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Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me
They would walk two, maybe three steps, then stop as another celebrity, each one a surprise, approached Charlie. Interestingly, none of the familiar faces looked quite right. They were either better or shorter or skinnier or blonder than they looked in People or on TV.
Bree was good with makeup. Really. She’d made a point of learning the correct techniques at a beauty school near her college, but there was an element of magic to the faces that passed by. And the clothes …
She’d browsed through some of the high-end boutiques in Manhattan. D&G, of course, but a few couture houses, as well, showcasing their elegantly crafted suits and dresses, not daring to touch because each button or zip was worth more than everything she owned or would own for years to come. Now she saw those creations in motion, and it was poetry. No way to call it anything other than art. Each designer’s style was as individual as a Picasso or a Rembrandt. She felt humbled. And grabby.
Instead of touching the fifty-thousand dollar gown, she snagged some hors d’oeuvres. Prawns and sushi and filet mignon, each with a little napkin and dabs of aioli. If she hadn’t been an adult person standing next to famous people she wouldn’t have stopped shoving them into her mouth because they were fantastic. The champagne was chilled, and she should switch back to pineapple juice because even with the food her edges were sliding toward fuzzy.
She turned to Charlie, only Charlie wasn’t there. Not where she’d left him, but that had been before she’d followed the hamachi tray, dammit. She did a complete three-sixty, pausing as she saw clumps of celebrities, and that made her giggle, because certainly clumps wasn’t the proper collective. What was? A cavalcade of celebs? A coterie? An ensemble? No, a superficiality of celebrities. Ha.
Bree pulled out her cell phone, pulled up Charlie’s cell number and typed. You’re not here.
He could be anywhere, so it wouldn’t hurt to meander. Maybe get a small bottle of water. Her cell would vibrate when he texted back, so she could work on her Not From Hicksville Face as she gasped to herself.
Where are you? CW
Standing next to 1 of the Olsen twins. Not sure which
1. Doesn’t matter.
Not able to find you via Olsen twin. Something more stationary please? CW
Ah. Stella McCartney holding court.
Perfect. But can’t leave quite yet. Ten min. CW
Who are you with? Nvr mind. Ur busy.
Bree lowered her phone, but it dinged.
3 people who want in. 2 who’ll get in. 0 fun as U. CW
She flushed with pleasure, even though it was a line, nothing more, and yet she’d never delete that text ever.
The second she pressed Send, Bree panicked. It was a heart. She meant he was being sweet. Not—Oh, crap, he’d probably—
Um. I meant thank U.
She exhaled, still freaked out enough to barely glance at the second Olsen twin. She switched contacts, and texted.
Rebecca, I screwed up.
How?
Sent him
???
SENT HIM
No worries. He won’t mind.
But—
Hush. Trust me. & smile
The ding from a different text happened. Charlie.
Stay by Stella ETA 2 min CW
Bree decided to believe Rebecca and smile. Then she dialed the grin down from eleven to a reasonable five. Her heart, however, wasn’t so cooperative. It was a silly mistake, that’s all. Not even a mistake. A
She was nervous, that’s all. The atmosphere, the date itself. The Olsens.
And what came next. What might come next.
As a sneak peek, the kiss held great promise. She liked Charlie more than she’d expected to, and he’d kissed her, so he didn’t find her repulsive or anything, so that was a point in her favor. Truthfully? She was equal parts good-anxious and insanely terrified-anxious about spending time alone with him. But first time—only time—sex with anyone was scary. So much potential for catastrophe. The
She’d had her fair share of errors in the bedroom. The memories of which made her blush. But now was not the time to brood about mistakes made when learning the ins and outs, so to speak, of sex with relative strangers. It was the time to look for Charlie, to appreciate every single moment of being here, in this miraculous room, with a date that made her nipples take note, favor or not.
There were no twins at all around her now, but Ms. McCartney had a very large and enthusiastic crowd around her, and it was easy to see why. Although she couldn’t hear the designer, or even see her face very well, the people within ear and eyeshot were smiling. Not the kind of smile that made a person shiver, the kind that erased years and made it fun to eavesdrop. But there was Charlie, and his smile… .
God.
That was something. If it was fake, she’d take it, hands down over many other genuine things in life. Somehow, though, she didn’t think it was fake. No matter, she grinned back, honest as the day was long. It wasn’t that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. There were a number here tonight who would look better on a magazine cover. Of course, they were models, so that made sense. Charlie’s charm was in the reality of his face. There were lines, small ones, that would have been airbrushed out on a cover, but she liked them. They gave him character and made him look as suave as he was. They were smile lines, which were always a good sign. Especially on the King of Manhattan.
She liked that he was thirty-one. Men in their twenties could have … issues. Fine, no problem, she was in her twenties and could make lists of all the things she wished were different, so no throwing stones, but guys were boys longer than women were girls, that was a fact. Charlie would be a wonderful lover, she imagined as she met him halfway to the dessert spread. That kiss had been an amuse-bouche. The meal would be like heaven.
“You look relatively unscathed,” Charlie said. “I’m shocked.”
“Why?”
“I’d have thought every straight man in the building would have been all over you.”
“Stop.”
“Not a line,” he said. “I mean it. I’m stunned. I rushed. Although I figured you could take care of yourself.”
“Based on?”
“Everything I’ve seen so far. You and Mick Jagger, for instance.” Charlie slipped his hand across her lower back. “What would you like to see next?”
Bree met his gaze. “The view from here is fine.”
He sighed, and because there was a momentary pause in the music, she heard it. The live music had stopped a while ago, and now there was recorded stuff—the mix excellent. Of course they’d have a great DJ at a party like this.
“Tell you what. Let’s do one more circuit. I promise not to drag it out, no matter who we meet, but you’re allowed to linger as long as you like, anywhere you like.”
“Wow. That’s very generous.”
“I’m feeling magnanimous.” He nodded toward a waiter. “Pineapple juice? Champagne? Pastry?”
She held up her water. “All set.”
He hugged her closer and they began the procession, and she truly did feel like a princess. Her free hand ended up around his back, and somewhere around a very large ice sculpture of Michelangelo’s David that was a bit worse for wear, her head came to rest on his shoulder. There were a number of places she thought about stopping, because the odds of her seeing these people again were nil, but not even Michael Kors himself was enough to pull her out of the spell of being with Charlie, her one-night-only prince.
5
THE LIMO ARRIVED, AND THANK goodness Charlie knew the driver because all of the limos looked identical, except for the radical fringe who liked their Hummers and their Bentleys stretched and bedazzled. Chivalry wasn’t dead, Bree was glad to see, as Charlie stood in the safety position blocking her as she got into the backseat. When he climbed in after, he pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders.
“That was amazing,” she said, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to get warmer.
“It was. Everyone came out to play tonight.”
“I’m still trying to get it in my head that it happened, that it wasn’t a dream.”
“Nope. A hell of a lot of the pictures and videos coming out of tonight are for Naked New York. I’ll make sure you get copies, how’s that?”
Bree looked up at him, astonished. “Really? Of everything?”
“Yep. On disk, so you can Photoshop whomever. Just do me a favor and don’t publish them. That could get tricky.”
“I won’t, I swear it. Not the Photoshop part—I’m totally going to do that, and I’m going to save every last nickel until I can get a color printer, but I swear I won’t publish. I wouldn’t abuse the privilege.” “I’m not worried.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him. “How can you not be? You don’t know me at all. I could be anyone. A competitor. I could work for Perez Hilton or Gawker, and then where would you be?”
“You don’t, though. Because Rebecca likes you.”
“She barely knows me, either.”
“Rebecca has excellent instincts about people. You’ll do well to stick with her. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s very, very smart. The smartest one in the family, and we’ve got a couple of federal judges running around, in addition to a bunch of politicians.”
“Speaking of, lately I’ve been seeing all these billboards for Andrew Winslow III. I didn’t think of it before, but are you guys related?”
Charlie’s expression turned sour. “And so it begins. He’s a cousin. Not one I’m fond of. Although, I’m not fond of most of them. Rebecca is the exception.”
Interesting, his distaste for his family. So different from her own experience. Sad, too. She didn’t know what she’d do without her family’s support. Best to get back to the relative he liked. “I’m enjoying the hell out of our friendship so far. Rebecca’s ridiculously funny. And she knows the city the way I want to some day. All the little places and the secrets.”
“Why New York?” he asked.
“The Chrysler Building started it,” she said. “I love art deco, although when I first saw pictures of the building I didn’t know what art deco was. Then I discovered fashion, then theater and what was available here, something incredible down every street. I fell for the city long before I stepped foot in it. And yes, thanks to Woody Allen, it came with a score by George Gershwin. I think I must have lived here before in another life. Not that I necessarily believe in reincarnation, but if it’s real, then I was here. This is home.”
“There’s a heartbeat to this place that’s either in sync with your rhythm or not. I notice its absence every time I travel. If you’re one of the chosen, Manhattan becomes home base and every time you come back, it’s as if you can finally breathe again. That’s how it is for me, at least.”
She smiled at him, as if they shared a secret handshake. She supposed they did. Then she leaned over, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “Thank you, Charlie. Tonight’s been one for the books.”
Charlie closed his eyes as he pulled her closer. He agreed about the night. It hadn’t been easy to leave her while he worked, and when had that happened at one of these things? He couldn’t recall.
Not that he didn’t like the women he asked out—he did. He liked women of all sorts, but he had some strong preferences, he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t just dating for his own amusement, after all. His image was part of the Naked New York brand, and so were the women he was seen with. Some were better than others, some he could talk to, some couldn’t string two coherent sentences together, but to a woman they were a type.
Bree wasn’t even close.
So far she’d surprised him in almost every respect, though, and as he’d plowed through the glitter, he’d tried to remember the last time surprise had been in the mix. Scandals were par for the course these days, scripted or not. Hell, scandals were the point, whether they were caused by celebrities or of his own creation. Parties were only excuses to be seen or heard or photographed. Everything was grist, and he was both the wheat and the miller. Surprises? Once in a blue moon.
He wanted to know more about the woman warming his side, which was also rare, at least in this circumstance. He’d always been interested in people. That’s why he started the blog in the first place. Well, that and wanting to shove his parents’ plans for him where the sun didn’t shine. He wanted Bree’s details. The minutiae of the life she’d given up to come here, who she hoped to become. Something to do with fashion, obviously. Was that dress of hers a new design? Meant to stand out? Charlie might be around high fashion far more than a normal person should be, but that didn’t mean he was a member of the inner circle. As far as he could tell, Bree’s dress was nice. It showed her shape, the look of her skin, her curves and the soft skin of her thighs. He liked it. But was it fashion? No idea.
On the other hand, maybe he didn’t want to know more. He’d hardly be seeing her again, even if she and Rebecca were friends. Charlie’s social calendar was a function of necessity, not desire, and however much he liked Bree … what the hell was her last name … she wasn’t on the agenda. Couldn’t be. Whatever had motivated Rebecca to set up this date, it wasn’t to fix him up. He’d known that the moment he’d set eyes on the girl from Ohio. But he wasn’t sorry for the time spent with her. She’d made his night.
She’d fairly sparkled with how the event had dazzled her. He had to give her credit; she’d handled herself beautifully in the face of many challenges, but even so, there was no hiding her excitement. It was likely she didn’t realize how she came off. He had the feeling it might bother her to know that she lit up like a marquee every time she saw someone famous. The ideal fan, in truth. No squealing or flailing or “Oh, my Gods.” Just that inner light, the spark in her eyes, the coy and charming way she bit her lower lip when it got to be too much.
He breathed her in, glad the perfumes of the night hadn’t swallowed her whole. Another surprise came when he noticed he’d been petting her all during the drive home. Running his hand over her arm. By the time the car stopped, Bree was practically purring and from the look in her eyes, exhausted. Adrenaline drop, probably.
She sat up, looked at the building, then back at him. “So, this is good-night?”
Yes sat on the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”
Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth, but a second later she hesitated and concern took over. “You don’t have to. I mean, this was—”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
She nodded sadly.
He paused for a single beat. “Do you want to come up, anyway?”
BREE WONDERED IF SHE WAS reading the situation correctly. She inhaled sharply as she remembered his kiss, the way he’d touched her. If this were Ohio, she’d have known exactly what he wanted. In New York? She’d have to take a risk. “I would,” she said, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt. She was going up to his apartment. To his bedroom! Maybe!
Charlie helped her out of the limo, and slid his arm around her shoulders as she thanked the driver. They both nodded at the doorman, but nothing was said as she and Charlie crossed the lobby, his arm draping across her back, his touch warm.
They were quiet during the ride up the elevator. She fit at his side, tucked in neatly. It felt amazing having his arm around her, warming her with gentle friction. She studied him in the mirrored cab, but only got as far as his eyes, staring at hers in return.
They got out on eighteen and the doors opened to a small atrium and the entrance to his home. He pushed open the door and stood aside to let Bree walk in first.
Even after reading Architectural Digest for years, watching rich people’s lives on reality television, she wasn’t prepared for the beauty and elegance of the room she entered. “This is …” she said, heading straight to the windows that made up most of the far wall. The view was spectacular, Central Park in its winter glory, the lights of the city sparkling.
Bree wanted to check out his furniture, the gorgeous art deco design work of the black-and-white floor, the magnificent marble fireplace and the sheer novelty of so much space. But she couldn’t stop staring at the city. Eighteen floors up, the breathtaking view covered too much territory to take in, not when there were so many other things to think about. She might or might not have another shot at it, though. What the hell, she could go to any high-rise in Manhattan to see a view, but Charlie was one time only.
Charlie spoke behind her. “Would you like something to drink?”
She turned to him, not sure of much, but she knew she was thirsty. “Tea? If you have any.”
His hesitation made her think her request wasn’t one he got often. “I think so,” he said. “Give me a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”
Charlie dropped his coat on the back of a chair before he disappeared into the kitchen. The tiny glimpse she’d gotten through the swinging door showed a lot of stainless steel and what might have been the edge of a teak cabinet. Strange how when she’d mentioned her love of art deco he hadn’t told her they shared the passion. Or maybe the apartment hadn’t been his design choice?
The weird thing about her mental tangent into decorating wasn’t the coincidence of their taste, but her reaction to Charlie. She was fascinated by him, beyond the obvious. Which begged the question: Would she have agreed to come up if he had been anyone else? Was she honestly as attracted to him as her hormones would have her believe, or was it the idea of Charlie Winslow that had her aching to strip him naked and do every naughty thing she could think of to him?
She opened her clutch and sneaked out Charlie’s trading card. After a quick check to make sure he wouldn’t catch her in the act, she turned the card to the back side.
* His favorite restaurant: Grand Central Oyster Bar
* Marry, Date or One-Night Stand: One Night is his max, but it’ll be a fabulous night!
* His secret passion: Down deep he’s old-fashioned. I know, surprise, huh?
* Watch out for: The idiot is obsessed with his work. He needs a break.
* The bottom line: Have fun! Just be yourself!
Bree grinned at the personalized responses Rebecca had inserted. This was one card that wasn’t going back into the pile, that was for sure. No, this was Rebecca’s gift to Bree, and Bree wasn’t going to let her insecurity get in the way of the rest of the magical night.
She flipped the card back to his photo. Objectively, he was a good-looking man. It was well documented, how good-looking Charlie was, in magazines, television and online. But she felt completely drawn to him in a way that wasn’t exclusively about looks.
She knew what that felt like. There had been times in college and here in New York that she’d liked a man’s looks and just gone for it. Those times had been okay in a hedonistic way, not something she did often. But she had to consider why she was staying, assuming it wasn’t just for tea. Was the quick beat of her heart a groupie thing or common, everyday lust or … Did it matter?
The answer was as instantaneous as it was physical. She wanted him in a way that was neither common nor everyday. She’d have wanted him even if he wasn’t the King of Manhattan. He’d been a surprise. Nice. Captivating. He’d purposefully shared insider nuggets so she would feel less like an impostor sneaking into the palace. He’d come looking for her, and he’d laughed at her jokes, and he’d kept her warm. That kiss had been …
Well, she’d need to be on her toes tonight, that’s all. If they did end up in bed, which was not a sure thing as there seemed to be a whole different world of signals and innuendos she wasn’t aware of in this rarefied air of his, but if they did, she’d have to be careful.
How Charlie made her feel, that could be dangerous. That was the difference. The other guys, both of them, had been fun in that risky sort of exciting manner when you’ve taken all the safety precautions so you’re not precisely scared, but he was new, and what if he was terrible in bed, or his penis was teeny tiny or he wanted to wear her underpants?
Charlie might have all of those issues, but that wasn’t dangerous. The real fear was that she could like him. The kind of like that meant nothing but trouble. Liking a guy was not part of the five-year plan. In fact, it was the antithesis of the five-year plan, the one thing that could turn even this unbelievable stroke of magnificent luck into a disaster of epic proportions.
After tucking the card back inside her slim wallet, Bree rested her butt on the arm of a gorgeous white leather couch. She continued to wait, wondering what was taking him so long. As her gaze wandered across the cityscape, she reminded herself about Susan. They’d been college roommates their freshmen year, and they’d hit it off from day one. Susan had decided to go into politics. She’d taken prelaw, had already picked out the three schools she would apply to; in fact, it was Susan who’d shown Bree the wisdom and power of the five-year plan. Susan had been brilliant. Formidable memory along with a quick mind and a powerful presence. It was easy to think of her as a potential senator or even president.
And then Nick had come along.
Susan had fallen slowly. Incrementally. But fallen she had, so hard that it had knocked the plan right out of her. She’d gone on to law school, yes, but at UCLA because of Nick. Yale and Harvard had both come calling, but she’d been in love. Bree had been a bridesmaid at her wedding, and the two of them kept in touch on Facebook, but Susan had a baby now, and she was a stay-at-home mom, which was fine. Of course it was fine. But it wasn’t the dream.
If it had only been Susan, Bree wouldn’t have given it too much thought. It wasn’t, though. Almost every friend she’d had in high school and the early years of college, every female friend that is, had somehow, someway subverted their dreams because of love. Her experience might be a statistical anomaly, but it was a damn scary one.
Bree had nothing against relationships, but that was for later. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought of marriage before thirty, and quite possibly longer than that. Forget a child in her twenties. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to have a child at all. Not something she had to worry about at the moment, thank goodness, but liking Charlie? That was a distinct possibility.
Of course, his liking her back was highly improbable. On the level of her winning the lottery. Which was worse in some ways, because even though it was one night, and she had a hint of a crush on him, there was every reason to believe there might be sparks in the bedroom. It would be so very Bree to find herself enamored with Charlie, only to crumble in a fit of pining and lovelorn paralysis for however long it would take to get over it. That would also not be good for the plan.
