He smiles, then takes a big bite and nods.
Unfortunately, some women don’t just enter rooms. They assess them. It’s as if the temperature drops as they approach. If we were outside, I’d expect a flock of crows to suddenly leap skyward out of nowhere.
Amber.
She’s wearing all white, as if she isn’t standing within ten feet of eighteen stain hazards I clocked on arrival, thanks to being a new mom. She looks like she stepped out of a lifestyle magazine spread titled “Effortless Wealth.” Her hair is perfectly smoothed, her makeup precise, her heels impractical on uneven terra-cotta tile yet somehow not slipping.
She pauses just inside the doorway and surveys the room. Not looking for anyone specific. Just taking inventory, like she’s ensuring no one she knows will rat her out for being here.
That’s the real reason my stylist knew about this place. She said, “Society women love it. The food is greasy, fattening, nothing diet or healthy on the menu, all the things they’re supposed to avoid. Some wear a disguise to go there, use pseudonyms, that kind of thing. There’s an understanding among them that everyone goes to Dos Hermanos, but absolutely no one talks about it. That’s why it’s the perfect place to bring your affair partner to—it’s an indulgence no one will admit to.”
I still didn’t follow her logic. “How’s that?”
“If, for instance, you go there and you’re elbow-deep in the best birria on the planet, you’ll choose not to see your rival there with her boy toy, because if you saw her there, then you’d have to admit you were there, gorging yourself. And they will never, ever admit that.”
Somehow, I doubt any of that will matter right now.
Amber’s eyes land on us. There’s no dramatic reaction. No widening of the eyes. No gasp.
I swallow another sip of margarita and pretend my pulse didn’t just spike. “Don’t turn around, but Amber just walked in.”
“She saw us?”
I nod once. “She’s deciding whether to ignore it.”
“She won’t.” He gives me a look. Whether it’s anger or worry, I can’t tell.
If she approaches us, it will be deliberate. She will put on a show, because that’s all this is to her. Entertainment value. I wonder if there’s someone else in here that she knows, someone she wants to impress by dressing us down.
“Do you want to leave?” Damian asks softly.
The question surprises me. “Why would we leave? We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
He studies me. “You said you wanted to keep this private.”
“I do, but I’m also not about to run after she saw us. And I doubt she’ll say anything to anyone about seeing us here. She would have to admit to being here herself, which would embarrass the shit out of her.”
He gulps, unconvinced. “You don’t have to engage.”
I tilt my head slightly. “You think I can’t handle her?”
“I think she enjoys goading me, and I think that will annoy you.”
“I’m fine, but if you want to leave, I don’t object.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he sucks it up. “I’ve ceded enough territory to Amber over the years. She doesn’t get this place too.”
Amber reaches the halfway point of the restaurant. Stops. Speaks briefly to a man at the bar. Laughs lightly at something he says. She’s giving us time to feel her presence. Drawing it out. The bitch would be excruciating if I really cared.
The truth is, the main reason I wanted to keep things private is for Damian’s benefit. I don’t have his status in Snow Valley. As much as I don’t want to be gossip fodder, I won’t lose my nonexistent job over it either.
“She’s going to make this about herself,” Damian says.
“She’s going to make this aboutownership, and whether she still has some power over you.”
He goes still at that. “I am not owned, and she has no power over me.”
“She doesn’t seem to know that. Maybe it’s time she learned.”
