“And I got online today,” I counter. “But I haven’t responded to a single swipe, tap, or poke, or coffee, or bagel request.”
She flaps her hand toward the other room where the festivities continue. “You think I want these other guys? Is that why you’re acting like a total ass?”
“Well?” I challenge. “Do you?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “What do you think? Did you even listen to my podcast today?”
“No. I was busy. Is that what you wanted to talk about tonight?”
She lifts her gaze to the ceiling as if she’s struggling for what to say. When she returns it to me, her eyes are full of frustration and maybe tinged with sadness too. “You’re so clueless. I wanted to talk to you tonight. I didn’t come here to find love.”
“Isn’t that what you want? To find love?”
“Yes, but I came here tonight for you. Because I said I would. Because I thought you wanted all this,” she says, gesturing wildly, encompassing all the party. “Because I wanted to be a woman of my word. Stick to the terms of our bet and show up at your parties.” She sucks in a breath, then raises her chin. “But guess what?”
“What?”
She pokes my chest. “I found love already, you dumbass.”
My brain goes haywire. “You met someone? Here?”
Who is he? I’ll take him down.
With fire in her eyes, she grabs my shirt and twists it hard. “Yes, you idiot. I met someone. I fell in love.”
A drum beats deafening loudly in my ears. “Who the hell is it?”
She jerks me even closer. “Look in the mirror. I’m not interested in these men. But you can’t do this to me, Easton. You can’t ask me to come to your party and tell me you want to set me up, and then sabotage every chance I have.” She bites out each word as my head reels. “I want love. And I deserve it. And I want it with you.”
With me.
Holy shit.
She wants it with me.
My heart scrambles to break out of its cage, to leap into her waiting arms. It wrestles to get away from me, especially when she softens her voice, lightens her grip. “I fell in love with you, you fucking idiot. I don’t want anyone else. I want you to be mine. All mine. Don’t you get it, Easton?”
I do, I want to say.
I don’t want anyone else either, I want to tell her.
I want you only.
But those words won’t form. My throat sticks with sand and my tongue feels heavy because . . .
This feeling.
This too intense, too much, too good, too big, too everything emotion is going to smother me.
It will eat me alive, and I will be lost for good.
One more time, I shove all those feelings far, far away.
“Evidently, I don’t,” I say.
A lone tear slides down one rouged cheek, but my tough, resilient woman swipes it away defiantly. She looks at me, blows out a breath, waits one more beat as if to see what I’ll do.
But I don’t move. I simply can’t.
She presses her lips together and nods tightly.
“Goodbye, Easton,” she says. Then she turns toward the stairwell and disappears through the door.
For the second time in a day, I let her go. I stand here, watching the door, in case she comes back.
She doesn’t.
I don’t know what just happened. No, I do. I just don’t know why I let it.
41
Grandma Knows Best
I’ve never been big on meditation. Mantras aren’t my thing. And the only time I ever needed an intervention was when I spiraled after Anna’s death.
This is not the same. No one died. Bellamy just left. That’s all.
I’ll be fine.
I’ll return to the party, make sure one of the staff steered Max to Angeline to make sure they’re good, then I’ll find another woman for Kendrick, and someone for Payton too. Duty done, I’ll dust my hands, go to The Lucky Spot, and order a stiff drink.
Or ten.
Only . . .
My head throbs.
Maybe some fresh air would do me good, so I stab the elevator button, head downstairs, and walk around the block a couple times, breathing in the night. Fall is coasting into Manhattan, and soon the leaves will change, the air will chill, and life will go on.
As it should.
After another lap or two, I have a hold of myself. Smoothing my hands down my shirt, I return to the party.
I get up to the warehouse space and scan the room for the guests I need to check on.
Angeline is nowhere to be seen.
Hmm.
Maybe she’s with Max. He’s gone too.
I hunt for Kendrick and Payton, but don’t see them either. The party seems to be winding down, and it’s damn early. Isn’t it?
A glance at my watch, though, tells me it’s ten. Maybe my walk lasted longer than I thought.
But I’m sure everything was fine while I was gone. Coco stands by the piano, and she’ll debrief me. Nothing escapes her.
When she spots me, she pins me with a stern glare and arches one brow, then the other. I hold out my arms, asking what with my expression.
Efficiently elegant, she glides over to me, then beckons me back down the hall. Once we’re out of earshot, she bops me on the head.
“Ouch!” I rub my temple where she knocked me. “That hurts.”
“It does not.”
“Does so.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you.” She nods toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “What mess did you just make of your life?”
“Why do you think I made a mess of it?” I ask, defenses all the way up. We’re talking ramparts level.
“Let’s see . . . could it be because I have eyes and ears?”
I’m just not in the mood anymore. “And what did you hear and see, Coco?”
Her eyes are fiery. “Young man, do not take that sassy tone with me. I might work for you, but I’m still your grandmother.” She’s half a foot shorter, but she seems ten feet taller.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Say it like you mean it,” she says crisply, her shoulders squared.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Good. Now, what on earth were you thinking?”
“With what?” I ask, exasperated—with tonight, with the party.
With myself.
“Let’s start with how you didn’t introduce Max to Angeline. You had a very important client here who needed extra attention, and you failed.”
I wince. “What happened with Max?”
“Nothing, munchkin,” she snaps. “Absolutely nothing. All she wanted was an intro, but you had to go pee on Bellamy instead.”
“So did you introduce him to her?”
“No,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Because he was already chatting with Priya. It was too late, and that would have been rude. Which is exactly what you were to all your guests.”
“I wasn’t rude.” I try on denial, but it’s not a good look on me. Whatever jealousy-fueled bravado I felt earlier has been stripped away. Guess when the woman you adore leaves you, it puts a damper on your night.
“You were rude,” Coco insists.