“Me,” the one in a leather jacket over an emerald gown said. Yeah, she looked like the leader of the pack.
“Melinda won’t be needing that duplex anymore. I just thought you should know.”
Her brows rose to the top of her head, and then a smile danced across her naughty face. “Is that so? Does she know you are speaking for her? Listen, Kristoff…”
“It’s Chris.”
“Listen, Bucko, that little gal is my friend, and I will believe that when those words come from her mouth,” Esther poked me in the shoulder.
Ow. There was a lot of strength behind that little finger.
“And she would not be happy with you if she found out,” shaved side said.
“Has anyone seen my glasses?”
“You're wearing them, Barbs. Good grief,” Esther shook her head. “Don't move her too fast, or things are going to get out of hand. Take the advice of an old lady that's young at heart, would you?” they turned around, and like a group of high school girls, they vanished into the crowd—all eyes on them.
If I weren’t careful, they would turn my opening party to their party — this opening.
I made my way to the bar, Mary and Ben, working side by side as always, fluid and effortless. Not that they were supposed to work in my bar, but they would oversee it until my manager was up to scratch. The staff was around, and it looked like they were pouring shots for everyone. Ben tossed the shaker in the air, caught it, and then flipped it a few times before tossing it over to Mary, who threw three limes at him that he juggled.
They were not regular bartenders. They were performers. My eyes kept scanning the crowd until they landed on Melinda. She looked gorgeous. She wore a long−sleeve black gown that had a high neck and a low back, showing the curves of her body. I wanted to hide them, toss my coat around how sensational she looked, but that would be selfish. She deserved to be seen.
Just as long as she was with me later.
Melinda flashed her megawatt smile when Ben tossed the shaker at her next, and surprisingly caught it. Ben cheered, and his interest in her was too much now. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked at her. Every man in this room was a victim of her charm, of her bubbling, light−hearted personality. She was the kind of person you gravitated to.
But Ben was gravitating too much. The jealousy was there inside me—I could feel it roar— and I hated it. He was my best friend, and Melinda wasn't flirting back. She seemed preoccupied, scanning the room for something or someone. Her shoulders deflated a bit, hopefully, because she didn’t find me.
I was watching her from behind the beam to see how she interacted with other men. I knew it was wrong, but seeing her with Ben reminded me of that dumb article I had come across earlier about her and her ex. It was a fake article, since the press said Melinda and her ex had been spotted together last week.
“Reports say Colloway had a visit from girlfriend Melinda Bailey while he was in prison. The two seem to want to make it work. Melinda and Colloway have been together for about a year and even after everything are trying to make it work. Looks like nothing can tear these two apart. Do we wish them the best after Colloway’s fiasco? What will happen to the Bailey empire now if Melinda stays with him? The love birds don’t seem to care!”
They had the audacity to show a picture of a woman with long blonde hair walking into the correctional facility. It wasn’t Melinda.
She was with me last week.
It didn’t mean it didn’t bug me. The press was trying to ruin Melinda’s image and her father’s business. It also reminded me that while Melinda was here with me, she had every man looking at her. I was sure if Colloway could, he’d have her again, and a small part of me wondered if she’d ever go back to him.
Melinda could have anyone she wanted. What would a girl of her stature, her class and her wealth, want with a guy like me? I had a brother in and out of rehab and no clue how to love a woman because I had never been in love, and while I had money, it had all been invested into this resort. I still competed, I still gave brand endorsement and got paid well thanks to my Instagram following, but…if this venture tanked, I’d be in the shit. I’d borrowed money, and I’d put my ass on the line.
Staring at her, I wondered how I would be able to give her all the things she was used to. I lived on a mountain resort in a rustic old chalet. She was used to living in the Upper East Side, with staff attending to her every need. I didn’t even know what that kind of life looked like. While I was semi-famous, I wasn’t spotted among the socialites. I was a snowboarding influencer for fuck’s sake, not a man coming from old money. Heck, my dad had more empty bottles in the house than he had dollars and cents in his bank account. I didn’t know how to deal with the Stanley Morgan’s of this world—sipping their fine wine and eating oysters. To me, they tasted like choking on saltwater. Not that you could taste choking, but that’s what it felt like to eat them.
When would the day come that this fine lady wanted trips to go wine tasting in Napa Valley with trust fund babies I had nothing in common with? Or attend fundraising galas in New York with Ralph Lauren clad investment bankers and Vanderbilt’s?
Looking at her, I spotted the teardrop diamond studs that she was wearing that probably cost more than I had ever made in my entire life. It was the same with her tennis bracelet. All diamonds. She was a trust fund baby, she had an inheritance, she never needed to work again, but she did, and I loved her for it.
Holy shit, I loved her?
Yeah, I did. It was early days, but I’d known her for…heck, ten years?! Ten years of dreaming of Miss High and Mighty. Not that I’d thought about her much since I left the high school she attended to move closer to the mountains. But still. She’d always been the ideal. The dream. The woman I measured all other women against, even if I wasn’t even fully aware of it at the time.
What kind of ring could I put on her finger? If we got that far? I couldn't give her a small little diamond. The press would eat her alive. It would be embarrassing for her and me. Maybe we should skip Tiffany & Co. and go platinum? Modern design?
I was thinking too far ahead. I needed to slow down and appreciate the now.
As in, right now, Melinda didn’t look happy.
Mary, the bartender who looked like she carried a knife in her boot, tapped Melinda on the arm, and Melinda leaned back, afraid Mary was about to jump her.
