It takes me a second to pick up on the chatter she’s hearing but when I do, my blood runs cold.
“Shit.”
We rush around the corner and back to the bullpen. Henri is standing where we left her, but that isn’t the problem. Fallon is there too. Henri has a visitor badge and is allowed in the building, but that doesn’t make this interaction any less awkward.
“Liam, your girlfriend was just telling me how she helped out with the photoshoot. You didn’t say you knew Marty and Alexi? Their shop is one of my favorites in Brooklyn,” Fallon says. There’s a twinkle in her eye that tells me she knows exactly who Henri is, and also means Henri is playing the part perfectly. She really does have a gift for it. Could Jasmine be right afterall? Am I just another guy mesmerized by the attention Henri gives?
“I don’t really. I’m just lucky to be with someone so connected. She’s a big fan of the magazine so I offered to show her around as a thank you,” I say.
“And what do you think of our little publication?” Fallon asks Henri.
Henri beams. “It’s a dream. I feel like I’m living out a scene fromThe Devil Wears Prada.”
“That’s too kind; our fashion closet is nowhere close.” Fallon cocks her head toward me. “Has Liam invited you to our holiday party? Significant others are invited.”
“We’ve talked about it. My schedule fluctuates a lot so it’s a bit up in the air.” Henri doesn't miss a beat. For a second, I wonder if I did actually bring it up and somehow forgot.
“You have to come!” Jasmine chirps. “Liam never attends staff parties.”
“Hopefully we’ll see you there. It was great meeting you, Henri, but I do have to get going. I have a dinner reservation and I was halfway there when I realized I left the purse I pair with these shoes here.” Fallon excuses herself and heads toward her office. I set down the empty glasses on a desk and follow after her, catching up just as she is through the door.
“I’m sorry. We didn’t know you’d be in,” I say.
“If you did, I’m assuming you wouldn’t have brought your fake girlfriend with you?” she says, unperturbed as she retrieves a quilted handbag from a shelf. “I like her—quick on her feet. Didn’t even hesitate to jump in as the girlfriend. Believable.”
“About the holiday party—”
Fallon holds up a hand to keep me from finishing my sentence. “I think it would be smart to bring her. Call it a trial run, low stakes. Most of the people don’t know she’s a fake girlfriend, but if they find out, then it’s no big deal.”
“I’ll try to convince her.”
“You don’t have to come to the party,” I say as I hand Henri a freshly-cleaned wine glass for her to dry. I told her that I’d take care of them and that she should catch a ride with Jasmine who was on the way to visit Iris. But because this is Henri, she said no.
She takes the glass and wipes it with a drying cloth. “Do you not want me to?”
“No!” I rush to say, plunging my hands into the sudsy sink and sending a flurry of small soap bubbles into the air. “I just know that you go to office parties all the time for work and you’re probably sick of them. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this when you didn’t originally plan on it.”
“I want to. I haven’t ever been given the opportunity to choose to come to one with people I already know. It’s a nice change. It could be fun.”
“From what I hear, it’s some lethal punch, makeshift karaoke, and basic holiday food.”
“Is it true you haven’t attended any?”
I shrug, working at a lip gloss smear on the lip of a glass. “Not really my thing.”
“Why is that? It’s not like you’re an asshole. And the first time I met you, you were eating out alone, so don’t tell me it’s the fear of being perceived.”
“I guess it’s more self-imposed isolation than anxiety.” I grab the final glass and start cleaning. “Or more that I’m anxious about making things into a competition. The way I grew up, my friends were also the people I was trying to beat. I was always told to be suspicious of people who got too close. During the first week of my MFA program, this girl asked if I wanted to trade writing assignments and get coffee.” Heat flames up my neck. “I couldn’t shake the idea that she was trying to steal my ideas.”
“It just sounds like she was asking you on a date.” Henri laughs, a light chiming sound that makes the entire room seem brighter.
“Yeah, I guess maybe.” I’ve dated a few times, had quick flings with girls visiting the resort, but when it comes to it, when things started to look serious, I broke things off. The fear of failure, of disappointing others, clinging to me in so many facets of my life.
I move to brush my hair off my brow, but forget about the soap clinging to my hands and end up swiping it over my face.
“Here.” Henri steps close to me with a rag in hand, her thigh pressing against mine as she angles herself to wipe the bubbles off my face. The tips of her fingers graze my cheek and I have to bite back a hum of satisfaction. “Were you really on track to go pro?”
Her question snaps me back to reality. Talking is good. This way, I have something to focus on beyond how she’s so close that I’m hit with the spicy scent of her perfume.
