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AS WE STEPPED ONTO the busy sidewalk and I felt the warm evening air brush over my skin, I was still trying to process what Hunter had just said to me. Ahead of me, I saw a black limousine double-parked at the curbside.
“A limousine?” I said, looking up at him with raised eyebrows. “We could have taken a cab, you know.”
“Not to one of Tootie Staunton-Miller’s parties, we couldn’t,” he said. “That woman is all about show, thus my tux and your gown. This is a society event, so tonight, we play by society’s rules.”
“Which means a limo?”
“That, and those earrings you’re wearing.”
“Glad I have them,” I said.
“You look beautiful tonight, Julia,” he said in a voice that was so deep, sexy and sincere, I wanted to dart back into my apartment so I could pour myself a martini. Because at that moment? There was something almost predatory about Hunter. I wondered what type of woman he was attracted to. After Harper’s warnings about him, I also wondered how many women he slept with during a given week. Because no man who looked like him wasn’t getting his share of it when he wanted it. I was certain of that.
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t attracted to him . . .
I heard a door click shut and looked over as a young man in a black suit came around the back of the car and opened the door for us.
“After you,” Hunter said as he placed his hand against the small of my back.
Feeling all tingly inside from the mere touch of him, I walked to the car, swept my dress behind me, and slid across the black leather seat, hoping that I wouldn’t wrinkle the material on our drive to the party.
When Hunter sat next to me, our thighs touched. And there it was again: the spark I wanted to deny but couldn’t, and which apparently was happy to call out the butterflies I’d fought against earlier. They fluttered down into my stomach and beat the hell out of it with their stinging wings as the heat from Hunter’s thigh pulsed against mine. I waited for him to scoot over so we were no longer touching, but he didn’t. Instead, the driver got behind the wheel, time seemed to slow as my pulse began to race, and then we charged into traffic, as if this was just a typical day for me.
“Thanks for doing this for me,” he said. “I appreciate it, Julia.”
“No problem,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice light. “You got me my first big deal. Again, I owe you one, Hunter.”
He turned to me when I said that and addressed me frankly. “And again, is that the only reason you agreed to come?” he asked.
Nana, can you hear me?
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
He cleared his throat, and those piercing blue eyes of his burned into me.
“I asked if that’s the only reason you’re here with me tonight?” he said.
Nana, are you near me?
“Why else would I be here?”
For a moment, his brows furrowed into a pinched crease before they relaxed.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll ask you again later.”
“What’s going to happen later that isn’t happening now?” I asked.
He gave me a disarming smile and a bemused shake of his head before he shrugged. “That’s the thing,” he said. “The night is young. Who knows what will happen between us tonight? Or next week? Or next month? Hell, next year? That’s the beauty of a first date, whether you want to call it a date or not, even though it is. You and I are together tonight, we are dressed to the nines, hopefully one of us will give in to the moment and let her guard down—then we’ll see what happens from there.”
* * *
TOOTIE STAUNTON-MILLER lived just off Fifth Avenue in a stately brownstone on Seventy-Fourth Street.
The building was five stories tall, two slender elm trees were leafing out in front of it, the windows were arched in ways that reminded me of hooded eyelids, and in front was a cluster of limousines at the curb letting off people in evening wear. At the entrance, I saw rapid, continuous explosions of light that I knew had to belong to the paparazzi.
“The paparazzi are here?” I asked.
“When it comes to my parents’ lives, they’re never not here,” he said. “This is the kind of world in which they live, Julia. Is that a problem?”
I paused for a moment before I responded. If I went through with this, I would be photographed with a well-known serial seducer of women just when I’d been given my dream job at CAA. How would it look to the brass if photographs of Hunter and me surfaced tomorrow morning? I’d been trying to make it in this city for years. Because of Hunter’s reputation, would it appear that I was already sleeping with my client’s boss? I wasn’t sure, but it did concern me, because I’d never expected to be photographed with him tonight, and I didn’t know what the fallout would be if I was photographed with him.
“Julia?” Hunter said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that I live a private life, Hunter. I had no idea that we’d be photographed together tonight. I’m not sure that I’m comfortable having my face out there in the press.”
“I get it,” he said. “I felt the same when it first happened to me.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“Years ago,” he said. “Pretty much at a party like this, held for one of my parents. I hated the attention. So, look, how about if we drive around for a while until the paps are gone? When they are, we can arrive late and sneak into the party.”
“But how long will that take?” I asked.
“I don’t know—maybe an hour or so?”
“Which will make you seriously late for an event that’s meant to honor your father’s work,” I said. “And if you aren’t photographed, it could be misinterpreted as you didn’t even care to show up for it.”
“My parents will know better,” he said. “Eventually, I’ll be there for my father tonight, which is all that matters to him—and also to me. If the press wants to stir up some sort of drama about me showing up late—which I seriously doubt they will, since in the glittering world they cover, I’m persona non grata—let them.”
He’s totally being a gentleman when it comes to this, I thought. He didn’t just sound sincere—his voice was filled with conviction. And he offered me a way out, which I can’t ignore. Was Harper’s impression of him wrong? Is her opinion of him based only on things she’s heard about him in the past? Or is showing kindness and understanding one of the ways he seduces a woman? Is he being sincere with me right now, or is he just playing me?
I had to wonder, because ever since I’d first met Hunter, he’d been nothing but a gentleman. At what point did I stop second-guessing everything about him—which I hated because I was judging him based on Harper’s opinions and warnings of him—and start to trust all the good things I saw in him? A day? A week? A month? I wasn’t sure. But what I realized in that moment is that I needed to relax a little, and to learn when it was OK to trust a man again. Because I couldn’t continue to believe that all men would be like Michael. I just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to me, or to anyone who was trying to get close to me.
That’s a tall order, girl . . .
Maybe, but at some point, I need to let Michael go. The question is when.
“We’re approaching the entrance,” the driver said as he glanced at me in the rearview. “Shall I stop or continue on?”
“Julia?” Hunter said to me. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
Hunter’s parents had saved him at the age of sixteen, and from our dinner conversation, I knew that this man was devoted to them because of it. If he wasn’t photographed showing up for this party, it wouldn’t only hurt his parents’ feelings, but it might even harm his reputation. Because what kind of son wouldn’t be there for his father on a night like tonight?
And so I listened to my heart.
Take a chance and believe in him, I thought.
“We’re being flagged to stop,” the driver said. “I need to know what to do. Stop or go forward?”
“Stop the car,” I said as the driver nudged toward the entrance.
“Are you sure?” Hunter asked.
The mere fact that he asked that question was enough to ease my nerves.
He is concerned. If he wasn’t, he never would have asked.
I placed my hand on his knee and looked at him.
“Absolutely.”
“We can make this quick,” he said.
“Or not,” I said. “Whatever. I’m all in, so let’s do this. And don’t forget to smile, because when it comes to the paps? If they don’t see one on both of us, they’ll question all of it.”
When I said those words, time seemed to stretch and then snap the moment my door was opened for me. The driver offered me his hand, I stepped out onto the sidewalk with Hunter at my side, and when the paparazzi saw us together, they went crazy in ways that surprised me. Was Hunter that well known?
He must be . . .
As we walked toward them, I said to Hunter in a low voice, “Why are they freaking out right now?”
“I don’t know,” he said under his breath, sounding genuinely perplexed. “Maybe it’s because I’m not with Abby. They’ve long thought that she’s my girlfriend. With you here, that illusion is officially shot.”
“Are you saying this is news?” I asked him.
“It sure as hell shouldn’t be, but who knows when it comes to these idiots?”
We walked toward the building’s entrance and I slammed a smile on my face as countless photographs were taken of Hunter and me. Because of my best friend, Sienna, who was no stranger to the paps, I knew exactly how to play this game. Say nothing. Smile. Turn this way and that. Get the hell inside as soon as reasonably possible.
“Hunter,” one of the paps called out. “Where’s Abby? Have you two broken it off? Is this your new girlfriend?”
Hunter’s only response was to stand closer to me, despite the fact that more questions were being hurled our way as the area surrounding us filled with bursts of light. Throughout it all, Hunter and I smiled, but we remained silent. Then, when Hunter had had enough, he took me by my hand, wished everyone a good night, then we entered Tootie Staunton-Miller’s large and elaborate foyer, which was teeming with the New York social elite.
I could feel Hunter’s warm breath on my neck when he leaned down to ask if I was OK.
“I’ve never been through anything like that,” I said to him, still slightly shaken by the idea that those people back there had asked over and over again what my relationship was with him. “It was kind of unnerving.”
“And probably one of the reasons you and I work behind the scenes. Imagine if we were celebrities.”
“Exactly,” I said with a shudder as I admired the room. “No thanks.”
“It’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?” he asked.
“The Staunton-Millers must be seriously rolling in it, because this place reeks of old money. I mean, look at the mahogany-paneled walls and the Tiffany light fixtures. And then there’s the staircase over there to the left—talk about dramatic elegance. Look at how it sweeps effortlessly toward the second level. And people are taking it. Is the party upstairs?”
“It is,” he said. “In their grand ballroom.”
“They have a grand ballroom in this joint?”
“They do.”
“Imagine having a grand ballroom in your house.”
“Or saying to someone, ‘The party will be in our grand ballroom.’”
I giggled when he said that. “Right?”
“Thank God you see the absurdity in this, Julia. Most people long to be part of this world. If it weren’t for my parents, I’d have no part of it.”
“I mean, from an outsider’s perspective, what I’m witnessing is kind of fascinating,” I said. “Just look at everyone, Hunter—especially the women. They’re all so thin, regal, and gorgeous in their evening gowns and pulled-back faces. And then there’s the sheer amount of diamonds in this room, which is seriously off the charts.”
“Wait until you see what it’s like upstairs,” he said.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Because if this is just the foyer, I can’t even imagine what their grand ballroom looks like.”
“Let’s take the stairs, say hello to Tootie and Addy at the top, then we’ll go to the bar and get a drink before we look for my parents.”
“Done and done. Lead the way, sir.”
“Take my hand so I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he said as he reached down for it. When I felt his long, warm fingers enclose my own, I was damned if my heart didn’t skip a beat.
His touch is going to get me every time, I thought.
Deal with it.
Can you?
I’m not sure . . .
Why?
Because sometimes it scares me. Sometimes it feels like too much.
As we approached the staircase, I heard a woman somewhere in the crowd call out Hunter’s name.
“Hunter! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Just keep with me,” Hunter said. “Because I don’t have time for this kind of bullshit.”
“For what kind of bullshit?”
“Just keep with me, Julia. Please.”
“Hunter darling,” the woman called out again. “What’s the issue? I mean, it’s me, for God’s sake. Why won’t you stop? I know you can hear me. It’s me, me, me! I came here knowing that you’d be here! It’s your princess, as you used to call me. It’s your Immaculata!”
