he towered over me. “You know, Sadie, if you’d been the least bit nice to me, I could have made your life a lot easier. I could have made your career for you. I could have made you marketing director with just one phone call. But you had to be a bitch, so I made a different kind of phone call. How do you like working with Josh?”
“He’s an absolute darling,” I lied smoothly. “We get along famously. So well, in fact, that we’re thinking about stacking our desks like bunk beds so we can share an office.”
I heard a throat clear behind me. “Well, that’s news to me.”
I turned to find Vaughn staring at the pair of us, the expression on his face inscrutable. “C.J., how are you?” he asked.
Rowley gave him that “manly men together” greeting of the secret handshake and a hearty slap on the shoulder. To be honest, I had some sort of auditory rage blackout, seeing two of my least favorite people in one place, and had no idea what was said over the next few minutes. Rowley was smirking and nodding toward me, his hand slipping down my arm to wrap around my wrist. Vaughn seemed confused and unhappy to see the two of us basically holding hands. I wasn’t thrilled with it, either. But the skin-to-skin contact brought me out of my state and my ears seemed able to tune in again.
“Oh, Sadie and I go way back,” Rowley was saying with this implied intimacy that I did not find amusing in the least. “I hope you’re enjoying her.”
I tried to shrug off the fingers clamped around my wrist, but his grip tightened almost enough to bruise. “Behave yourself, Rowley.”
He leaned entirely too close and used a shockingly pleasant tone to tell me, “You don’t tell me how to do anything. You’re a low-level nobody and you’ll never get any further than that. I’ll make sure of it. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
Staring at the way Rowley was handling my wrist, Vaughn moved forward, seemingly intent on breaking his hold. With his frat bro distracted, I grabbed hold of Rowley’s pinkie and twisted up. He gave a short barking yelp, allowing me to break free.
“I know exactly who I’m messing with,” I told Rowley. “Someone in dire need of manners and an Altoid. You have three minutes to get out before I tip off the security guards that a man fitting your description is actually a militant animal rights operative, here to free the horses.”
Vaughn’s jaw dropped and he moved closer to me, his arm hovering just below the small of my back. Whether it was to protect me from Rowley or vice versa, I had no idea. But Rowley merely chuckled. “This is why I brought Josh in, Sadie. At least he behaves like a professional.”
I smiled frostily. “You’re down to two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he walked away.
“Creep,” I shot back quietly, sipping my iced tea.
“Is that how you speak to party guests?” Vaughn asked, though I noticed he didn’t move his arm from my back.
“It’s how I speak to uninvited guests with a tendency to say inappropriate things to my staff, and who make almost every woman I know uncomfortable.”
“I barely know him,” he said solemnly.
“He got you this job. I didn’t think it was possible that he had that sort of power.”
“He got me a business card,” Vaughn countered. “I got myself the job. I had no idea he—I mean, he was kind of aggressive with girls at school, but I thought he’d grow out of it. Most guys do when they get out into the real world.”
“Well, you could have asked.”
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “I could have called the office where I was applying for a job and asked whether the person who told me about that job was a creep?”
“I know it’s illogical,” I grumbled, making Josh chuckle.
When I saw Rowley cross the threshold, I breathed a sigh of relief and wished for something stronger than iced tea. But at this rate, I needed all of my brain cells functioning. At least Rowley was up-front about his hostilities. My issues with Josh Vaughn were as murky as the Ohio River. He had moments when he wasn’t entirely awful. But I didn’t know what he was capable of, or how much of his energy would be devoted to sinking my personal ship. I had a feeling that if he ever figured out I’d been present for the creative editing of his “pubic” PowerPoint slides, that energy would go nuclear.
“I’ll be fine.” I sighed.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Vaughn snorted. “But it might help if you relaxed that line between your eyebrows. Angry furrows don’t exactly give off a ‘fun party’ vibe.”
I took a deep breath and tried to pull my facial muscles into a less menacing alignment.
“Have you ever tried to force yourself to relax while someone’s watching you?” I griped, working my face around into various hopefully more pleasant expressions.
“There you go. So, even aside from my esteemed fraternity brother crashing the party, I’ve noticed you’re not your normal perky, cheerful self today. I take it an event like this is too staid for you?” he asked. “Not enough oversize fiberglass animals and re-created pioneer dwellings?”
“First, you rarely find fiberglass animals and pioneer cabins in the same attraction,” I told him primly, making him chuckle. “And second, no. I don’t mind coming to this; it’s as much a part of our culture as basketball, country music, and well, tobacco used to be. I just always get nervous at these things. The chance of my saying something stupid seems to increase proportionately with the average income of the people in the room.”
Why I’d just revealed that to someone I was competing against, I had no idea. But it was just so pleasant, not sniping at each other for once. Vaughn had such a nice laugh, and it was great to hear it and know that I caused it—in a nice, nonmocking way. It was going a long way toward settling my Rowley-jangled nerves. And the fact that
I could see Ray from the corner of my eye, watching us, made having a friendly conversation that much easier.
“Rich people aren’t that different from the rest of us,” Vaughn mused. “Really, they only pay attention to you long enough to assure themselves that you’re one of them, and then they move on to watching someone else. So, really, you just have to be convincing for five or six minutes.”
I laughed, taking the julep cup he procured from a passing tray. I wouldn’t drink it, but it made a handy prop. An unspoken truth among Kentuckians is that a very small percentage of the population actually enjoys mint juleps. They are served only on Derby Day and only because they’re traditional. I doubt anyone has ever actually bellied up to a bar and said, “You know what sounds good? A big glass of sugary, watered-down bourbon with crushed mint.”
Then again, I have mojito issues.
“And how is one convincing?” I asked him.
“Well, the clothes, for one, which you seem to have a pretty artful hand with. You’re current, but not so current that the ladies who lunch would consider you avant-garde.”
“Heaven forbid.”
He looped his arm through mine as we traversed the room. “The second thing is education. You can leave them guessing as to who your people are, because if your accent’s right and you can claim the right fraternity at the right school, they’ll just assume it’s some acceptable family they’ve got some acquaintance with.”
“I don’t know what’s scarier, the fact that you’ve devoted so much thought to this, or that you’re probably right,” I said with a sigh.
“Still, I got a little smile out of you. And look at it this way, you don’t have to speak today, so Kelsey and her emergency kit aren’t needed.”
“She told you about that?” I gasped, feeling more than a little betrayed.
“No, I found the kit under the registration table. She brought it with her today, just in case. And considering your pregaming at the hat auction, I put two and two together. It’s kind of sweet, really. You’re good with people, but you panic when you realize they’re looking at you. And really, who could blame them for looking at you? You’re creating a personal paradox.”
I stared at him for a beat, then cowered and looked skyward, holding the edges of my hat as if it would protect me from the frogs and locusts bound to pour forth from the sky.
“What are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.
“You paid me a compliment,” I whispered, my voice mock-quivering with fear. “I am waiting for the arrival of biblical plagues.”
He chuckled and was about to respond when—
“Josh!” A surprised feminine voice sounded behind him.
An exquisitely pretty blonde in a violet suit-dress stood stock-still, staring at Vaughn as if he were the very last person she expected to run into in a good and decent world. For his part, Vaughn looked like he’d been smacked across the face with a shovel. He was frozen, his fingers digging into my arm so hard I had to tap my heel against his toes to get his attention. The most fleeting impression of a frown bent his mouth before he released my arm.
“Lydia?” he asked, his face returning slowly from its pasty gray color. His cheeks were flushing now, an angry, bruised red. “What are you doing here?”
It was like watching a social train wreck. I couldn’t look away. Was this the ex-girlfriend? The pod person who had hatched Vaughn fully formed in his perfectly pressed suits?
“Dawn invited me. She said I just had to come up and see the race in person. She thought it would be a good distraction for me. As you can imagine, I haven’t been my usual cheerful self lately.” Lydia gestured over her shoulder to a pretty redhead standing near the bar with a worried expression on her face. I noticed that neither she nor Lydia was wearing the appropriate name tags, meaning they weren’t invited guests. “You remember Dawn, don’t you? She would have been one of my bridesmaids.”
My jaw dropped before I could snap it up with a definitive click of my teeth. Dawn would have been one of her bridesmaids? Meaning there was a canceled wedding? Was this Vaughn’s former fiancée? Had he ditched her at the altar? Should I leave now and let him handle this discreetly? Could I leave? Because at the moment, my feet felt like they were welded to the floor.
“What are you doing here?” The strange tension in Lydia’s voice made it sound like a loaded question, as if he didn’t have the right to be standing here in a nice room with good food when he was supposed to be broke, toothless, and naked in a ditch somewhere.
“Working for the state tourism commission,” he said, his hands flexing open and closed as if he were strangling imaginary nemeses. “Our department helped put all this together.”
It seemed sort of petty to mention that “our department” was me, and he didn’t have anything to do with the planning.
Lydia’s lip curled back at that, but she managed to twist the expression into a bland smile. “Well, you did want to move back here. Not quite the same as working at a private firm, I would imagine. And who’s this?” she asked, eyeing my shoes instead of my face. Sure, they were last spring’s Jimmy Choo kitten heels, but they were also fabulous. So there.
Vaughn cleared his throat and cast me a furtive look. In that moment, I could have left him flapping in the uncomfortable wind. I could have walked away with a spring in my step and let him deal with this deliciously awkward moment with a woman who made him so uncomfortable and angry. If the (fabulous) shoe were on the other foot, I was sure Vaughn would leave me hanging without a second thought. But I was a nicer person than Vaughn. And I had a decided interest in him feeling like he owed me one.
Vaughn cleared his throat again. “This is my . . . my . . .”
“I’m his Sadie,” I said, stretching my hand out for hers.
She shot a very obvious glance toward my ring finger and seemed to relax a bit when she saw that it was bare. “Oh, how nice. How long have you two been together?”
“Just a few weeks,” Vaughn offered. “We met through work.”
“But it feels like so much more time than that,” I told her. “Every day with Josh is like its own eternity.”
Vaughn pulled a face as I smiled blithely. “Aw, honey,” he ground out. “You’re so silly.”
“Silly for you, lamb chop,” I cooed, snuggling against his arm. He pinched my side lightly and I nudged him in the ribs.
The fantastic thing about socialite types is that when their masks slip and those pesky feelings show through, they are intense and very difficult to pass off as facial tics. For a split second, Lydia looked well and truly pissed. I didn’t get the impression that she wanted him back. She just wanted him to suffer.
I wondered if I’d pushed the whole impostor girlfriend thing too far. Vaughn seemed just as unhappy with me as he was with Lydia’s presence. And the way he was gripping my arm didn’t exactly communicate gratitude.
“Well, I’ll just let you get back to work.” Lydia said the word “work” as if it were mildly distasteful.
“Tell your lawyer I said hello,” Josh replied, but there wasn’t any heat in it.
Lydia walked away, her butt swaying with every step. Pretend girlfriend or not, that saunter seemed insulting. I turned to voice my objections to Vaughn, who had flushed an unpleasant shade of eggplant.
“Okay, Vaughn, I realize I may have overstepped back there, but let’s not overreact,” I said, holding my hands up in a defensive position.
“Naw.” He pulled at his tie as if it were trying to strangle him. “It’s okay. I appreciate it. I froze. I never freeze. She just pisses me off something awful. Damn it.”
I was caught off guard by Vaughn’s use of “naw.” His real accent seemed to slip through when he was upset. Normally, he spoke with a clipped midwestern staccato you only heard on news broadcasts. But that “naw” was pure tobacco fields a
nd back roads. I went to high school with guys sporting homemade Dale Earnhardt tattoos whose accents weren’t that pronounced.
I scanned the crowd surrounding us to make sure Josh wasn’t drawing attention. I seriously considered urging him toward the men’s room to hide until the race was over. But he just looked so pale and lost. As indifferent as I was to his overall well-being, I just couldn’t leave him like this.
“Come on,” I said, sighing. I pulled him into an alcove where a giant potted palm shielded us from the rest of the room. Josh braced his hands against his knees and took deep breaths. Sensing turbulence, Kelsey stuck her head into our little oasis, emergency kit in hand. I shook my head and shooed her away before Josh noticed.
He straightened, tugging at his tie and popping the top button of his collar. “That was my ex-girlfriend.”
“So I gathered.” Did he really respond like this every time he ran into an ex-girlfriend? I didn’t get this upset when I ran into “Felony Phil,” who stole my identity on our third date and applied for a mortgage on a chinchilla farm outside Trenton, New Jersey.
Josh seemed to pick up on my disbelief and sighed. “We met through some friends at work. She seemed like such a nice normal girl, even though she came from money. Her family owns a shipping company based in Atlanta, has since the days of horse-drawn buggies. I loved her. And I’d never loved anyone before.
“I had the job, the girl, the nice apartment. It all looked like it was going to work out like some sort of upper-middle-class fairy tale. Lydia was getting ready to graduate from law school and I wanted to plan something special for her. We’d already talked about marriage and she had our wedding planned down to the last corsage, wedding party and all. I just wanted my part of it to be a surprise, you know? I was going to take her out to dinner. We’d show up at the restaurant and all of her friends would be there to surprise her and I would propose right there in front of everybody. I started e-mailing her best friend, Shanna, to ask for advice. You know, where to take her for dinner, who to invite, where to shop for a ring. I was being secretive and I was so excited about what I was doing, I didn’t think about how it might look to someone who didn’t know what was going on.