When someone from the waitstaff passes with a tray of canapés, Hana picks up a napkin and takes two. I, however, shake my head, still not over my mother’s words. I do have a tendency to gain weight, and I haven’t been very good at controlling myself in the past few weeks. Stress will do that to a person, and having to reassess my entire life after the breakup hasn’t been exactly restful.
“Ugh, this is so good,” Hana moans after taking a bite of what looks like foie gras on toasted brioche.
My stomach protests with gurgles, reminding me that all I had today was a slice of salmon and four asparagus. I pass a hand over my front, soothing my dress. That attracts my friend’s gaze.
“Still can’t believe how amazing that dress is on you,” Hana compliments.
I look down at the green satin. The Dior dress was returned to me yesterday, its spaghetti strap fixed like nothing happened. It’s a bold choice for an evening like this, but after the night I had, I was feeling sexy and wanted, so I impulsively picked it. It’s the dress that started everything after all, with those dating app pictures.
“Don’t you think it’s too much?” I ask Hana. She’s wearing a midnight-blue cocktail dress with long chiffon sleeves and a skirt that reaches mid-calf. She looks stunning with her hair up and gold accessories.
“No, you look perfect. And I love the shoes. Are they new?”
I bring a foot forward to show her the pearl-encrusted Jimmy Choo. “Yes, I deserved a reward for not killing my mother.”
“Fair. Should we start looking around?” she asks after another sip of her champagne.
I agree, so we make our way toward the closest canvas. It’s a mess of drops, splashes, and smears of paint, the colors dark and gloomy. The composition of it is oppressive, like a dark forest that harbors even darker secrets. If the goal of art is to trigger feelings, then it’s accomplished. It’s not my type, but it works.
“That’s depressing,” Hana mumbles next to me before we move on to the next one.
A few canvases later, we come across Constance. She greets us with warmth, thanking us for coming. We congratulate her on such a successful soiree, and before we can catch up on the last couple of years, her attention is called elsewhere.
Another waiter comes to us with a tray of food, Hana picks a couple of things, and we look around again. I’m distractedly looking at the buffet from afar when Hana gently shoves her elbow into my ribs.
“Isn’t that the guy from the dating app?” she asks.
“What?”
“There, the man with the burgundy jacket,” she insists. I look in the direction of her stare. “Isn’t it that Eli guy?”
Holy crap. It is.
Elijah is right there, talking to a couple of people in the back of the gallery. The same Elijah I shared an elevator ride with this morning. What is he doing here?
Before I can even register his presence, a low, raspy, and devilish voice I know all too well says from behind me, “I think I know this dress.”
Thinking my mind is playing tricks on me, I swiftly spin around. A pair of green eyes is staring down at me with amusement. Eyes that I was lost in for hours last night. Eyes that witnessed me in the most abandoned state I’ve ever been in.
Why is Jake here? How?!
“Is this the ladder guy?” Hana whispers, putting two and two together despite being as shocked as I am.
And there are many reasons to be shocked. I have always found Jake stunning, but seeing him in a suit requires a whole new set of adjectives. The charcoal jacket and pants fit him perfectly, accentuating his solid build and powerful muscles. And the dark red dress shirt he has underneath is reminiscent of the reddish feathers that creep up his neck out of the unbuttoned collar.
This man is so ridiculously attractive, it’s not even funny.
“The ladder guy?” he asks, intrigued. Then he smirks—a half one that awakens the parts of me he overused. “I don’t know. Am Itheladder guy, red?”
What the hell can I answer to that? I’ve been fantastic at not sharing too much information with Hana because she’d push me to give Jake a lot more than I should. But she’s seen him now. She’ll know precisely just how deeply screwed I am.
“Don’t tell me Beelzebub took your tongue on your way out this morning,” he teases.
“You were at his place?” Hana asks.Shoot!“You told me you fell asleep early yesterday, and that’s why you didn’t answer my messages,” Hana says, squinting her eyes at me. To my relief, she doesn’t seem annoyed but rather amused.
“She definitely didn’t fall asleep early,” Jake says, also quite entertained by this. “Am I your naughty little secret, red?”
I’m speechless, completely blindsided by the turn of events. This cannot be happening.
