Mom sighs. “You’ve been working out a lot.”
“And I’m getting married in four months.”
“You were just fitted for your dress today. You don’t want to lose too much.”
“After the lunch you just fed me,” I say with a grin, remembering her homemade chicken salad and the flaky croissant, “I don’t think losing too much is possible.” It’s then I remember the dinner with Jackson’s partners. “Shit, Mom. Take me to my car.”
“What is it?”
“I forgot that Jackson and I are having dinner tonight with Fred and Martha Wilson.”
“As in Wilson et al?”
Mr. Wilson is the founding partner of the Wilson et al Law Firm.
“Yeah, them.”
“Oh, how fun.”
“It’s a bit stuffy.” I turn to the window and watch as we get back to the city. My SUV is where we left it at the bridal boutique. Between school buses and afternoon traffic, it takes me longer than I expected to get to our condo.
Instead of taking the elevator, I decide to hurry up the ten flights of stairs to the level of our condo. Taking off my coat, I take the stairs two at a time. I guess I figure it’s the workout I haven’t gotten. It isn’t until I open the door and see Jack’s stare as he’s standing in his custom suit that my elation for the day completely evaporates.
It isn’t Jack’s appearance that quells my enthusiasm. He’s a handsome man in a dignified way. Only in his mid-thirties, he has just a few strands of gray hair, the amount that makes a man look distinguished. He works out regularly, and I know that under that fancy suit is a toned and fit body.
“Where have you been?” He looks me up and down. “Wearing that?”
I’m wearing a pair of long workout pants and a shirt with a sports bra. When I’d dressed I’d planned on going from the bridal boutiques to the gym. “With my mom. You knew we were shopping for wedding dresses,” I say as I toss my coat and purse on a chair. I look up at the clock. “It’s only four. Our reservations aren’t until six. I’ll be ready.”
“Did you even look at your phone?”
I hadn’t.
“Why?”
“Fred wants to meet for drinks at five.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Jack. I was shopping for my wedding dress. Remember, we’re getting married.”
“I’m well aware, Samantha.” He shakes his head. “Do you even care about my position at the firm?”
“You’re a partner. Are they going to take that away?”
He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and walks toward me. He reaches for my upper arms and pulls me toward him, leaving an attention-getting kiss on my lips. “I know finding the right dress is important,” he says, his tone mellowing as he still holds onto my arms. “Did you find one?”
“I did.”
“I hope you went to a boutique and not one of those stores where you buy one off the rack.”
“We went to a boutique, Jack. You try the dresses on from the rack. I found one that Mom and I both liked. Now they will make one to fit my measurements.”
“You told them that you’ve been working out? I mean, we don’t want it to be too loose.”
For some reason, coming from him it felt different than the way it felt when my mom had said the same thing.
“I told them.”
“How is Jean?”
“She’s good. I saw Dad too.”
“He was there?”
“No, Mom took me back to their house for lunch. The invitations came in. They’re perfect.”
His brown eyes narrow. “You didn’t work out?”
“I ran the stairs, Jack.”
He nods. “How about I Uber to the restaurant, explain to Fred and Martha that you’ve been shopping for your wedding dress, and you drive over and arrive by six?”
He made it sound like an option, but it felt as though it was my only one. “I’m sorry. I should have checked—”
Jack’s lips land on mine. “It will work out fine. I’ll see you at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
As he starts to walk away, he turns and pulls his key fob from his pocket. “Samantha, drive my car.”
Of course, his BMW would look better as we drive away than my SUV.
“And since you’ve been running around and busy, I thought I’d help. I laid out a dress for you to wear. You’ll be stunning.”
I grit my teeth and keep my smile intact. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“It was. You’re welcome.”
Marshal
Our architectural firm just landed a coveted project that includes four new hotels, two in Michigan and two in Pennsylvania. There is this hotel mogul who is looking to expand further, so if he and his board are happy with our final results, this partnership could be life changing for us.
I say us, but I’m not a partner. However, it was my designs that got the hotel mogul interested, the one that caught his eye. That said, I’m part of a team. Tonight, my team is celebrating on the company’s dime. Hell, The Rooftop is one of the nicest restaurants in Grand Rapids and one with the biggest price tags.
“Marshal,” the owner and CEO of our architectural firm, Jason McMann, says as he pats my back. “What can we get you for a before-dinner drink? As you know, I’m a whiskey man myself.”
“I’m a bourbon fan. I like it smooth.”
Jason grins. “I bet you do.” He turns to the pretty thing behind the bar. “Barbie” —yes, that is her name. It’s on a small pin-on tag right over her large left boob— “can you get my friend Marshal two fingers of Blanton’s.” He turns back to me. “On the rocks?”
“Neat.” My answer comes without emotion as I stare across the bar and clench my teeth.
This restaurant has one of those modern open-concept bars.
If it were warmer outside, the glass windows would be opened and there would be tables on the balcony overlooking the river and the city lights. As it is, the windows are closed, keeping the snow and wind outside. However, the bar is open. Blue lighting projects around the center cabinetry where hundreds of bottles are proudly displayed. From where I’m standing, I can see to the other side, to a group of people.
They’re dressed much as we are, in nice business attire. The women are a bit dressier. I can’t see below their waists, but I know a woman’s body well enough to know the way one walks in tall heels. There’s a rhythm to the way their bodies sway, as if they are asking for a strong hand to support them.
No, I wouldn’t take only their sway as an invitation.
Nearly a decade post-high school and I’m no more committed to a relationship than before, but I’m also not in danger of a sexual harassment lawsuit. I believe in consent.
For once, though, I’m not looking at a woman but at a man.
My jaw clenches tighter as a slimy smile curls his lips, and he whispers something to a woman I don’t recognize. One might wonder why it would matter to me that a man is speaking to a woman at too close of a distance. It does because that man is engaged to my best friend.