I stared at the program. It was still open to the page that had started this whole conversation and caused us to miss two panels already.
His picture showed he’d aged well.
But I already knew that. I’d seen both of their pictures many times, and they’d both aged well. Weston King and Donovan Kincaid were famous in the ad world. Instead of following Harvard with jobs in their fathers’ investment firm, they’d opened up an international advertising agency. Weston ran the office in the States and Donovan ran the branch in Tokyo.
When I’d agreed to go to New York for three days with Ashley for this conference, I’d had no idea he’d be a speaker.
“He probably won’t even remember me,” I said, staring at his panty-melting dimple.
“Who could forget you? With a face like his, I’d use any card I had to try to get close to him. He’s a hottie. Oh, wait, I forgot you’re more into brains than looks these days—maybe he’ll share all his award-winning inspirations with an old friend.”
I shook my head and pulled my hand through my hair—the ponytail was long gone, but the habit was not. I probably should see his speech anyway. And what was the harm in sticking around afterward? Wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some closure to those days?
The waitress returned with the bill and Ashley quickly signed.
“All right,” Ashley said. “Ready, Bri?”
It was a loaded question. Was anyone ever ready for men like Weston King and Donovan Kincaid?
Pulling out my phone, I used the camera to freshen up my lipstick and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
Part II
Men
Chapter 6
“He won’t remember me,” I insisted. I had to concentrate in order not to fidget. The martinis I’d had earlier in the night had worn off an hour ago, and I was nervous. How had I gotten talked into this again?
“Would you stop saying that?” Ashley peered around the people in front of us, probably sizing up how long it would be before it was our turn. We were lined up with a dozen or so other women who’d stayed after the keynote at the “Advertising in a New Age” convention to greet the speaker, Weston King. “You’re smart. Witty. Put together. Gorgeous. No one can forget you.”
The woman she was describing had only existed for the last handful of years. Before that, I’d been awkward and shy. I’d hidden behind plain features and a mess of mousy brown hair that I’d typically worn in a ponytail. “You didn’t know me in college. I was definitely forgettable then.” And obviously nothing special since I couldn’t manage to keep my spot at Harvard for more than one semester.
Ashley inhaled, a sign that she was trying to stay patient. Then she turned to me and gave me her most encouraging smile. “I know you now. Even if he doesn’t remember you, he’ll pretend he does just to keep talking to you.”
My lid twitched as I fought not to roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
“I can’t. I have a perfectly non-lesbian girl-crush on you. You know this. I can’t understand anyone who isn’t in love with you.” She wrapped her arm through mine, and we stepped forward. One more person stood between him and us. Between Weston and me. Between my past and my present. Was I ready for my worlds to collide?
Honestly, I was probably getting psyched up over nothing. Too many years had gone by to make a big deal about the threads that had been dropped back then. A decade, in fact. We’d hardly even known each other back then. I’d had one real conversation with the man—boy, at the time—and the rest of my experience with him had been in watching from a distance.
It wasn’t as if I were standing in line to see Donovan Kincaid. Now that would be something to be anxious about. He would remember me. He’d have to. What had happened between us had been so small in the scheme of time but so big in the scope of the impact it’d had, at least on my life. Did I have the same effect on him?
I was still thinking about Donovan, about his chiseled jaw and his hazel eyes and the awful way we’d parted when the woman in front of us made her goodbyes and stepped out of line, leaving me standing face to face with Weston King.
Jesus, he was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, but the last ten years had only made him more so. I’d spent the last ninety minutes staring at him as he’d given his talk in the Javits Center, so I should have been prepared, but close-up, his attractiveness was even more striking. His blue eyes even more shocking. His smile even more stunning.
He had the kind of looks that would make any girl’s panties damp. I was convinced of that.
“Hello,” he said, smoothly. So smoothly I couldn’t tell if it was out of recognition or simply charm.
“Uh, hi.” That was all I could manage to get out. I might be coiffed and put together on the outside, but seeing Weston King promptly brought back all the awkwardness of my youth.
Thankfully, Ashley was there to come to the rescue.
She stepped forward, nudging me with her. “Hi, I’m Ashley. This is my friend Sabrina. We work at Now, Inc. in L.A. and we wanted to tell you that we really enjoyed your talk tonight. I particularly liked your insight on the relationship between departments within an agency. I’ve seen the same competitive struggles between the sales team and the creative in our office.”
“Thank you,” Weston said. “The war between salesmen versus artists. It’s the nature of the beast, I think.”
He directed his comment to both of us, but all I could do was nod like an idiot.
Ashley inhaled audibly—that almost silent cue she was frustrated—and put her arm around my shoulder. “Also, she’s too shy to say it, but Sabrina went to college with you.”
“Ashley!” I warned. This was the problem with having a “no boundaries” type of friend. If I didn’t stop her, soon she’d be spouting out that I’d had a massive crush on him back then too. God help me if she brought up Donovan. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“We went to school together?” For the first time since I’d stood in front of him, Weston looked at me—really looked at me.
His gaze tickled as he studied my face, and I felt my cheeks flush. “I was only at Harvard for part of our freshman year.” Not that that had been my choice. “I’m sure you don’t remember me.” Jesus, I couldn’t even look him in the eye. What was wrong with me? I was twenty-seven, not seventeen.
He cocked his head. “Did we know each other very well? What was your name again?”
Oh god. He really didn’t remember me. This was utterly humiliating.
“We spoke just once or twice. I’m Sabrina Lind,” I said, wishing I could crawl under a rock. “Really, I wouldn’t expect you to know me. It was just an interesting little tidbit I could tell my friend to make her think I was cool.”
He laughed politely, showing off the dimple I’d been so fond of all those years ago. Come to find out, it still made my knees weak.
“Anyway,” I said. There were a few people behind us waiting to meet him. More women eager to melt from thirty seconds of his attention. It was time to get going. “Good to see you. You gave a great speech.”