This gala called for convincing a large public audience. He neededthe stage presence of Hayes and the persuasiveness of Paulson, who could fearlessly convince anyone of anything. Miles hated to admit it, but he admired Paulson’s ability to sell Avery on her hotel bar in seconds flat.
Thankfully, Hayes and Anna Catherine were a huge draw for the event.Counterblow, Hayes’s latest film, was smashing box office records this summer. People vacated Manhattan in summer, spending their days in the Hamptons or on Nantucket. But they’d returned to the City for this event and the chance to be in the same room with Hayes Preston and Anna Catherine Page.
Hayes had mentioned the Camp Luciole project during a recent appearance onThe Tonight Show. He’d teared up talking about his own loss. The clip had gone viral, a sign others cared about the camp. Miles would rely on that to buoy him through the night.
Thirty minutes later, Miles leaned against his kitchen counter, wearing navy pants and a dress shirt, his jacket hanging on a nearby dining-room chair. His tie looped over his shoulders and his cufflinks sat beside him as he gave his speech one last pass.
“How do I look?” Avery walked out of the guest bedroom, a vision in midnight blue. An embellished crop top showed a hint of her midriff above a long skirt with sparkling beads fading down its length. On her feet were matching heels. The added height brought her eyes closer to his.
“Oh, Pepper.” His throat tightened. “You’re prettier than the night sky.”
She twirled around and finished with a curtsey.
“The invitation said the theme is summer camp.” She skimmed her hand down the skirt. “This ensemble reminds me of stargazing with you.”
He put down his notes and stepped to her, tracing his thumb along the exposed skin above her waistband, his eyes holding hers.
“I don’t want to dishevel perfection.” His voice cracked. “How about if I touch you right here all night?”
She folded his tie under his collar, her fingers brushing the back ofhis neck, and began tying a knot. No woman had ever dressed Miles, only undressed him. It felt caring and incredibly intimate. Avery focused on the task, her forehead close to his lips, as they breathed the same air. In the silence, his breathing became ragged. Avery patted the tie and kissed him, melting his nerves. She wiped her lipstick from the edge of his mouth, and he felt the urge to kiss her so she’d have to rub off another smudge.
“You can dishevel me later.” She tugged his belt loops and winked.
As they stepped away from one another, a chill washed over him. They never used air conditioning at the lake and Miles didn’t like it. Cold air billowing out of a rectangle in the ceiling was not the same as a cool breeze blowing off the water. He missed the heat she generated in him.
Avery glided over to the enormous windows facing his terrace.
“This apartment is something,” she said in a way that didn’t sound like she loved it. “It’s like a decorator’s show house.”
True. He lived inside a glossy magazine photo. Staged and sterile, with nothing personal anywhere. It could easily have been a rental because it said nothing about him. He didn’t collect things like airplane propellers or flags; things that hinted at his interests. His hobbies were running and reading, but his bookshelves were filled with modern sculptures and massive black and white photography books he’d never cracked open.
Avery crossed to the Eames chair and ran her finger along the back, swiveling it.
“I think this is your favorite spot.” She smiled. “It’s the only thing in here with your imprint.”
“You know me and decorating.” Miles fiddled with his shirt cuff. “I figured the designer knew her stuff. The couch looks cool, but it’s meant for a media room. It makes you recline, even if you don’t want to.”
“You’re leaning back to where it’s hard to get up,” she said. “It’s like being stuck in a comfy dentist chair.”
“Maybe I should pull out my drill.” He winked.
“Slow down, doctor. I need Mr. Thirsty first.” Avery made the slurping sound of the dentist’s suction tube. “On second thought, he sucks.”
Miles loved when they relaxed and joked like this, even if she wasn’t wild about this apartment. Purchasing the Penthouse A had been like buying a new pair of pants only to discover they chafed. He’d moved to this brand-new building from a small prewar studio on a vibrant, sometimes noisy street in the East Village. What his old apartment had lacked in size, it made up for in charm and warmth.
“I’ll redo the whole place if you don’t like it,” he said.
She straightened and walked over to him.
“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to change it. It’s beautiful; the polar opposite of the Red House. Maybe because your life in the City is different from your life at the lake. They’re worlds apart.”
He winced. Miles felt like the same person, no matter where he was, but she had a point. This apartment was extravagant but uncomfortable, which summed up how he felt about his city life.
He pulled her closer and rested his hand on that bare spot again, letting her warmth permeate his fingers and run straight to his heart.
“I want you to feel at home here,” he said.
“At the end of summer, I’ll still be a visitor. I know you hate talking about the future and now is not the best time, but at some point, we need to discuss what happens when we leave the lake.”
