Now that Shana and I are kind of together, I’m not too sad about missing the wedding.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Max and Stephen have history. And even though neither Max nor Stephen has given me any information, I’ve managed to get a little bit here and there from Shana. In a nutshell, she thinks that one of my good friends is worse than pond scum. She mentioned something about fungi below the depths.
For that reason, inviting her to Eric’s wedding where Max would be if it weren’t a small family wedding would probably not be a good idea. Oh, and then there’s the whole thing about my taking Cynthia to Duncan’s wedding. Yes, the bachelor party was our friend send-off for Eric to the world of married bliss.
Though my information regarding Max and Stephen is mostly self-generated, it isn’t difficult to connect the dots. Shana and Stephen have been living in London. Max lives in London. The chances of their paths crossing in a city as big as London is probably statistically similar to the chances of their paths crossing in New York City—given the variant and taking subcategories into consideration.
Their connection skews the median results.
It happened.
In both cities.
As we’re about to leave the bar, I realize why I’m surprised Max is still in town. “You’ve been in the city all week and haven’t stayed at my place? Eric has moved out. He’s now with Cynthia. I still have the extra bedroom.”
Max’s hand lands on my shoulder. “No, I haven’t. After Saturday night, I figured you were probably busy, you know...” he says with a grin, “getting burned.”
I was. I am.
“Still, friends are always welcome...”
“Trust me, I’ve been busy too.”
“Are you heading back to London soon?”
“The flights are a mess right now. The royal wedding has caused ticket prices to soar. Since my plans changed, rebooking will nearly take selling the royal jewels. When I negotiated my itinerary change, I told my firm that I’d stay here and take care of a few matters we have pending. In the long run, I’m saving them money. I’m sure they’ll remember that when it comes to bonus time.”
“You have my number,” I say, “if you need anything or if you hear about the proposal.”
“I do. I’m going to be out of the city...” Max looks at his watch again. “...as a matter of fact, I need to get to the train station. I have a four o’clock. I’ll be back on Monday and let you know what I hear—if I hear.”
“Thanks. I appreciate knowing I have someone on the inside.”
Max’s expression stays the same, yet his eyes cloud in a way that makes the enthusiasm I felt while explaining my proposal disappear. “Hey,” I say, “I understand, there’s a limit to friendship.”
“No. The limit’s not on the friendship. I’ll do what I can. The limit is on my influence over other people’s decisions. Investment is a slippery slope. I know McCobb Engineering is worth it. I’ve seen your work and dedication. All I can do is make the proposal. Pushing too hard isn’t in anyone’s best interest.”
“Only shear...but pulling, that’s tensile.” I place my glass on the bar and look for some acknowledgment of my comedy. When I don’t see any, I explain, “Pushing and pulling…engineering humor.”
Max shakes his head. “I hope you wooed Shana with something other than your stand-up comedy.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she’s fallen for my singing.”
“You sing?”
“Only in the shower.”
Max shakes his head as his phone and mine buzz at the same time.
“Thanks again, Max,” I say as I look down. “Please keep me posted.”
Shana: “I’M FREE FOR THE ENTIRE WEEKEND. PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN TAKE MY MIND OFF SAKS UNTIL MONDAY MORNING.”
Me: “OH, MY LADY, I HAVE A CONCERT PLANNED.”
Shana: “A CONCERT? WHAT BAND?”
Me: “IT’S A PRIVATE SHOW. VERY INTIMATE.”
Shana: “WHAT CLOTHES SHOULD I PACK?”
Me: “NOT NECESSARY. NUDE VENUE.” (Smile emoji)
Shana: “THEN I’M PACKED!” (Blushing smile emoji)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shana
Back in my hotel room, as I prepare for my escape weekend with Trevor, I contemplate what to throw into my carry-on suitcase. There might have been a time when I would have felt guilty about leaving two hotel rooms in the Financial District of Manhattan unoccupied for two nights on Saks’s dime, but as I take a deep breath to expel the negativity from the last week working with Witch Vicky, I’m filled with nothing but anticipation.
Even though Trevor told me the concert venue is nude, I throw a few tops, a pair of jeans, and even a skirt and blouse onto the bed. It’s then that I see the black Saks Fifth Avenue bag with the small black and white bow that brings a much-needed smile to my face.
The negligee inside isn’t exactly like the one I wore on the runway. That one is for next season’s sales. This one caught my eye as I was leaving the offices on the tenth floor this evening—the mannequin near the elevators was wearing it. Reaching nearly to the floor, the sleek satin fell loosely from its shoulders, held in place by delicate spaghetti straps. What caught my attention were the lace accents strategically arranged for optimum viewing.
It was Stephen who encouraged me, telling me to go for it. “This is our weekend,” he said. “Last Saturday, you wore lingerie for Saks. This weekend, do it for you.”
When I shrugged, he whispered, “This time, you’ll not imagine those sexy green eyes. All he’ll see is you.”
“Do you think it’s a little forward?”
For the first time since leaving the offices, Stephen smiled. “Girl, bunny-rabbit sex is forward. That right there...” He tilted his head toward the mannequin. “...is wrapping. It’s anticipation...it’s—”
I placed my hand on his arm. “Stop. I’m going to need nipple tape if you say any more.”
“Go get it.” The door to the elevator opened. “Bye, boss lady. I need to get straight to the train station.”
It was as the doors were closing that I realized he wasn’t packed for a weekend with his parents. “Where are your things?”
Stephen winked. “Not to worry. A friend is bringing them.”
“A friend...?” The doors closed.
Now, as I’m packing, I remember that at lunch he told me he had a secret.
Damn, I’m a bad friend. Instead of thinking about work or daydreaming about Trevor, I should have asked. Lifting my phone, I send a quick text.
Me: “I KNOW YOU’RE ON THE TRAIN. TELL YOUR MOM AND DAD I SAID HI. ALSO, WHEN DO I GET TO KNOW YOUR SECRET? IT ISN’T NICE TO MAKE ME WAIT.”
I hit send, fully expecting to not hear a word back from him until Sunday or at least tomorrow.
As I’m about to finish packing, my phone rings.
KIMBRA is on the screen.