He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you insane?”
“I don’t know, Aaron, you tell me. You’re the one acting like a possessed asshole right now.”
He purses his lips, but his gaze softens. “Sorry, I just—”
He turns, running one hand through his hair as he turns a corner.
“I just need to think, and there’s only one place up here that I can do that.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Whatever it is that’s bothering him, it’s making me nervous, too. Does he know that Garrett knows we aren’t real? Did he say something to him, too?
When he pulls up to a large building that looks like something out of the art deco period, I have to do a double take.
He pulls the car up to the valet.
“What is this place?” I ask as I get out.
“Daisy’s,” he says pointedly. “The speakeasy attached to theFitzgerald.”
I follow him as he walks with a hurried pace.
“The place we’re coming tomorrow? For Garrett and George’s party?”
“Yes,” he says coldly.
We enter the building on a deep crimson carpet. The man at the podium takes one look at Aaron and smiles.
“Been a while, Mr. Everett.”
Aaron stops in front of him. “Too long, Frank.”
Frank, an older gentleman, with salt and pepper hair and a warm smile, nods.
“Your usual?”
Usual?
Aaron nods. “Please. Table for two.”
I hold my arms, the cool air conditioning making my skin prickle with goosebumps.
Frank leads us down a dark corridor. The speakeasy is bustling, all the stools at the bar are taken, and the cozy atmosphere of the room itself is densely populated. Someone is performing on stage, a jazzy lounge singer busting out their rendition ofManeaterby Nelly Furtado.
I expect us to be taken there, but Frank continues walking until we get to another section that is much smaller, and certainly more intimate. There are still people, but the bar is much smaller, the room almost a postage stamp. There’s a stage with a piano, bathed underneath a spotlight. It looks old, antique. Not that I know much about pianos. I don’t play an instrument, nor can I read music. That’s Noah’s department. Ialways told him he needed to pursue a career in music, but he said college wasn’t for him like it was for me. Insisted he didn’tneedit to be successful, and maybe he was right. He’s managed to be successful as is with Foxy’s.
And you certainly don’t need a degree to be a hot date.
“How come this place isn’t as full?” I ask as Frank leads us to a table smack in front of the stage.
“Because this room is for the VIP’s,” Aaron says casually.
Of course, it is.
Frank grins as he pulls the chair out for me. I take it as Aaron takes his own.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Billecart, please,” Aaron directs before I can speak. Frank bows to him like he’s a king, and I have to do a double take. The music can be faintly heard from the room next to us, and the singer croons about making someone want all their love.
