The woman smiled and thanked her for the compliment. She then introduced her male counterpart and husband, Elliot Lawson. Elliot, like his wife, was attractive and dressed stylishly in a black beanie, a heavily patterned T-shirt, and loose-fitting pants with designer sneakers.
“Great to meet you both. God, I’m starving. Hope you guys came hungry,” Elliot said.
Mia glanced at Cierra with a confused look.
“Uh . . . is this, like, a dinner thing?” Mia asked. The couple exchanged amused glances and chuckled a bit.
“Thisisa party, right?” Mia asked lightheartedly.
Zelda was still smiling. “Yes, it’s adinnerparty. But I’m guessing you didn’t realize that. We come whenever we’re in town — the host is a good friend of ours.”
“Oh,” was all Mia could say. Not the vibe that they had prepared for at all. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t eat too much today.”
“The host — our friend, John — has the most killer private chef. But it’s not stuffy. Well, maybe a few of the guests can get a little stuffy, but mostly everyone is great, and if not, there’s always the bar cart,” Zelda said deviously.
Mia’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “All right then. I’m up for it.”
The couple turned toward Cierra, awaiting some sign of enthusiasm.
“Sounds like fun. I’ll never turn down a good meal.”
Zelda clapped her hands in glee. “Ah! I love it.”
“Shall we head in?” Elliot said, shivering a bit from the weather and looking up at the brownstone. “No time like the present.”
Walking up the stairs, Cierra leaned in to whisper in Mia’s ear, “This had better not be some weird sex party. I’m halfway convinced that couple is trying to bring you in as a third.”
Mia giggled. “So what if they are? Lighten up, Cee. I promise we’ll leave early if someone comes out with a house-key bowl. Okay?”
Cierra scowled and re-adjusted her revealing top; they were almost at their destination.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN THE FOURSOME reached the apartment, Cierra stood with her mouth half open while the eccentric Lawson couple meandered in with an air of ease and comfort. Obviously, this was their normal territory. Mia tugged on Cierra’s arm, whispering “C’mon, let’s go in” like a mama duck coaxing her socially anxious chick into a pond. There were about fifteen people mingling, with a remarkable diversity of ages and fashions. There was an older man in ripped jeans talking to a younger woman in a bright magenta cocktail dress. A butler was going around with trays of frothy champagne, with tiny bubbles so small it reminded Cierra of sea foam, and there was another one serving various finger foods.
“Good evening, Madam,” one butler said with a smile, and offered her a glass. “And welcome to the party. Are there any allergies or dietary restrictions you’d like us to be aware of?”
“Oh, uh, none for me.” Cierra looked down; the other butler had materialized and was offering her a tiny appetizer. A plump, pink shrimp, juicy mango slice, and vibrant cilantro leaf, all held together by a toothpick, sat on the plate. In recent years, Cierra’s profession had dampened her enjoyment of other people’s food; tonight, she was happy to eat a dish without an academic critique running through her head.
The combination was minimal, yet memorable. Whoever made this had a keen sense of ingredient sourcing. It was tellingwhen a chef let the ingredients speak for themselves, versus the other way around. Not that she didn’t appreciate a deep-fried shrimp slathered in tartar sauce from time to time.
For a few minutes, Cierra wandered around the loft-style apartment, which felt more like a live-in gallery, when she stopped to admire a framed antique movie poster from the 1940s.
“It’s a shame, just left theaters,” she heard from a male voice behind her that made her jump. A small yelp escaped her.
“Oh God, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said. “Stupid joke.”
“It’s fine,” Cierra said, slightly annoyed. Turning around, her expression eased when she saw the handsome, amicable face it had come from. But the man was now looking at her chest with a worried expression: in the commotion, her drink had spilled down her neck and onto her cleavage (which was plentiful tonight, thanks to Mia’s fashion advice), as well as part of her shirt.
Quickly averting his eyes, he offered her his napkin. “Here, let me get some water and some more napkins, I’ll be right back.”
In a flash, he returned. The man had wavy dark hair, nearly black, that framed his defined, closely shaven face. At first he’d gone to help pat the shirt dry, but instantly retracted his hand, realizing that wouldn’t exactly be the help Cierra needed.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my brother,” Elliot Lawson said, who must have seen the interaction and come over. “What’d you do now, Erik?”
Erik, looking embarrassed but still able to laugh at himself, said, “Well,someonewas late, so I was trying to mingle on my own and then this happened.” Elliot was shaking his head as Zelda, his glam-punk wife, joined.
“Ugh, Erik? Really?” Zelda said.
