I pay her two hundred. She shakes her head again.
“No need for a tip,” she says.
“I want to.” It’s the same argument we always have. Dani was new and practically starving when I met her. People make assumptions because of her ink and loud makeup, but she’s one of the hardest-working entrepreneurs around. She built Ink Art with sweat and blood, never taking a shortcut. I admire her for it.
“All right. Thanks, Grant. See you next year?”
“Yup. Have a good weekend.” I smile and leave the studio.
One more year of my not falling for the romantic bullshit people like Huxley push to sell things—and I’ll deserve another dash. The thought should fill me with smug satisfaction, but somehow I’m gloomy.
Must be the days spent in Boston. The weather was terrible out there, all those gray clouds hanging low, heavy with rain or snow. There’s no telling in a city that can have a massive blizzard as late as April.
I stop by the office briefly to pick up the gift Marjorie said she left with security. They hand it over, and I grind my teeth.
What the hell am I going to do with a diamond necklace? I told her I needed flowers, something big and expensive, not jewelry. I don’t give things that people can sell anymore.
I take a snapshot of the necklace and text her.
–Me: Does this look like a flower arrangement to you?
–Marjorie: You’re welcome. Every girl likes jewelry.
I close my eyes for a long moment. She’ssolucky she works for Emmett. I would’ve fired her a long time ago and bad-mouthed her shitty performance to everyone so that she could never find another job in the city.
I throw the jewelry box unceremoniously on the passenger seat of my Maybach and glare at the mess Marjorie’s made. Normally I wouldn’t bother with anything. Girls are happy with a fancy dinner and some sex. But it’s Yvette’s birthday, so I have to make an effort. I stop by a florist on the way to the restaurant and grab three dozen long-stemmed roses. They’re clichéd, but then, Yvette is a clichéd kind of girlfriend—pretty, slightly self-absorbed and not overly bright. She doesn’t challenge me, she doesn’t bother me much and she doesn’t make too many annoying demands. We can spend a pleasant, inoffensive time together, and she doesn’t make me do or feel anything out of the ordinary.
I toss my fob to the valet at Éternité, one of the most popular and exclusive restaurants in the city. Yvette said she wanted to eat at La Mer, but I told her no. I haven’t been there in almost a decade and a half, and I don’t plan to change that, birthday or no birthday.
Besides, Éternité is just as good as La Mer. Owned by the same guy, too. The French-Japanese fusion restaurant has a long waiting list, but I can always get a table.Assuming Marjorie hasn’t screwed that up as well.My gut tightens at the possibility. Thankfully, the hostess finds my reservation.
“Your party’s already here and seated,” she says with a smile.
I nod and follow an impeccably dressed staff member to my table. The interior is an interesting mélange of East and West. It’s airy, with intricately embroidered hangings and unique flower arrangements. I scan the place for Yvette’s familiar brunette locks, but don’t see her.
“Here you are, sir.”
I stop, then stare at Yvette, reeling. She beams at me like she’s just been crowned Miss USA.
“Grant!” she says in her thin, high-pitched voice.
I stay standing. “What the hell happened to your hair?”
“Oh, this?” She swivels her head this way and that. “I dyed it yesterday. Don’t worry, I didn’t cut it. I know you like long hair.”
“Why?” I say, staring at the red curls around her flawlessly made-up face.
“I saw you staring at a redhead when we were out last week.” She shrugs.
I think back… I saw a woman with hair in the exact same shade as…
Fuck, I’m not going to go there.I haven’t thought about her in years, and I’m not going to now. I wasn’t really thinking about her last week, either. The hair was overly bright and caught my attention, that’s all.
Yvette continues, “I thought you liked the color since, you know, aside from the hair, she wasn’t anything special.” She rolls her eyes. “So I thought I’d change.” She smiles. “Do you like it?”
“No. You look like you’re drenched in pig’s blood.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
