“She loved expensive shoes.” It’s such a dumb thing to say. “We had that in common.”
An audible sob wrenches from my throat and I’m in Nate’s arms a second later. I hang on tight in case the storm inside me, like the wind whipping through this graveyard, blows me away.
His lips pressed into my hair, he keeps me steady.
I let him, painting his shirt with a fresh batch of tears.
Chapter Twenty
Vivian
I wear the red-bottomed Louboutins from Nate and pair them with a new dress I argued and insisted on paying for. He refused.
The dress reminds me of the lingerie I wore when we were in Chicago. It laces up, the bodice is satin trimmed. It’s very, very short. It’s gorgeous, and for good reason. The retail ticket on a Dolce & Gabanna dress hovers around three thousand dollars. Which is why I argued with Nate that I should be allowed to pay for at least half of it. Then he said he was insulted, and I told him I used to have a closet stocked with D&G and it gave me flashbacks. I didn’t win that argument either. He pulled me close, the dress still on its hanger trapped between our bodies, and said, “Time to make new memories.”
He was very convincing.
He works hard for the money he makes and he deserves every penny. I’m trying not to take advantage of him. When I told him that, he chuckled, the sound low and gruff. Then he kissed me and shook his head and told me to get dressed.
There’s nothing slimy or self-serving about the way he gives gifts. He just…gives. I can’t say any man in my life has treated me well without an ulterior motive.
Since our awkward morning in Chicago, Nate and I are closer than before. Him revealing his emotions and me tending to his needs set us in a different zone than before we left. In short, I dropped my guard even more, which doesn’t feel dangerous so much as decadent. Nate is back to his comfortable, confident self. I can tell he appreciated me being there for him. He isn’t accustomed to leaning on someone.
He’s probably always been a tough guy who tried to have everything under control. It’s the role he gave himself, and yes, he’s amazing at it, but he’s also human. Every human wants to curl up and stop worrying for two minutes. I’ve been trying to be the person he can lean on, who sweeps away his worries.
Everyone needs someone to lean on.
While I check my lipstick in the vanity mirror of his Tesla, he pulls up to the valet. Club Nine is a splashy big-city-like club, but in Clear Ridge. Tonight’s the big grand opening.
“I see the Miami influence,” I say. Archer should be proud. It’s a gorgeous building, sleek and modern. Neon lights glow from inside and the façade. A lot of well-dressed guests loiter outside waiting to come in.
“He done good,” Nate agrees.
He complemented my black dress by wearing all black himself. His black satin shirt is adorned with crystal embellishments lining the button panel and the collar. It’d look ridiculous on anyone but him.
“You look great.” I touch his collar.
“Versace.” He cranes an eyebrow.
“You wear it well.”
I might not be able to purchase him expensive clothes, but I can come with him to this event. I can remind him he’s worthy. And that his strength and stoicism are far less important than his willingness to be himself with me.
After the valet takes the car we bypass the line wrapping around the building. They don’t open the doors for another fifteen minutes. Apparently, they are keeping these finely dressed guests in a state of mouthwatering anticipation by making them wait until the clock strikes ten on the nose.
Inside, Benji spots us first. At his heels is a petite blond woman with soft curls surrounding a cherubic face.
“There you are. Archer’s at the bar.” He tips his head. Their brother is wiping down a bottle of liquor with a white cloth. I’m not joking. He inspects another, wipes that one and I overhear him tell the bartender to “keep ’em shined.”
“Committed as usual,” Nate says.
“I’m Cristin, Benji’s assistant.” The blonde offers her hand. “You can call me Cris.”
“Life assistant coach,” Benji corrects as I take my palm from Nate’s arm to shake her hand.
She rolls her eyes. “He made that up.”
“She’s humble,” Benji says, his eyes on her. The look he gives her is friendly and flirty—the same way I’ve seen him look at practically everyone. The look Cris gives him is more than that. Longing and admiration mixed into a cocktail that will one day spill from its shaker.
Another woman enters via the front door. She waves at Benji as she approaches. She’s tall, leggy, blond. Her wide mouth is coated in a pink sparkly lipstick matching her dress.
“Hey, Bennie!” She presses her slim body against his and his arm wraps around her small waist.
“Benji,” Cris corrects from his side.
“I know.” The blonde’s smile doesn’t waver.
Cris looks like she is about to throw up. I feel for her. I’m tempted to hiss at the blonde in Cris’s defense, but I resist.
It’s a good thing I didn’t. Turns out the blonde is really nice. Along with those Barbie-doll good looks, she’s also smart. Halfway through my first martini, she and I are chatting about business integration. Cris chimes in—she’s no slouch, and knows what she’s talking about. I like her more than I like Barbie, whose actual name is Patricia. She doesn’t look like a Patricia, which I told her. She laughed and said she goes by Trish. That makes more sense.
By then the club is full of guests and thumping with bass. Archer and Nate are in a deep conversation in a VIP lounge upstairs. I stayed downstairs in the fog and lights for one reason. My protective streak kicked in when Trish showed up. It kicked into high gear when Trish dragged Benji to the dance floor.
“She’s nice,” Cris announces miserably.
“She is nice,” I agree, not sure what else to say.
She shakes off her malaise and brightens in a blink. “How long have you and Nate been seeing each other?”
I do a quick calculation. “Two months.”
Wow, can that be right? It’s already August. After each day sluggishly rolled into the next and the one after that, these past few months have flown. It seems like eons since I stumbled onto the Grand Marin job site and threatened to shut it down. And even longer since my brother—who remains jobless, by the way—moved into my apartment.
Grr.
“Nate is cut from a different cloth.” She reaches for her drink.
“How do you mean?” I have my own opinions but I’m curious to hear hers.
“On the outside he’s this gruff bearlike creature and then he grins and you realize he’s marshmallowy in his core.”
“His core is quite firm, actually,” I argue with a smile. She laughs.
“You know what I mean.” She props her chin in her hand. “Is he super gooey with you? I’m a romantic. Indulge me.”
Unaccustomed to gossiping with a girlfriend—which reminds me how much I miss Marnie—I hesitate before answering carefully. “He takes care of me, which I’m not used to. I’m more of a fend-for-myself kind of girl.”