The Invitation

by Vi Keeland

  “Shit! We need to hurry.” I rushed the rest of the way to our table, grabbed my purse, and turned back around. After two steps I pivoted.

  “What are you doing?” Fisher said.

  I plucked an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon from our table. “I’m taking this with me.”

  Fisher shook his head and laughed as we headed for the door. Along the way, we swiped bottles of champagne from every table we passed. Confused guests had no idea what to make of the scene, but we were moving too quickly for them to comment. By the time we got to the exit, our arms were full, and we had at least a grand worth of bubbly.

  Out front, we got lucky that a few yellow cabs were stopped, waiting at the light. Jumping into the first empty one, Fisher slammed the door shut, and we both got up on our knees to look out the back window. The maître d’ and the two security guys who had been checking IDs earlier were halfway down the marble staircase. Hudson stood at the top, casually leaning against a marble pillar and drinking a glass of champagne as he watched the insanity of our departure. Blood rushed through my ears as I looked back and forth between the traffic light and the men closing in on us. Just as they reached the curb and stepped off, the red switched to green.

  “Go! Go!” I yelled to the cabbie.

  He hit the gas, and Fisher and I stayed on our knees, watching out the back window as the men grew more distant. Once we made the right at the corner, I turned around and slumped into the seat. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

  “What the hell happened, Stella? One minute I saw you dancing with a gorgeous man who looked completely into you, and the next you were telling some crazy story to a room full of people. Are you drunk?”

  “Even if I had been, I’d be scared sober right now.”

  “What came over you?”

  “It’s not what came over me, it’s who.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “You know the gorgeous man I was talking to?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, turns out he knew all—” A sense of panic washed over me as I realized I wasn’t sure where my cell phone was. Frenzied, I opened my purse and started to pull things out. Clearly, it wasn’t inside, but it just had to be. Refusing to accept what I’d done, I turned the purse over and emptied the contents onto my lap.

  No phone.

  No freaking phone!

  “What are you looking for?” Fisher said.

  “Please tell me you have my cell.”

  He shook his head. “Why would I have it?”

  “Because if you don’t, that means I left it on the table at the wedding…”

  CHAPTER 3

  Hudson

  “Mr. Rothschild, you have a phone call.”

  I huffed and pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Evelyn Whitley.”

  Tossing my pen onto my desk, I picked up the phone and leaned back in my chair. “Evelyn, thank you for calling me back.”

  “Of course. How are you, Hudson?”

  Frustrated enough to call my little sister’s annoying friend who I hadn’t wanted to give a job to, but did anyway, only to have said annoying friend stop showing up to work two months ago and quit without any notice.

  “I’m well. And you?”

  “Pretty good. Although Louisiana is really humid compared to New York.”

  Is that where she’d run off to? I didn’t care, and small talk with Evelyn wasn’t on my packed agenda for today.

  “So the reason I had my assistant track you down—a woman came to Olivia’s wedding pretending to be you.”

  “Me? Really? Who would do that?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Jeez, I have no idea. I didn’t even think Liv had invited me to her wedding. I definitely didn’t get an invitation.”

  “My sister said she mailed it right around the time you left town. It went to your old address here in the City. Was your mail being forwarded, or was someone picking it up for you?”

  “I get almost all my mail electronically—phone bill, credit cards, and stuff. So I didn’t do a mail forward. My old roommate still lives in the apartment, so she could have received it.”

  “You had a roommate?”

  “Yeah, Stella.”

  “Maybe it was Stella?”

  Evelyn laughed. “I don’t think so. She’s definitely not the type to crash a wedding.”

  “Humor me. What does your old roommate look like?”

  “I don’t know. Blond hair, maybe five foot five, pale skin, nice curves…glasses. Size seven shoe.”

  The hair color, nice curves, and skin description were a match, and I supposed the woman could’ve had contacts in. But who the hell gives shoe size as part of a physical description? “By any chance would your roommate have a habit of smelling things?”

  “Yes! Stella’s some sort of perfume developer for Estée Lauder. Or at least she was before she quit. We were only roommates for a year or so, but she was always sniffing things—a little odd, if you ask me. She also had a habit of telling long stories when all I asked was a simple question, and giving chocolate bars out to people. But how did you know she sniff—oh my God. Was it Stella who went to the wedding posing as me?”

  “Sounds like it may have been, yes.”

  Evelyn laughed. “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

  From the little time I’d spent with Stella, I could tell she had it in her to surprise a lot of people. Most would have bolted out the door when I’d called them to take the microphone. But not Stella. She’d been a shaky mess, yet she’d pulled herself together and taken what I’d dished out. I wasn’t sure what was sexier—the way she looked, the way she didn’t back down from a challenge, or the way she’d defiantly told me I was an asshole before taking off.

  It had been eight days since my sister’s wedding, and I still couldn’t get the damn woman out of my head.

  “What’s Stella’s last name?” I asked.

  “Bardot. Like the old-time movie actress.”

  “Do you happen to have a home phone number for her?”

  “I do. It’s in my cell. I can forward you her contact information after we hang up, if you want.”

  “Yes. That would be helpful.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you for the information, Evelyn.”

  “Do you want me to call her? Tell her she needs to pay for the cost of attending or something?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’d actually prefer you didn’t mention this conversation, if you happen to speak to her.”

  “Okay…sure. Whatever you say.”

  “Goodbye, Evelyn.”

  After I hung up, I rubbed my chin and stared out the window at the city.

  Stella Bardot…what to do, what to do with you…

  Opening my desk drawer, I pulled out the iPhone the catering company had sent over the other day. They said they’d found it at Table Sixteen. I’d had my assistant call everyone seated at the table except for the mystery woman. No one had lost a phone. So I was pretty certain who it belonged to. The only question was, what was I going to do with it?

  ***

  Helena, my assistant, peeked her head into the conference room.

  “Mr. Rothschild, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you. There’s no appointment on your calendar, but she claims you invited her.”

  I held out my hands, motioning to the people seated around the table. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. I don’t have anything else scheduled right now.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I’ll let her know you’re busy.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Her name is Stella Bardot.”

  Well, well, well… Cinderella finally came to collect her glass slipper, did she? It had been six days now since I’d messaged her over a note, so I’d assumed Ms. Bardot didn’t have the balls to show up. I had Evelyn’s old address in our company records, so I could’ve been nice and just re
turned the phone to her. But what fun would that have been? Instead, I’d sent over my business card with a note scribbled on the back.

  If you want what you left behind, come and get it.

  “Can you please tell Ms. Bardot I’m busy, but if she can wait, I’ll see her when I’m done here?”

  “Sure, of course. I’ll let her know.” Helena closed the door to the conference room.

  My meeting lasted another forty minutes, but I probably should’ve ended it after two, since knowing what waited for me in the lobby had me completely distracted. Finally I returned to my office, carrying the files from the conference room.

  “Would you like me to bring Ms. Bardot back?” Helena asked as I passed her desk.

  “Give me five minutes and then show her in, please.”

  I had no idea what I was going to say when Little Miss Party Crasher walked in. Then again, I wasn’t the one who needed to explain anything. So I decided to play it by ear and see where the conversation went.

  Which was a good thing, because the minute she stepped into my office doorway, I could barely remember my own name.

  Evelyn—or rather Stella—was even more beautiful than I remembered. At the wedding, her hair had been pinned up, but now it was down, and wavy, blond locks framed her porcelain skin. She wore oversized, thick-rimmed glasses that gave her a sexy-librarian look, and the simple navy blue sundress and flats she had on made her look tinier than she had at the wedding.

  Keeping my face as impassive as possible, I stood and gestured to the guest chairs on the other side of my desk.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip, but nevertheless, walked into my office.

  “Will you please shut the door behind you, Helena?” I asked my assistant.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Stella and I had a bit of a staring contest before she planted her ass in a seat on the other side of my desk.

  “I didn’t think you were going to collect your glass slipper, Cinderella.”

  She crossed her legs and folded her hands on top of her knee. “Trust me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn’t be here.”

  I arched a brow. “Should I be offended? I was actually looking forward to you coming for a visit.”

  She pursed her lips. “I bet you were. What kind of humiliation should I expect today? Will you be calling in all the employees to laugh and point?”

  My lip twitched. “I wasn’t planning on it. But if that’s your thing…”

  She sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for what I did. I already wrote the bride an apology letter and sent a little gift to the return address on the invitation. I didn’t mean any harm. When the invitation came, I accidentally opened it, and a few glasses of wine later, my friend Fisher and I concocted the idea that we should crash. I was pissed at my roommate—the person the invitation was actually sent to. She’d moved out in the middle of the night on me, and a bunch of my clothes and shoes went missing when she did. And just that day, the check she’d left me for the two months of back rent she owed had bounced. And to top it all off, it had been my last day at my job, so I really needed her half of the rent.” She paused a moment, seeming to catch her breath. “I know none of that excuses what I did. A wedding is supposed to be a sacred and intimate event for families and friends to share, but I want you to know it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like that.” She shook her head. “Plus, I might not have gone through with it if it were anywhere else, but I love that library. I worked a block away for the last six years and had lunch on the steps more times than I could count. I’ve been dying to go to an event there.”

  I scratched my chin and examined her face. She seemed sincere. “What took you so long to come collect your phone?”

  “Truth?”

  “No, I prefer you make up a story like you did at the wedding. Because that ended so well…”

  She rolled her eyes and let out a big sigh. “I wasn’t planning on coming at all. I even went out and bought a new iPhone. But my rent is due in a few days, and I’m broke because I’ve sunk every penny I have into my business launch, which has now been delayed. I have fourteen days to return the overpriced phone—and the last one is today. I can’t afford a thousand dollars for a new cell, especially now that I don’t have a roommate. I need to return the phone, or call my father and ask him to borrow money. Faced with the choice of coming here and taking my lumps for doing something stupid, or calling my father… Well, here I am.”

  My sister hadn’t really even been upset over what had happened at her wedding. Of course she’d been confused about who the woman telling a story about their childhood was, but when I’d explained that I’d caught her pretending to be a guest, Olivia had laid into me for putting the woman on the spot, rather than quietly escorting her to the door. To be honest, even I’d felt a little bad once Stella started to sweat and turn pale with the microphone in her hand. But I’d been pissed that she lied to me. Deep down, I knew it was partly because a woman lying to my face brought back some shitty reminders. It also didn’t help that my little sister had chosen to get married at the same place my own wedding had been just seven years before. So perhaps my anger at Stella could have been slightly misplaced.

  Opening my desk drawer, I took out the cell phone and slid it over to the other side of my desk.

  “Thank you,” Stella said. She picked it up and swiped at the screen. The phone illuminated, and I watched her forehead wrinkle. “It’s still fully charged. Did you charge it?”

  I nodded. “It was dead when the caterer sent it over the day after the wedding.”

  She nodded, but I could see I hadn’t answered whatever question was on her mind.

  “Did you…try to guess my code?”

  I managed to keep my face straight, even though that was exactly what I’d done. She didn’t need to know I’d spent an hour trying different combinations to unlock the damn thing because I was so curious about the woman who’d run out of the wedding. So I sidestepped her question and tented my fingers, speaking in a stern tone. “I needed to turn it on to see if you even had a code, didn’t I?”

  Stella shook her head and slipped the phone into her purse. “Oh. Yeah. Of course. That’s right.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, until the silence became awkward.

  “Okay, well…” She stood. “I should be going.”

  As fucked up as it was, I wasn’t ready for her to leave. I had a hundred questions I wanted her to answer—like what her father had done that made her not want to call him, or why her business launch had been delayed. But instead, I followed her lead and stood.

  She extended her hand across my desk. “Thank you for safekeeping my phone, and again, I apologize for what I did.”

  I took her little hand in mine and held it for a tad too long. But if she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

  After I let go, Stella turned to leave, but then turned back. She unzipped her purse and rummaged through it. Pulling something out, she offered it to me.

  “Do you like chocolate?”

  I was confused as hell, but nodded. “I do.”

  “I keep a Hershey bar in my bag at all times for emergencies. It has anandamide, which is a neurotransmitter and helps you feel happier.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I give them out to people who look like they need it, but most of the time I wind up eating it myself. I love chocolate. I sent your sister an apology gift, but I didn’t send you anything. It’s all I have for a peace offering.”

  This woman was handing me a candy bar to call it even for crashing a seven-hundred-dollar-a-plate event? I had to give it to her; she was unique.

  I held up my hands. “It’s fine. We’re good. You keep it.”

  She kept her arm extended. “It’ll make me feel better if you have it.”

  I managed to keep in my chuckle as I took it from her hand. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Stella lifted her purse back onto her shoulder and headed to the door.
I followed to open it, but she again stopped abruptly. This time, instead of a chocolate-bar offering, she leaned in to me and inhaled deeply.

  “Retrouvailles,” she said.

  I spoke a little French and knew that translated to reunion or something along those lines.

  Seeing the confusion on my face, she smiled. “It’s the cologne you’re wearing, isn’t it? It’s called Retrouvailles.”

  “Oh… Yes, I think it is.”

  “You have good taste. Expensive taste. But good. I created it.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded, and her smile broadened. “You wear it well. Colognes smell different on everyone.”

  Damn, she had some smile. Taking it in, my eyes fell to her lips.

  Fuck. I had the urge to bite them.

  “Do you spray the cologne on your pulse point?” She pointed to the hollow at the bottom of her throat. “Around here?”

  I practically salivated, staring at her delicate neck. “I guess so.”

  “That’s why it lasts so long. Perfumes and colognes reactivate from body heat. A lot of men spray on the sides of their neck, but the bottom of your throat is one of the warmest areas because the blood pumps near the surface of the skin. It’s why most women also spray on their wrists and behind their ears.”

  “Are you wearing any?” I asked.

  Her brows furrowed. “Perfume?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, it’s one I developed also.”

  I kept my eyes trained on hers as I slowly leaned forward. She didn’t budge as I came to within an inch of our noses touching, then dipped my head to the side, placed my nose near her ear, and inhaled deeply.

  She smelled fucking incredible.

  Reluctantly, I pulled my head back. “You wear your creations well, too.”

  She smiled once again, but the slight glaze of her eyes told me she felt a bit off-kilter, too. “Thank you, and thanks again for everything, Hudson.”

  She turned once more to walk out of my office, and as she stepped over the threshold, a bizarre sense of panic washed over me.