TRICK COULD scarcely believe he was standing in the same room. The Palace ballroom at the Grazie Hotel that had seemed so expansive and sparse five days ago had been miraculously transformed into an intimate space for three hundred. He didn’t even know that would be possible, and yet somehow the staff had pulled it off. He had no idea how they’d managed it, unless they had a magic wand of their own.
Tables dotted the room, silver centerpieces adorning each and reflecting back the glow of candlelight from the votives surrounding them. A Christmas tree dressed in silver and gold stood in the corner, the top nearly brushing the twenty-foot ceiling.
Trick tugged at his jacket, making sure it was smoothed into place. The guests would be arriving any minute. Butterflies pinged around in his stomach as he waited. Standing in the center of the room, he could hear some of the staff members talking behind one of the sets of double doors that led inside.
The clock on the wall rang out, bells chiming in harmony to announce it was seven o’clock. Trick had been there since three, making sure the centerpieces were centered and the place cards were placed. The room took on a more magical glow as the daylight receded, and now that it was time for the party to start, there was a strange sort of enchantment that crackled in the air.
The main doors opened, pulled to the side by a girl dressed in black pants and a crisply pressed white shirt, and the first set of guests entered.
Trick recognized Mrs. Sebastien, whose Fifth Avenue home they’d worked on the year before. She was invested heavily in Manhattan real estate, and Redden had actually cracked half a smile when they’d landed her account. Tonight the immaculately tailored suits had been exchanged for a slinky black-sequined number, and her normally neat and tidy bun had been transformed into an elegant updo. She and her date looked like they belonged on a red carpet somewhere.
The guests filtered in slowly, each one looking more glamorous than the last. Trick felt out of place. Thanks to Edwin, his suit more than passed muster, but everyone here was sophisticated and cosmopolitan. He was more… Morningside Heights.
Only he wasn’t. Not anymore. Once again, thanks to Edwin, he had a beautiful garden apartment in a nice area of town. Everything had magically clicked into place for him, but he supposed that was the point of having a fairy godfather looking out for you. Only his professional life and love life were lacking.
Becoming an established architect would take time. Trick didn’t think there was any kind of spell that could fast-forward it. His love life, on the other hand, was something Edwin seemed fairly confident he could improve with a wave of his wand. Trick was skeptical, but for a guy who was still in training, Edwin seemed to be capable of a lot more than he gave himself credit for.
As he finished that thought, Trick’s gaze swept across the room, landing squarely on Preston Ward in an impeccably tailored charcoal gray suit. Trick’s knees almost buckled at the sight, and when Preston’s eyes rose to meet Trick’s, he felt like the oxygen in the room had thinned.
Trick’s attention moved from Preston to the door where Redden entered, his wife latched securely on his arm. She was wearing a deep blue gown and teetered slightly on her stilettos as they walked into the room. Her eyes appeared a little glassy, and Trick guessed she’d already been into the champagne.
Not that he could blame her. If he had to live with Redden, raging alcoholism would be his only saving grace. Trick shifted his gaze back to Redden, whose eyebrows were pushed together, furrowing into a tight knot in the center of his forehead as though he already disapproved of something Trick had done. Maybe he did. It wasn’t often that Redden wasn’t pissed off at Trick for something.
People filtered in behind them, and Trick watched them schmoozing and making small talk with their guests. Mrs. Redden was stiff—she had always reminded Trick of a doll, like her body was made mostly of plastic. She bent forward to allow one of the engineers from Maldonado and Associates to press a kiss to her cheek.
A scattered semblance of a line formed, as people waited their turn to greet the host and hostess of the party. The whole thing seemed much more formal and stilted than Trick had imagined the evening would be. In his head, the Christmas party was a stunning affair, filled wall-to-wall with romance and glitz. He’d expected waltzes and canapés, not more of the same elbow-rubbing and ass-kissing he’d witnessed at business meetings.
Where was the whimsy?
Trick shook his head. He’d been spending too much time with Edwin. The evening had begun with a touch of magic, but there was no reason to believe it would continue that way.
As the crowd advanced farther into the room, Trick snagged one of the glasses of champagne off the tray of a waiter who passed by. He edged the room, nodding politely to those who made eye contact with him before he moved on, finally retreating far enough to locate his spot at the table.
He wasn’t sure if the fact that his place card ended up on a table way in the back had been an accident, or if Redden had intentionally shoved him in the rear corner. Logic told him his seat placement hadn’t been random, but Trick was fine with it. Large groups of people had never been his forte, and adding formalwear to the mix didn’t make his social awkwardness any less prominent.
Sitting down at his place, he watched the guests mingle as well as he could from his partially obstructed viewing area behind one of the decorative topiaries dressed in holiday silver.
He amused himself with watching Leif and Jasper fall all over themselves to talk to one of the guests—a woman who looked to be in her early twenties, her blonde hair and alabaster skin complemented perfectly by the deep purple dress she wore. She was gorgeous, and way out of their league, but that didn’t stop the wonder twins from making fools of themselves trying to talk to her.
Trick was midchuckle when he heard a voice from next to him.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
Looking up, he saw Preston standing there, peering down at him expectantly. Trick’s tongue knotted in his mouth and he grappled for the right words.
“It seems Mrs. Judy Carmichael is.”
So smooth. Trick could have kicked himself. Why couldn’t Edwin have magicked some suaveness into him? The suit wasn’t going to fool anyone.
“I’m sure the Carmichaels would be much happier sitting closer to the bar,” Preston replied, slipping their place cards off the table and popping them on a passing waiter’s tray.
“Could you relocate those to table twelve, please?”
“Of course, sir,” the waiter replied with a knowing smile.
Trick watched, barely able to believe it was happening, as Preston sat in the newly claimed seat.
“I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Preston Ward.”
“I know… I mean, it’s nice to meet you. Formally. I’m Trick. Patrick Grigsby, but you can call me Trick. Everyone but Redden does.”
Preston took Trick’s hand and shook it, the warmth of his palm traveling up Trick’s arm. He waited for the butterflies to flutter to life in his chest, but they never came.
“Trick,” Preston said as though he was mulling it over. “I like it.”
“So how are you enjoying the party?” Trick asked. It was banal small talk, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. This was the first time he’d had the opportunity to talk to Preston without being late for work or in a moving elevator. He’d imagined this scenario a thousand times, and now that it was a reality, some of the gleam had vanished from it.
“It’s nice. I always enjoy Redden’s parties. His wife knows how to do an event.” There was an awkward pause in which Trick tried to think of something to say before Preston followed up with, “How long have you worked for Redden?”
“Ten years.”
“You’re an architect too, right?”
Trick nodded. The fact that there was no actual architecture with his name on it that came out of the firm was something he would rather not discuss. Preston was so successful. He oozed confidence and power. It was something Trick aspired to, and he’d rather Preston not know how far apart they were professionally. “Yeah, my dad was Redden’s partner when they opened up the business. I followed in his footsteps, and Redden initially hired me to do odd jobs when I started in the architecture program….”
“That must be a dream come true for you.”
“Sure.” If his dream had been ordering lunches and vetting e-mails for a Neanderthal of a man with a short temper and bad breath.
Loud, high-pitched feedback from a microphone pulled Trick’s attention from Preston and redirected it toward his boss, who was standing in the center of the room, mic poised at his mouth, glaring with intent over the crowd.
“Speak of the devil,” Trick muttered under his breath.
Redden waited for the guests to quiet down before he spoke. A long, uncomfortable silence passed, and Trick assumed Redden was trying to create drama, to build up the anticipation before he addressed the room. Trick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
Redden cleared his throat and then began his speech. “Thank you all so much for being here this evening. We appreciate your patronage this holiday season and throughout the year. Redden and Sons would not be the success it is without your continued support.”
He leaned forward, his voice amplified even more by the mic. “When I started this business, I dreamed it would bloom to this level of success. I worked hard for everything I have accomplished, but none of this would be possible without all the people in this room.”
Trick listened as Redden elaborated on his years as an architect, telling stories and sharing anecdotes from his years starting out, and finally, celebrating his own numerous successes in more recent ventures. As the crowd sat enthralled, Trick’s anger simmered to the surface. There was one thing unmistakably lacking from Redden’s monologue—any mention of John Grigsby.
That’s when everything clicked into place for Trick. The company his father had built was gone, taken over by Redden’s ego. John’s legacy was in the buildings he created, in the changes he’d made to the landscape of the city.
Redden had dropped Grigsby from the company name shortly after Trick’s father died, and it was as though he’d never existed. It had broken Trick’s heart and been the impetus behind him working hard to put himself in a place where he would be able to buy his father’s portion of the company back.
Watching Redden, whose face was becoming more and more ruddy the longer he talked, and listening to the rounds of applause that punctuated each increasingly boastful story, Trick knew that even if he were able to save up enough money to buy in as partner, it wouldn’t be the same.
Maybe that was a good thing.
Trying to piece together scraps of his father’s memory at a company owned by a man who clearly didn’t give a shit about John wasn’t honoring him any more than striking out on his own would be.
Striking out on his own?
It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed his mind, but it was the first time he hadn’t immediately dismissed it. Instead, it burrowed deep, smoldering in his mind like the embers of a fire that just wouldn’t go out.
Redden prattled on, and Trick began to hatch a plan.
Louder applause pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the present in which Redden was basking in the limelight and Preston was saying something to Trick he hadn’t registered.
“I’m sorry. I spaced out for a second there. What?”
“I was just saying what an inspiration Mr. Redden is,” Preston said.
“Completely,” Trick agreed sarcastically. It took everything in Trick not to roll his eyes. Preston didn’t seem to notice the barely contained contempt.
The waiters appeared on cue, delivering tiny cubes of meat on beds of tiny greens drizzled with a white sauce of some kind. He seemed to remember something about tuna belly and microgreens. When Mrs. Redden had decided on the menu, it had sounded delicious, but now looking at the miniscule serving of food, it seemed more pretentious than anything.
Trick looked around the room at the hundreds of people dressed in silks and sequins, and suddenly he was reminded of costume jewelry. It sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight, but ultimately it was nearly worthless. These people—Redden, his sons, and most of their clients—were a façade of sparkle with very little substance.
How had he ever thought this shit was important? When had he become so intent on beating Redden and reclaiming his father’s portion of the business that he’d lost sight of what was really important?
John Grigsby had taken on projects that mattered. His buildings were still standing because they were more than a pretty façade for people who had more money than sense. When John died, Redden’s priorities had shifted, and he’d transformed from John’s best friend and business partner into someone John wouldn’t have recognized.
The party, the prestige—it was bullshit.
Trick looked over at Preston, who stared back at him, his eyes soft around the edges and kind of dreamy. The façade had fallen from Preston too. All that time Trick had spent fawning over him in the elevator, and he’d never bothered to look past the pretty face. There was no substance there. Trick no longer saw the suave confidence. All he saw now were the little details that were missing from Preston’s appearance—there was no slightly crooked nasal bridge, sandy blond hair, or broad shoulders.
In comparison to Edwin, Preston just seemed… ordinary.
Edwin.
Trick’s heart sped at the thought of Edwin, and as he felt the rush of happiness suffuse his chest, he realized that the reaction he was having was nothing new. He’d wanted Edwin longer than he’d been able to admit to himself.
Somehow, between the time the appetizers had been served and the empty plates had been retrieved, Trick’s entire life had shifted focus.
He was done with Redden, and he was done with Preston. All he wanted was to get home to Edwin. Right on cue, the music swelled. It was like a Hollywood movie moment, when the hero realizes that everything he’s ever wanted has been right there all along.
“Do you want to dance before dinner?”
Trick turned to find Preston staring at him again. For half a second, he contemplated explaining, but he just shook his head.
“I have to go.”
Trick stood, and as the clock struck eight, he rushed out of the ballroom to hail a cab back home to Edwin.