She’d always liked Noah best when he was back on his heels. Right in that moment, she was almost tempted to mention Jack, the fact that she had a man in her life who seemed to like her for her, but something stopped her. She didn’t want to share about Jack, because it was temporary—not something that was real and solid. It was just some faux relationship for the benefit of her career.
So she didn’t mention Jack because he wasn’t worth mentioning. She was dating him for a job, and she would go out with him for two weeks. As much as it would feel good to see Noah jealous of what Jack temporarily had, she would keep her mouth shut. Maybe she’d matured since their breakup and during her period of self-enforced singledom after all.
“This is important for me.” Noah was emphatic, but he wasn’t making any sense. Senator Chapin’s daughter’s wedding shouldn’t really be any of his business. She was getting married, not announcing any policy initiatives.
But Hannah didn’t have time to dwell on that cryptic statement, because Sasha walked into her office after a wide-eyed rubberneck past the glass wall. Ever the professional, she schooled her face before Noah turned to greet her. “Such a surprise, Noah.”
“Noah works for Senator Chapin, and he came here to make sure we don’t have strippers at Madison’s wedding.” Noah flinched at the woman’s name. Something was definitely up.
By the time Sasha had assured Noah that they weren’t going to humiliate the senator with a wedding theme of nudism, Jack had texted her. Her hopefully sly glance at the screen determined that he’d asked her to an event at the Museum of Contemporary Art—fancy.
Maybe they were turning into a thing after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY Art was chock-full of people for the opening of a new exhibit. Hannah was excited to be there because she’d formed a friendship with the artist due to an unfortunate and serendipitous incident a few years ago during which they’d shared a holding cell after being arrested on charges of public indecency.
Not her proudest moment, but there had been a minor miscommunication between the artist and the gallery owner regarding the content of the show. Artemesia “Artie” Valencia was known for throwing her paint-slathered naked body up against canvases. The fateful night when Hannah had gone from planning her first party for a major gallery to wearing handcuffs—and not in a fun way—she’d made the erroneous assumption that the gallery owner would be excited for the artist to create a canvas live.
She hadn’t known that the very conservative gallery owner’s assistant had planned the show as revenge directly before she quit by going outside to move her car and never coming back.
Artie had been naked and covered in black and pink paint in front of an audience of mildly liquored-up patrons when the cops showed up to arrest her. And then Hannah had ended up spending a night in jail for “resisting arrest,” which was total bullshit. She had just enough white privilege and Artie had enough charm that things didn’t turn too ugly. And the desk sergeant had actually cowered in fear when Annalise’s lawyer husband showed up to bail them out. For her part, Annalise had laughed it off and said that it would make both Hannah’s and Artie’s careers.
Since then, Artie had moved on to the big leagues, a solo show at one of the country’s greatest museums. But Hannah was still waiting for her shot.
Hannah had met Jack at the bottom of the steps to the entrance of the museum, since they’d both had to work that day. Though he’d been enthusiastic about asking her for the date, he seemed a lot more aloof that night. She hadn’t even detected a dimple through his stubble when he’d smiled at her. And the mischief in his twinkling eyes, the ones she’d been thinking about all sex-glazed since their first date, was completely banked.
Part of her wanted to find out what the hell his deal was. She’d hated this hot-and-cold bullshit when Noah had done it. To be honest, it had turned her into an insecure mess and probably contributed to his dumping her. She was determined not to be that girl with Jack, even if she had to white-knuckle it for two weeks before letting it rip and revealing her crazy.
The guy she was dating to get a promotion led her through the crowds with a purpose. They moved so quickly that she didn’t even get a chance to pause and check out the exhibit. Or get a glass of champagne. He’d seemed distracted when he’d met her at the entrance, kind of sweaty and twitchy. When she’d asked him what was wrong, he’d gotten all stiff—and not in the fun way.
Other than the inherent awkwardness of being on a second date and trying to impress Jack, this was kind of her element—shaking hands, talking to rich people, and making them feel important. She was never so pushy that she slipped them a card. If she made just enough of an impression, they would find her.
For his part, Jack stayed close. To anyone who looked, it would be clear that they were together-together. Somehow, this felt even less casual than their overly fancy first date had been. Maybe she was imagining the tight, possessive grip of his palm against her waist or the way he seemed to pull her closer whenever she introduced him to any of her friends or acquaintances. But instead of a date, she was starting to feel like a safety blanket.
Regardless, she couldn’t think about this with the noise echoing off the white walls and the museum patrons milling around. That night, there were cater waiters circulating with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Hannah grabbed a flute of bubbly off one passing waiter’s tray and some sort of crispy meat pie off of another. The moment she did it, it dawned on her that she should have probably waited for Jack to get her a champagne, or at least asked him if he wanted anything. That would have been the ladylike thing girlfriend material would do.
She’d shoved half the canapé in her mouth when she said, “Oops,” compounding her lapse in manners. Jesus, you really couldn’t take her anywhere. Maybe this was because she was always behind the scenes, shoving leftovers in her face at the end of the night before collapsing in bed and doing it all over again the next day.
Instead of the disapproving look she’d probably have gotten from Noah, Jack gave her the first genuine smile he’d flashed the whole night. And then he got his own drink. “No problem.”
They tapped their glasses together.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” She’d gotten used to his easy smiles and wanted more of them. Not because she actually cared but because she needed to convince Annalise that he was in love with her. It would help for him to look happy.
“Not really.” She could feel the flush of embarrassment filling her face until he deflated it with “Not because of you.”
Why was he acting so weird? “Tough day at work?”
If it was just his job, maybe she could take his mind off things. He leaned in as though there were spies all over the room listening in. “Terrible.”