Chapter 42
2098words
The man jumped up as soon as I approached, smiling broadly. I returned the smile and leaned in for the customary kiss on the cheek. It was then that I noticed a hint of hesitation in his expression.
"It's Camden, actually."
Camden? I froze. Then why did I write 'Brian' on my palm to remember? I had thought I was so clever at the time—even though I was still desperately scrubbing it off as the taxi pulled up to the restaurant.
Who was Brian? The pilot? The ice sculptor? Maybe the caterer I needed to contact—
Nope! No work! Remember your promise!
"Camden, right." I tapped my head playfully. "Sorry, I was just on the phone with my brother Brian in the cab."
Great—now I have a brother. I'll need to write that down too.
I flashed an apologetic smile and sat down, subtly showing a hint of cleavage as I did. Crisis averted.
"Oh, I didn't realize you had a brother," Camden said cheerfully, taking his seat as well.
"Baby brother," I said sweetly, as though reminiscing about fond memories. "Just turned eighteen—he's out celebrating."
And it's my brother's birthday.
"Wow—eighteen," Camden shook his head, leaning closer. "Feels like ages ago, doesn't it?"
I nodded quickly.
"Sure does."
In reality, I had turned eighteen just four years ago. But I had long stopped revealing my true age. In PR, age meant experience, and experience meant value. I had been 'twenty-nine' for as long as I could remember. It was simpler that way. Plus, I had one of those faces—versatile enough to pass for whatever age was needed.
"So, Camden," I flashed a flirtatious smile, eager to steer the conversation away from my fabricated family ties, "what are we drinking?"
As if on cue, a waiter arrived with a bottle of Margaux—a pricey vintage. I leaned back in surprise as it was expertly poured. First the restaurant, now this? Was Camden seriously wealthy and I had missed it because I only saw him in gym clothes? It was hard to gauge a guy's financial status in sweatpants. A one-time dinner to impress me was one thing, but this wine was too extravagant for that. It was a significant gesture, reminiscent of someone else I knew who was accustomed to ordering Margaux like it was—
NO WORK! Don't even THINK about him! This is YOUR night!
"This is lovely," I said graciously, taking a delicate sip. "First growth?"
"You know it?" Camden looked pleasantly surprised. "Yes, I believe so. They say it pairs well with the soufflé."
Wrong.
'At any rate, it's supposed to be uncannily dry."
Wrong again.
Somewhere across town, a certain billionaire—who shall not be named—was shaking his fists towards the heavens, not really knowing why.
I smiled again and took another sip.
'Like I said—wonderful."
'I'm glad you like it. In fact, I'm glad you even agreed to come out tonight." His hand reached tentatively across the table and rested upon mine. 'You always seem so busy. Whenever I see you at the gym, you're almost always on the phone." He laughed nervously. 'I learned to tell you were coming by the sound of your ringtone."
Ah yes, the phones. There were four of them. All with a different number. All with a different purpose. All four of them were currently stuffed inside my purse, locked on vibrate.
'It's a cardio experiment," I teased. 'Try to run on the treadmill while maintaining an overseas phone call in a language you don't fully understand. A real calorie burner."
He laughed again, a pleasant sound I could tell was already growing on me.
'So what is it exactly that you do?"
No work talk? First obstacle.
Fortunately, I was saved from having to reply when Martin (not Pierre) placed the complimentary appetizer down upon the table. He did so with a relish, and flashed me a conspiratorial wink. Melody must have told him about the date.
'And what will we be having tonight?"
The servers here were forbidden from using pen and paper. Everything had to be memorized—no matter the size of the table.
'I think I'll get the salmon with sauce on the side." Camden shut his menu and turned expectantly to me. 'Avery?"
'Just a salad for me, thanks."
Camden blinked in confusion, while Martin simultaneously kicked my chair.
Shit—I'd fucked up already!
Salad was a knee-jerk reaction. The one safe, cheap thing on the menu I always ordered while sitting at a table by myself. Safely out of ear shot from the real date, but close enough to jump in should anything go wrong. (With my roster of clients, things often went wrong.)
But salad was hardly a date food, just by itself. Already, I could feel the heat begin to rise up in the base of my neck, as two sets of eyes bore into me.
'Actually...the salmon sounds great."
I handed up my menu to Martin, carefully avoiding the man's gaze. It didn't matter. I could practically feel the smirk.
'Right away."
Then he was off. Leaving me several steps back from where I'd started.
'So, Avery," the hand was back on mine, paired with an affectionate smile, 'you never told me what it is you do."
As if on cue, one of the phones buzzed in my purse. I set the clutch on the ground without looking, keeping a smile fixed on my face.
Just get it over with, Avy. It's a standard question. Get it over with and move on to the FISH—you idiot—not the SALAD.
'I work in public relations, actually."
He leaned back in surprise.
'You're a publicist. Really?"
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and laughed as nervously as him.
'Why? Do I not look like one?"
'No, it's not that, just...well actually, yeah." He laced his fingers through mine with a wide grin. 'You don't really look like one."
I got that a lot.
Mostly because I looked like I belonged on the other side of the bridge. The wealthier side. The easier side. The side that threw the parties, not the side that worked them.
I had once gotten all the way to the second floor of a Russian palace—after receiving a 911 text from a client—before being escorted outside by security. The rest of the team had found me later, gloating in the snow.
But I appreciated this guy's honesty either way. Another endearing trait. If it weren't for the fact that I already had a fake brother to maintain, I might actually start to like this Camden.
'I work with a myriad of disguises," I joked again, trying to divert the attention as much away from my job as possible. 'But what about you? What is it that you—"
But Camden was on a roll.
'My father hired a public relations team for our company once," he continued, utterly oblivious to my attempts. 'Not one of them looked anything like you."
Great. This guy was probably a trust fund baby, just like all the rest. I should have picked up on it. The restaurant. The wine. If I wasn't careful, I was going to leave here with a job offer.
'I guess that explains the phone. They were always impossibly busy."
Again—the damn thing buzzed in my bag. I kicked it under the table.
His face twisted up into a little smile.
'Do you need to take that?"
'No," I said quickly, reaching for my glass of wine, 'not at all. I'm off tonight."
...we'll see.
"Good—then I get you all to myself." He clinked his glass against mine, his perfect teeth sparkling in the soft lamplight. "To chance encounters. May they always—"
Now, both phones were buzzing, egging each other on as my purse began to shake.
I tightened my smile, ignoring them deliberately, locking eyes with Camden.
Keep talking, buddy. Just keep talking.
To his credit, he tried.
"May they always—"
A third phone added to the clamor, and with all three buzzing away in my bag, we started to attract attention.
"You can answer them, really," Camden offered graciously. "It's okay."
That's sweet, but this little social experiment is hardly about you.
"No," I said firmly—perhaps too firmly. "This is my night off. Everyone knows it. There was a memo, for heaven's sake. They'll just have to manage—"
The fourth and final phone made a dramatic entrance, its loud ringtone cutting through the air, destroying Camden's attempted toast once and for all.
‘It's raining men! Hallelujah! It's raining men—'
"There's that ringtone..."
"I'm so sorry!" I hastily reached into my purse, snapping them off one by one. "This isn't typical, I swear."
Work life—private life. Work life—private life. I chanted the mantra desperately in my head as the phones continued their revolt. There has to be a boundary! I deserve a damn boundary!
Camden nodded politely, looking unconvinced.
"Sure."
I turned off the last one, removed the SIM cards for good measure, and finally, the infuriating buzzing stopped. Before Camden could consider leaving, I grasped his hands, holding on desperately.
"Now," I took a determined breath, "you were saying?"
That's when the fifth phone rang.
It was the holy grail of communication devices, known only to two people in the world. It had only ever rung twice.
'Camden…" My shoulders slumped as dread settled in my stomach. But he seemed to understand. The napkin was already on the table, and he was scanning for the check. 'I'm so sorry, but I think I have to—"
At that moment, everyone else's phones started buzzing. The entire restaurant came alive with a million little dings and beeps as people checked their screens—faces lit up by the glow.
'Oh my gosh!" cries echoed from every corner.
'I can't believe it!"
'Look at the picture!"
'That can't be real."
'Did you see what—"
And... that was my cue to leave.
Nicholas, my boss, had officially ruined my romantic evening. My heels clicked on the tile as I grabbed my purse and hastily bid farewell to my almost-suitor, ending the almost-date before it could even begin.
'I'll—I'll call you!" I promised as I stumbled towards the door. 'I'll see you at the gym!"
He nodded sadly, pouring himself another glass of wine.
'Sure."
Melody shot me a sympathetic look as I barreled through the front doors. A cab was already waiting by the curb.
'Where to?" the man asked politely.
I shot him a withering look.
'Oh...like you don't already know."
Ten minutes later, I had left one over-priced restaurant, only to find myself rushing into another. This one was even more over-the-top than the first.
The walls themselves were coated in gold—a light dusting that reportedly cost tens of thousands of dollars just to procure. The tables sparkled with crystal stemware. The linens were Japanese silk. A replication of the Sistine Chapel had been painted across the ceiling. (Rumor had it the manager kidnapped an art student from Julliard and held him prisoner for five weeks until it was finished.) A pair of Austrian violinists floated from table to table. A Swarovski-encrusted fountain bubbled happily in the back—adorned with Botticelli's angels.
The first time I'd stepped inside, the place had shocked me. Now...? Well like I said, I'd been here several thousand times.
'Avery! Thank goodness you're here!" This time, it was Kate who swept towards me. Even skinnier than Melody. Even longer legs. 'Listen—I followed your instructions to the letter, and you know I'd never call the police. But apparently someone else did, and I don't know what—"
'Where is he?" I interrupted.
My eyes scanned the room with a practiced sort of efficiency. Like one of those games you found in airport magazines—where you had to find the one thing in the room that didn't fit in with the rest. This time, it was almost too easy.
'...you've got to be kidding."
Of course. In a room full of international dignitaries, European royalty, Wall Street's finest, and Manhattan's elite...my client was the one standing in the fountain.
No wonder he called the fifth phone.
I approached cautiously, weaving my way through an ever-growing crowd. Sure enough, the police were there. As was the press. As were about fifty or sixty other people—all of whom had enough influence to buy and sell New York several times over.
All of whom were hovering just outside the splash zone.
Keep my work life and personal life separate? Who the hell was I kidding?
I rolled up my sleeves with a sigh.
I should have known my date would end like this...
