There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story (10 page)

“No, keep your hands warm. I got it,” Vincent says to my relief.
 

It’s warm and cozy inside, even with all the glass. “It’s beautiful in here,” I remark, stepping around in circles. It’s chic and masculine with blocky furnishings finished in heavy, dark wood.

“Thank you. I’m going to put these in the kitchen. You can take your coat off. Then I’ll show you to your room. You could freshen up before we eat.”

“I would love that,” I say as I try to keep my teeth from chattering. Only the fear of being alone with him is making them chatter.

My eyes expand at the sight of him when he returns.
 

He points at a floating wooden staircase. “The bedroom is up there.”
 

He’s turned red. Maybe he’s just as nervous as I am.

“Okay,” I barely say.

I study his backside as I follow him up the stairs. I don’t know why, but Vincent makes me think of things like sharing my bathroom sink and a stool at my breakfast bar.
 

My longest relationship lasted two weeks. I met Jonathan at the gym. I liked him enough until the night he slept over. We had sex, of course. It was bad. He humped like a jackrabbit. In the morning, he used my sink to brush his teeth and left a gob of toothpaste in the face bowl.
 

I was disgusted. So I told him we weren’t compatible. However, if Vincent left a gob of toothpaste in my sink, I think I wouldn’t mind it one bit.
 

Vincent leads me into a large bedroom. “This is yours for the night.”

My eyes widens at the king-sized bed and the large electric fireplace. Tall, white-framed, glass-panel French doors run from one end of the room to the other. I’m unable to see past the covered balcony because of the raging snow.

“There’s an en suite bathroom and a washer and dryer behind it in case you want to use those. There should be fresh toothbrushes in the cabinet beneath the sink.” He scratches his head as if he’s trying to remember every little detail. “There are robes in the closet.”

I can only nod. I’m still clenching my teeth to stop them from chattering. He gives me one long look before he leaves, closing the door behind him. What a relief! I fall onto the bed and bury my face in the pillow.
 

After a moment of silencing the noise in my head, I spring to my feet and plug in my cell phone. I strip out of my dress and underwear, which are clammy from the flight, and go into the walk-in closet. The robe collection is impressive. I put on a fluffy white one that feels like a soft hug. I toss my panties, bra, and dress in the washer and crank on the delicate cycle. Then I take a shower and wash my hair with peach-scented shampoo and conditioner.
 

Once the shower ends, I step over to the mirror to dry off and am amazed by my hair. The waves are evenly distributed and stay that way even after I blow-dry. Of course Vincent Adams has the good stuff in his Aspen vacation home. I make a note of the brand of the shampoo and conditioner. I’ll order them online when I get home. Along with the toothbrushes, there’s a sweet vanilla-scented body cream in the cabinet. Essentially, I could live and die in this room and in this robe. My obituary would read, “She found the right shampoo at last and died a happy woman.”
 

I’m flustered by a light knock on the door. “Yes,” I call from the bathroom.

“I warmed up food,” Vincent says.

I scurry out of the bathroom and stop in front of the electric fireplace. My heart is pounding. “Okay!”
 

“I’ll take you downstairs.”

“Oh.”
Really? I think I can find my way to the kitchen.
“Okay.” I open the door.

He flinches. “Shit, Maggie.”
 

“What?” I clutch my chest, alarmed by his reaction.

“Nothing. I’m happy you took advantage of all the amenities.”

I smile. “If I weren’t starving, I’d hibernate in here until morning.”

He chuckles. “Remind me to thank God that you’re hungry.”
 

His eyes are hooded. I momentarily lose my train of thought.
 

Vincent takes my hand. “To the kitchen.”
 

He walks me down the stairs, through the living room and a short hallway, and into the gourmet kitchen. He has put the food in two long casserole dishes, which are placed in the middle of a table in a sunroom, except there’s no sun to be seen. The glass is coated with snow. He’s already set out plates and silverware.
 

“It smells good,” I remark just to say something. I take a seat. “The storm is pretty awful.”

“It depends.” He sits in the chair right next to me. “I think it’s pretty good.” He grins.

I swallow nervously and serve myself a helping of filet mignon, julienne potatoes, and a peach-and-pear salad. I chew on a piece of steak. The meat is so tender it melts in my mouth.

“You look good in that robe,” he says.

I swallow and study him with one eye narrowed. He snickers, which means he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He’s coming on to me.

“So, Maggie…”
 

“Yes, Vincent?”
 

“What do you think about what I said on the airplane?”

Finally he wants to address the polka dot elephant in the room. “About someone other than Robert being interested in me way back in high school?”

“That’s it.”

“Were you referring to yourself?” I take a bite of salad.
 

He raises a hand. “I’m the culprit.”

I shrug and pop a bite of steak in my mouth. The food is so good that I can’t stop eating. “That was a long time ago. Although I am surprised.” I try to talk and chew with my mouth closed.

“Why would you be surprised? You’re sexy.”

Hot damn, Hannah was right on the money. She usually is in cases like this. He wants to do the dirty deed with me. I wouldn’t mind rolling around in the hay with him but not at the expense of my job.
 

Since I’m not comfortable with the discussion, I decide to change the subject. “Do you have Internet service here? Darius is going to send me a list of bands that are performing…”

Oh no. His face is incoming. My mouth is parted when his lips touch mine. He’s staring me right in the eyes. His tongue is in my mouth. My skin perspires under the fluffy robe, and it’s not the only part of me that’s wet.
 

I gently push his chin away from mine. I take a moment to regroup. “Bad idea,” I whisper as if I’m out of breath.
 

Vincent closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly. “I’ve been waiting twelve years to do that.”

“To kiss me?”

“You don’t remember passing me in the hallway outside of the principal’s office on your first day of school?”

I shake my head because I can’t speak. I think I want him to do it again—kiss me.
 

“We looked at each other?” he says, as if that’s supposed to jog my memory.

I sigh. “Honestly, I barely remember anything about those four months—coping instincts, I guess. I hated that school. I missed New York.”

“I know. I could see it on your face.”

“You could? I’m shocked that you paid that much attention to me. Why didn’t you say anything?” He’s silent, but I’m positive I know the answer to my question. “It’s because I wasn’t popular enough.”

“It wasn’t that cut and dried,” he says.

“Is there another way to put it?” I smile to let him know there are no hard feelings. Hell, it was high school, for goodness’ sake.
 

He stretches his arm across the back of my chair. My heart races.
 

“Something about outsiders made everybody so damn uncomfortable,” he says. “The girls hated you the most.”

“Don’t I know,” I mumble.

“But you handled it well.”

I smirk. “I’m no pussy.” My attempt at being lighthearted bombs.
 

He crimps his eyebrows. “Maggie, what are we going to do about this?”

“Are you referring to the fact that you kissed me?”

“And that I like you.”

Shit
. “We’re going to do nothing about it. You have a girlfriend, and this job means everything to me. I don’t want to go back to what I had before A&Rt. So don’t kiss me like that ever again, okay?” I’m begging him.

Other than the sound of snow slapping the glass, it’s quiet. He didn’t deny having a girlfriend. I’d hoped he would. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.
 

I put down my fork. “I’m going upstairs. It’s been a long day, and I have to check on my wash.”

“Are you naked under there?” His eyes fall to the exposed skin of my chest.
 

“Vincent, don’t.” I stand.
 

He takes my wrist. “About your job. I’ll never take it away from you.”

 
“Thanks,” I whisper and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.

Being in this house having that conversation was so surreal. His mouth was tasty, and lips were soft. I go into the bedroom and close the door. I’ll see Vincent in the morning. I hope the storm blows over in twenty-four hours instead of seventy-two and we can leave this million-dollar love nest. Then things will return to normal.
 

I need something to do to get my mind off of him, so I check my cell phone. It’s seventy percent charged. I check my voice mails. I have three from Monroe, two from Charlie, and two from Lori, the HR rep from my old job.

Charlie and Lori want answers to the same question: Where the hell am I? I call Monroe back right away.
 

“Where the hell are you?” She giggles.

I flop down on the foot of the bed. “Where the hell are
you
? You sound tipsy.”

“I’m at your apartment. Chuck was kicked back on your couch when I got here.”

I grimace. Something’s weird. “And you’re still there?”

“Mags,” she whispers, “I fucked him.”

“No way!” I’m laughing, but I’m mortified too. “How did that happen? You know he has the cooties.”
 

“I’m in your bed,” she whispers. “He’s asleep or dead or passed out.”

Now I’m only mortified. “You did him in
my
bed?”

“He’s good,” she sort of sings. “He’s the come king.”

I shake my head. Am I in the Twilight Zone? “What the hell does that mean?”

“The king of making me come.”

“You know what? I’m going to wake up tomorrow, and this day will have never happened.”

“Where the hell are you anyway?” She’s not whispering anymore.
 

“I’m in Colorado. My boss brought me on a business trip to Aspen, and now we’re stuck in a snowstorm. He kissed me. Hannah was dead right. He wants to fuck me. But he has a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend does not a wife make.”

“Would you want me screwing around with your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have boyfriends.”

“Remember that when it comes to Charlie. You’re the moth, and he’s the flame.” I take a moment to ponder. “Or maybe you’re the flame, and
he’s
the moth. Anyway, are you two still in my bed?”

“No. I’m getting dressed in the living room. He lasted three hours, Mags! I didn’t think junkies could keep it up that long,” she says.

“Charlie’s not a junkie. He just looks like one.”

“He’s got the prettiest penis I’ve ever seen. I blew him.”
 

“TMI.”

She chuckles. “I’m going to leave now and avoid him for the rest of my life. If he asks about me, tell him he didn’t really fuck me. He was in a drunken haze, and that was the best dream he ever had.” I hear her creeping through my apartment. “Oh, I left the suits in your closet. I was also going to tell you that my plans have changed. I’m flying out to L.A. tomorrow morning. I’m moving there.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shout.

“I’ll be back and forth for a while.” It sounds as though she’s bending over to put on her shoes. “We’ll have drinks next Saturday, okay? You, me, Cleo, and Hannah.”
 

I plop down on the ottoman to pout. “I can’t believe you. I see you three, four times a week. You’re my sanity.”

“And how fucked up do you have to be for me to be your sanity?” She chuckles. “Okay, I’m in the hallway.”

“I still can’t believe you fucked Charlie. You’ll have to tell me how that happened.”

“It’s easy. You weren’t here. We drank the wine. He told me he read my book, and he actually knew parts of it. A bottle of tequila later, we were doing the horizontal rumba.”
 

“You mixed hard liquor with wine?”

“I know that was a sweet mistake. If I didn’t know all of Chuck’s dirty, filthy secrets, I’d still be fucking him right now.” Her volume is normal. “Hey, I’ll be in meetings for the rest of the week, but I’ll call you when I get some free time.”
 

“Oh, my God,” I say, thinking about the two of them going at it. “I hope Charlie’s gone by the time I get back.”

“Suddenly being stuck in a ski resort with your hot boss doesn’t sound so bad, does it? I’m getting into the elevator. Call me tomorrow and let me know you made it back safely.”

“I will.”

“Love you,” she says.

“Love you too.”

What the hell! The thought of the two of them screwing in my bed has officially given me a case of the heebie-jeebies. I cringe.

I put my panties, bra, and dress in the dryer, spark up the electric fireplace, and turn on the television. I flick through hundreds of channels before I stop on the Food Channel to watch a famous chef cook a dish with trout. Thirty minutes and a pasta salad later, I’m out of the robe, naked on the bed, and sleeping.

Chapter 8

Just For Now

I open my eyes to a dark room. The only light comes from the flicker of the fireplace and the TV. Wind and snow scratch on the French doors. The storm has gotten worse. A different chef is frying thinly sliced potato around shrimp. I’m hungry again.
 

It’s too hot to put on the robe. Vincent’s home must be made of insulated glass. I fetch my panties out of the dryer and find a woman’s T-shirt in the closet. One of Vincent’s bachelorettes must’ve left it.