I’ve been seeing him alone a lot lately.
“What charity are we supporting anyway?” I say to break up thinking about him.
Gavin purses his lips in thought, as if this was the first time he’d thought about that question. “I think it has to do with animals,” he says carefully. “But it could also be related to children. Or a disease.”
“Well, that covers almost everything it could possibly be. Real attention to detail there, Gavin.”
“Does it matter if I know, as long as someone who needs it gets my money?”
“From their perspective? No. But you should know because it makes you a decent person.”
“I go to so many of these, they kind of blur together. This one’s at the Plaza, so the food should be decent.”
“The Plaza? THE Plaza? Seriously, we’re like six blocks away. It would have been quicker to walk there in this traffic.”
“But why would we walk, when we can be driven?” He sounds genuinely confused.
“You’re such a spoiled brat.”
“You grew up in the same place I did. Same schools, similar income, similar addresses. Why aren’t you a brat?”
I snort. “Because I had old school Indian parents who made me do things like learn how to cook and gave me a shitty car to learn to drive on, and who didn’t send a maid with me when I went to college at Cambridge.”
My brother is closer in personality to Gavin than I am. He was never expected to have cooking lessons with Mom, and he stayed closer to home when he went to NYU. So my parents did send their cleaners and cooks over to him at his dorm and then apartment regularly.
Ajay never had to grow up or learn how to do things for himself, since there was always someone there to help him put in minimal effort. That let him spend all his energy on things he liked to do, like painting, instead of things he promised to do, like work at Loot.
Gavin is like that. Well, he does work harder than my brother at his auction house. But I see a lot of the same traits in him that I do in my brother, especially not being able to do basic tasks and only doing what’s fun for him.
“I work hard. But if there’s something I can do to make my life easier, I’m going to do it. Plus, do you want to put Roger out of work?” Gavin indicates the front of the long vehicle, voice lowering.
“You’re a real job creator,” I say dryly.
“There’re still some things I can do for myself.” He extends his arm across the back of my seat and captures my gaze. “I can show you, if you’d like,” he offers, voice deep and seductive.
Flirting? Is the man flirting with me? I’m not prepared for this new development, because even though he’s asked me out, he hasn’t been this playful with me. I wonder if he’ll call the police on me if I cover my head and yell “I can’t hear you.”
Instead of doing that, I scoff. “Not likely.” So smooth, Gupta. Smooth like a marble sculpture from the eighteenth century.
The rest of the too-long ride passes in silence, while I try to put him back in the box he was in before. The safe, enemy box where I can imagine dancing over his prostrate form in victory, while he weeps in disappointment.
When the car pulls up in front of the Plaza, Gavin opens the door for me and extends a hand to me.
“Bye, Roger. Thanks for the ride,” I say, avoiding Gavin’s eyes.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
As I take Gavin’s hand, I brace for the feel of the heat that accompanies his touch. Like clockwork, my hand curls further into his and the tendrils of warmth race up my arm.
I snatch my hand out of his as soon as I get out of the car, not prepared to deal with the emotions he brings up. I compromise by tucking the same hand into the crook of his elbow, with a few layers of cloth between us. I am supposed to be his date, and this is much safer.
Gavin leads us to the ballroom and to our table. Lovely waiters in their spotless uniforms bring me a glass of wine, becoming my favorite people in the whole room.
I sip my drink and take in all the opulence around me. Columns soar to a tall ceiling, and intricate carvings and paintings line the top of the room. Beautiful chandeliers above make the elaborate table settings down in front of us sparkle.
This building has seen so much history since it was built in the 1880s. I wish I could hear what it could tell me about New York.
A voice interrupts me taking mental notes about the beautiful decoration in the room. “Gavin Carlyle. This woman looks too pretty for you. What do you have on her to make her go out with you?”
