I can tell her opinion of it from the eye roll and tone of voice.
I nod slowly. “So you want your ex to think you’re in love with someone else.”
“Not ‘in love with.’” She pauses. “Well. Maybe. But it doesn’t have to be that involved. Just someone there. Maybe you can pretend you like me.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m trying hard not to be insulted.”
Her perfect eyebrows pull together above that cute snub nose. “What?”
One corner of my mouth lifts. “Usually, women ask me out because they’re attracted to me.” It’s my turn to be pragmatic.
Her eyes fly open. “Oh! I see what you mean.” She smacks her forehead. “I’m sorry! I’m not trying to insult you!” She covers her mouth and regards me with remorseful eyes. “I just thought it would be easier to convince someone if it was just…you know…transactional.”
“I get it.”
“You are attractive!” She bobs her head enthusiastically. “Very attractive.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She closes her eyes. “Never mind. I totally botched this. It’s a stupid idea anyway.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” I pause. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know, but you look perfect.” Her eyes widen with enthusiasm. “You dress well. I know you own a suit.”
I choke on my water. “Your bar is pretty low.”
She grins. “You don’t know my stepdad.”
I grimace. “True.” I’m not getting a good impression.
“You look nice,” she continues. “I mean, better than nice. You’re…” She stops. “This is so awkward.”
To be honest, I like seeing her falter. It makes me feel better. But it also makes me like her. More.
“I guess it’s not much different from a blind date. Except we don’t have a friend vouching for us.”
“True. We don’t know each other, but I’ve seen you a lot and you seem decent.”
“Decent and owns a suit.” I nod. “That’s me.”
Her laugh is a soft ripple. “You don’t look like a serial killer.”
“More high praise.”
“I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I?” She gulps her coffee. “Shit.”
“Nah. I’ll go to your party with you.” What the hell? Am I crazy? This is definitely not part of my carefully planned routine.
For some reason, I want to do this. She’s a little unconventional, but I don’t get any sinister vibes from her.
“Really?”
“Yeah. What time and where?”
She swallows. “Okay. Wow. I can’t believe this. The party starts at seven, which means we should show up around eight.”
“Ooookay.”
“We can meet somewhere…” She pauses. “Okay, let’s meet at The Carlyle.”
I tilt my head. That’s a pretty swanky hotel. “Fine.”
“Just before eight,” she adds. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Wear a suit.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I pause. “Do we need to make up a story about how we met, how long we’ve been together…?”
“No.” She waves a hand. “We don’t need to go into that much detail. I just need someone to be there.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Perfect! Okay. I have to get home. Thank you, thank you!”
She pulls out a small wallet to pay for our drinks. I wave it away. “I got this. Though it looked like you did make a lot busking today.”
She yelps out a surprised laugh, seeing I’m teasing. “Thank you, Owen. See you later.”
She gathers up her things and hustles out of the diner into the late afternoon chill.
I drain my water bottle.
Well. This turned out weird. Guess I have a date tonight.
4
Emerie
I can’t believe I did this.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m ready for the party. My first plan was to not be here at all. That would get me irritation from Vince. Bringing a date is likely to get more than irritation. My stomach flutters with nerves. But somehow, I have to put an end to this bullshit. I can’t handle Roman hanging around all the time, and Vince pushing me to get back with him.
I lift my chin. Time to go meet Owen.
I can’t believe he agreed to come. Or maybe he was just humoring the crazy lady and has no intention of showing up. Honestly, I pretty much expect him not to show. That’s been my experience most of my life—people I need don’t come through for me.
That’s okay. I’m used to it. I know I can count on myself.
The party starts at seven. Nobody will show up that early, but I need to get out of here before someone does. So I grab a coat and purse and sneak out of the Park Avenue penthouse where I live. I walk the couple of blocks to the Carlyle, my chin tucked in the collar of my coat against the cold night air. I enter the hotel through revolving doors and stride into the lobby. Here, I’m not out of place in my cocktail dress and heels.
I walk into the gilded glow of the bar. A pianist at the grand piano plays “The Nearness of You.” The dulcet music soothes my nerves as I find a seat at a small table in a corner. I take off my coat and lay it on the banquette next to me.
This guy’s pretty good. As always, the urge to play comes over me, but I like to listen as well.
A waiter approaches to take my order.
I smile at him. “A dirty martini, please.”
“Of course.”
I pull out my phone. I didn’t even exchange numbers with Owen, so he can’t cancel on me. I’ll just have to wait and see if he shows.
I scroll through social media to occupy myself, sitting alone in the elegant bar. My cocktail arrives and I sip it slowly, enjoying the dry vermouth and salty olive juice. I lose myself in the smooth jazz music. When I check the time on my phone, I’m surprised to see it’s nearly eight.
I don’t know if Owen will look for me in here, so I gather up my things and quickly take care of the check, then emerge back into the lobby, scanning it.
He’s here.
Sweet prancing Christ.
And he looks amazing.
My heart knocks against my breastbone and I suck in a breath. Standing near the entrance in a long dark coat, he hasn’t seen me yet. Tonight, he eschewed the knit beanie he sometimes wears, his dark gold hair gleaming from the pot lights and chandelier above. He’s big—tall and broad, an imposing figure who catches the eye of more than one woman passing by.
I walk toward him and he lifts his head as I enter his peripheral vision. For a moment he gives me a blank gaze, then blinks a few times. “Emmie?”
“It’s me.” My smile is sheepish. I know I look different. “You showed up. I didn’t think you would.”
“Your hair…”
I touch my locks. “I wear a wig when I busk.”
He blinks again, his gaze moving from my hair, over my face, then down to my dress. It’s not super revealing—a black velvet sheath with sheer black sleeves and upper bodice—but also very different than my busking outfits.