The whole time we work the room, the amazing big band plays swing music. When a singer takes the mic, doing excellent renditions of Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Dean Martin, my feet are itching to dance, and I can barely stand still as I sway to the beat and hum the melody.
“Why is no one dancing?” I ask, frowning at the empty dance floor.
Jared shrugs, playing with a lock of my hair. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not that kind of party?”
I sigh and pout, which makes him laugh and lean down to kiss my nose. On the way to speak to someone else, we pass a toilet, and my bladder gives another dangerous squeeze. I groan. I’ve been ignoring it, but I can’t put a toilet break off any longer. I’ve had too many glasses of wine and water. I’m going to have to brave the Spanx removal on my own after all.
“I need to pee,” I whisper, stopping outside the toilet.
He nods. “Actually, I’ll go, too, and meet you here.”
I lean in, giving him a quick kiss before I head into the restroom. I’m immediately taken aback by how sleek and posh everything is in here too. It’s one thing, the ballroom being all polished marble and expensive gold leaf gilding, but I didn’t expect the luxury to continue into here. It’s exquisite.
My full bladder forces me to abandon my examination of the swanky soaps and fluffy hand towels that are stacked on the countertops. I head into the toilet stall, groaning and swearing like a sailor, banging my head and elbows on the walls as I struggle to pull off my Spanx and pee. By the time I fight them back on again, I’m sweating and tired. Whoever said ‘beauty is pain’ was spot-on. When I finally manage to get my dress back into position and emerge from the stall, I spot a lady standing by the sinks, washing her hands.
I feel the blush creep up my cheeks as she’s sure to have just heard the commotion I made during the struggle. “Sorry, Spanx,” I say in explanation as she looks at me weirdly.
She nods in understanding. “Oh, in my day, we called them a girdle. Thankfully, I’m too old for that nonsense now.”
I chuckle and smooth my dress as I head to the sinks, too, looking her over. She’s likely in her late sixties, early seventies maybe, but in that rich way where people still look fifty. Her dress is spectacular yet understated—a dark grey ballgown with stones that glitter as the light hits them. She looks fabulous.
“You don’t need one anyway. You look gorgeous. The hair, the dress. Wow.” I let my gaze wander over her.
She looks so elegant and classy, effortlessly so.
The lady looks down at herself and laughs. “Thank you, dear. Do you work here?” She looks back up at me as I wash and dry my hands.
“Oh no. I’m here with my boyfriend.” I can’t help but smile at the word boyfriend.
She turns towards me, leaning her hip on the countertop. “And what do you think of the party?”
My facial reaction betrays me, and I scrunch my nose up in distaste. “Honestly? It’s kinda boring and stuffy. Too many suits.” I pull my lipstick from my clutch purse and lean towards the mirror.
The lady laughs and nods. “I have to agree.”
Her agreement prompts me on, and our eyes meet in the mirror. “And why is it called a dinner dance? I was led here under false pretences. There’s that great band, and no one is dancing! What a waste.”
“Ah, it’s always like that, I’m afraid.” The lady watches as I apply a slash of fire engine–red lipstick to my lips. I bought it specifically for tonight, and it’s decidedly raunchier than my usual nude gloss. “I used to be able to pull off a shade like that.”
“What? You still can! Gorgeous face like that! Here.” I turn and thrust the lipstick towards her, giving her an encouraging nod.
She hesitates for a second but then takes it, picks up a towel, and wipes off her own pink nude lipstick before applying mine. I shoot her a smug, knowing smile in the mirror as she nods in approval.
“Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” She hands me back my lipstick, and I pop the lid on and push it back into my bag.
“Amy.”
“Very nice to meet you, Amy. I’m Gillian.”
I step back and brush a couple of stray hairs back into place as I look myself over one final time. “Well, Gillian, I should probably get back to my boyfriend, or he’s going to think I’ve fallen in. Or that I’m trapped in my Spanx.” I motion my head back towards the stalls, and she laughs.
She heads for the door, pulling it open, and waves for me to go through first. I spot Jared leaning against the pillar, one ankle crossed over the other. He looks up and smiles at me.
I turn back to Gillian as we step out together. “There’s my boyfriend. I’m not sure if you’ve met. Jared, this is Gillian. Gillian, Jared,” I introduce them with a wave of the hand.
Jared’s eyes widen, and his back stiffens as he stands up straight and stretches out his hand in greeting. “Ms Jenkins, it’s very nice to officially meet you.”
Ms Jenkins? I frown and look between the two of them, confused at the sudden change in his demeanour.
Gillian smiles and takes his offered hand, shaking it. “Jared …” She raises one eyebrow in prompt.
“Jared Stone. I’m chief advertising strategist.”
Gillian smiles warmly and nods. “Oh, that’s right. I’ve heard your name being bandied around. Didn’t we steal you from another company?”
Jared nods. “You did. I joined the company about a year ago.”
“That’s right. Well, I’ve heard some great things about you. I’ve even seen a couple of proposals of yours pass my desk, but there never seems to be the time to take anything further. You know what?” Gillian looks at me and smiles before turning back to Jared. “I’ll have my secretary schedule you some time for late next week. You can talk me through some of your ideas.”
Jared’s eyes widen fractionally, and his whole body stiffens, but he nods. “Okay, great. That sounds great.”
Gillian steps back and smiles politely. “It was nice to meet you both. Oh, and, Jared, I think your lady friend would like to dance.” She sends me a wink and a wave and turns, stalking confidently into the crowd that parts instantly for her as if she were Moses.
“Bye, Gillian,” I call at the same time Jared says, “Good-bye, Ms Jenkins.”
When she’s disappeared into the crowd, Jared turns to me and shakes his head. “Do you have any idea who that was?” I shrug in reply, and he laughs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “That’s Ms Jenkins, the co-owner of Jenkins and Banner …”
He raises one eyebrow, and I suddenly realise why he was so jumpy and nervous. She is his top, top boss.
My mouth pops open in shock and horror. “Oh God. I just told her the party sucked. And I told her about my Spanx.”
Jared barks a laugh, reaching out to cup my face in both his hands. He tilts my head, so my eyes meet his. “I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe you just schmoozed one of the hardest and richest women in advertising in the ladies’ loo. You’re incredible.”
When he dips his head and kisses me, my horror subsides, and my hands grip his waist for support as the kiss deepens. My body is now on high alert, as the taste of him causes my skin to have goosebumps and tingle.