The Singles Table, page 22
Jay gritted his teeth against the urge to bury himself deep inside her. “Here’s how these things work. Instead of tossing me aside like yesterday’s news or hooking me up with trapeze artists and lion tamers, you could just say, Jay, do you have any events coming up involving celebrities? I would then check our schedule and let you know. I might even call a few friends in other security firms because we’re all friendly in this business. In short, I would do anything and everything I could to help you.”
Zara grimaced. “I was in a panic.”
“So I guessed when you marched in here and demanded I hook up with some randos from your matchmaking pile.” He tried to sound annoyed, but it was impossible with Zara laid out on his desk, all wet and ready for him. “I’m here for you. However you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Even if I can’t give you more than I’m giving you now?” She bit her bottom lip, watching him intently.
“I’ll take you any way I can get you,” he said. “We don’t need a label. Whatever you have to offer, just so long as you’re in my life.”
Now her eyes glistened. “You shouldn’t say things like that when I’m half-naked on your desk.”
“I can’t think of a better time to be open. I’m not the kind of man who easily shares his feelings.”
She reached for him, pulled him down for a kiss. “I feel calm when I’m with you,” she whispered against his mouth. “You quiet the voices in my head. You make me feel safe. You were the first person I wanted to call when I found out I might lose my job, but I was afraid you’d think it meant something it didn’t. I’m not relationship material and I don’t think I ever will be.”
“It would have meant you needed me and I would have liked to be needed. Promise me next time you’ll call. My help never comes with strings.”
“I promise,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry.”
He grunted his approval. “You grovel very nicely.”
She tipped her head to the side, gave him a sensual smile. “Now, do I get that ride?”
* * *
• • •
He waited until after. When they’d made use of the desk, and then the window and the wall. When the light had gone and the darkness flooded his office and the streetlights twinkled below them. When they lay naked on his couch, wrapped in a soft blanket Elias had ordered as swag when they’d attended a conference a few years back. When she was his again and not trying to set him up with rhino whisperers. When her head was on his chest and she lay languid in his arms.
“The banker who’ll hopefully be financing our international expansion has invited Elias and me to a celebrity charity event on Friday night at the City Club.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’ve invited quite a few big stars. I thought you might like to come.”
“Seriously?” She pushed herself up but instead of a smile he got a scowl. “You’re just telling me about this now?”
“You didn’t give me a chance earlier,” he protested in mock innocence. “You marched into my office and told me the deal was back on and then proceeded to bombard me with details about women who would never interest me because they aren’t you. I didn’t know what was going on.”
“I told you right before . . .” She cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to their clothes scattered across the floor.
“Before you rode the big one.” He gave her a self-satisfied smile. “The first time.”
Zara threw off the blanket and left him to walk across the room. He would have enjoyed watching her if she hadn’t been walking in the wrong direction.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m checking it out.” She pulled out her phone and stabbed at the screen.
Silence.
And then a scream. “Oh my God! Lin-Manuel Miranda is going to be there! Jay! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.”
She ran toward him. Naked. It was everything he had hoped for and more. He held out his arms and she threw herself on him.
Too late, he realized he was utterly exposed.
• 21 •
Zara knew she’d made a mistake before she stepped out of the cab in front of the City Club. She should have worn the teal and blue dress with the crisscross front and the fluttery skirt. Instead, she’d put on the petal pink Chanel suit her mother had bought for her birthday a few years back. With its tiny bolero-style jacket and narrow pencil skirt, it had been uncomfortably tight on her curvy frame. Now, three years’ worth of biryani, ice cream, and samosas later, it had been almost impossible to get on.
But this was Jay’s event. He was meeting his most important investors, and they had the power to make his dreams come true. The pink suit was elegant and sophisticated, corporate but also classy. She’d accented it with chunky gold jewelry, pink stilettos, and a knockoff Chanel bag. With her hair straightened, her nails painted, and her makeup done to perfection, she was everything the future CEO of an international company could want in a party plus-one.
At least that had been the plan.
“Do you need a hand getting out?” The cab driver looked over his shoulder as Zara struggled to move. Something had happened in the last thirty-five minutes that had turned a slightly tight outfit into a torture device. Unable to contain the volume of her thighs, her skirt was straining at the seams, and damned if she couldn’t move her arms in the extra skinny three-quarter-length sleeves. Even the shoes were now too tight, her flesh puffing up around the toes like she’d shoved two brown fluffy pavs beneath the delicate diamante straps instead of feet.
“I’m good, thanks.” She drew in enough breath to finish the sentence, wondering if it was possible for a waistband to saw a person through the middle.
By the time she’d made it out of the cab, sweat had beaded on her brow and trickled between her breasts, staining the white silk sheath she’d worn beneath the jacket. She fastened the buttons to hide the evidence and looked for Jay.
Another problem emerged when she spotted him near the entrance. Extra-tight pencil skirts and extra-high stilettos were not a good combination. She shuffled along at a snail’s pace as seniors with walkers raced past her to the door.
Jay strode over to greet her, all cool and calm and perfectly mobile in his dark fitted suit and flat shoes. Why had she thought the Chanel suit was a good idea? Why was the sun shining when she was already drenched in sweat? Why hadn’t she listened to Parvati, who had warned her more wasn’t better when it came to heels?
“You look beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to her moist cheek.
“I was going for sophisticated, classy, elegant, and professional all at the same time.” She tiny-stepped a spin for him, keeping her arms by her sides, praying he didn’t spot the muffin top that had emerged from her skirt during the ride. This was why she didn’t wear suits with short jackets. There was little room to hide.
“Objective achieved, but I like you in anything you wear.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass. “Also, I like you when you wear nothing. That’s probably my favorite look.”
“Naughty.” She lightly slapped his hand away. “This is a classy event. I looked it up online. They’ve booked three floors of the club for cocktails and mixing and mingling with the stars. Fifty of the five hundred guests are big-time celebrities, but you know who I want to meet most.”
“The man whose picture dominates your bedroom and whose dulcet tones grace your speakers.” He took her hand, leading her into the venue, seemingly oblivious to her slow shuffle walk. “If I wasn’t brimming with self-confidence, I might feel threatened by your obsession with the musical star. Fortunately, I am secure in my masculinity and I have much nicer hair.”
After checking in at the door of the former Stock Exchange Tower, they took the elevator to the tenth floor. The entrance to the club featured one of the most striking art deco interiors Zara had ever seen. With a thirty-foot-high Diego Rivera fresco painted on the stairwell, a ceiling covered with burnished gold leaf squares, and black marble and silver and brass accents everywhere she looked, it was sophisticated with the right amount of glitz.
“I love this place,” she said, taking it all in. “It’s very . . .”
“You.”
She looked up at him and grinned. “Yes, it is. Very me. And the only thing that could make it better is to find my celebrity crush.”
“We’ll need to say hello to Thomas and his daughter, Brittany, first,” Jay said. “I saw them at one of the standing tables when we walked in. Elias is already with them.” He placed a firm hand against Zara’s lower back. “This way.”
“I know this event is important to you,” she said as they wound their way through the crowd. “You don’t have to worry. I’m keeping it low-key tonight. No breaks or spills. No rolling heads. No chaos or drama.”
“You don’t have to be anything other than yourself.” Jay pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I want you to have a good time, meet your crush, hand out some cards, and find a few clients.”
Thomas waved them over to a standing table. Zara recognized him from the bar and hospital, and they shared a few pleasantries before he introduced his daughter. Brittany, wearing an elegant black dress and a strand of pearls, studied Zara with interest.
“What firm did you say you were with?”
“Cruz & Lovitt. We specialize in personal injury.” She handed Brittany her card. Something about the banker’s daughter set her teeth on edge.
Brittany studied the card, her lips quivering at the corners. “Oh. You’re the tiger firm.”
Zara drew in a deep breath, buttons straining on her jacket. Somehow her breasts seemed to have expanded on the ride over as well and seemed to be increasing in size by the minute. “We’re a boutique firm.” Zara forced a smile. “We won the largest plaintiff settlement in the state for a young client who was crushed by a falling telephone pole while riding his bike in a national park.”
“It’s not real law, though, is it?” Brittany said. “Those personal injury cases always settle. They rarely get to court.”
“Zara was in court just the other week.” Jay slid an arm around her waist. “I got to watch her trial. She was amazing.”
“How lovely.” Brittany reached for her glass, her hand brushing lightly over Jay’s sleeve. “Jay mentioned you two just got together.”
Zara’s focus sharpened on the banker’s daughter. Brittany wanted her man and was making no effort to hide it. Zara couldn’t decide if she was insulted or impressed. Not that it mattered. Jay was hers and Brittany needed to get that message.
“When you know, you know.” She leaned into Jay and nuzzled his neck. “Isn’t that right, hon?”
“Yes, that’s right . . .” Jay stiffened, cleared his throat. “Hon.”
“So . . . Brittany.” Zara sipped her wine again for the liquid courage it offered and to keep her hands away from Brittany’s throat. “What do you do at the bank?”
Brittany launched into a rambling explanation of bank structures, financing groups, and her long list of credentials. Zara could only partially focus on her words because every two sentences or so Brittany’s hand would fall gently on Jay’s arm. “MBA blah blah blah. Isn’t that right, Jay? Global markets blah blah blah. Jay knows all about that . . .” The sheer audacity of the woman astounded her, but not as much as the overwhelming rush of emotion she felt at the thought of Jay and Brittany together. It didn’t make sense. Only a few weeks ago, she’d been trying to match Jay up with someone exactly like Brittany. Only the other night she’d told Jay’s mom there was nothing between them.
“What’s going on?” Jay murmured when Thomas drew Brittany away to introduce her to a colleague.
“Nothing.” Jealousy wasn’t an emotion she’d ever had before when it came to boyfriends. She’d never allowed anyone to get that close.
He put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure? You’re scowling, and you’ve got that tiny crinkle in your forehead that you only get when something is really bothering you.”
“She’s after you,” Zara blurted out, putting to one side for later consideration the fact he knew her so well. “You probably don’t even realize it because you don’t speak bitch.”
Jay’s voice took on a deep, steady warmth that made Zara’s knees weak. “There’s only one woman I want.”
“I hope it’s me or someone’s getting a four-inch stiletto through the throat,” she muttered under her breath.
Jay responded by leaning down to nuzzle her neck. “Your jealousy is turning me on. If you keep that up I might think you actually like me.”
Why did he say things like that? Why did he have to call her beautiful when she felt like she was about to explode out of her suit like the Pillsbury Doughboy? Why did he tell her he would always be there for her? That his help came with no strings? That he wanted her any way that he could have her?
He wants me.
She’d tried to pretend she hadn’t heard it but she had. Just like she’d tried to pretend she hadn’t seen the hurt on his face the night she told Rick they weren’t together. It was so frustrating. Why couldn’t they have just enjoyed the pause in their deal, have a little fun sex, and move on? Neither of them wanted a relationship. So why was it beginning to feel like they had one?
The situation deteriorated over the course of the evening. Jay filled her glass and brought her snacks. When she shivered, he offered her his jacket. He boasted about her ingenuity in court and encouraged people to buy a ticket to her show. She most certainly did not sing like a nightingale and brighten up the stage. His disturbing pride in her accomplishments put a downer on what should have been a delightful evening. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten that she was a magnet for disaster and that he was supposed to be an arrogant officious jerk.
She was contemplating an early escape when a disturbance at the door caught her attention. News reporters and photographers backed into the room, shouting and waving. A murmur rippled through the crowd, a buzz of anticipation. Zara stood on tiptoe to see what was going on. And then Lin-Manuel Miranda walked through the door.
Acutely aware of Thomas and Brittany standing beside her, Zara slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. Where should she get her autograph? She’d been so busy being annoyed by Jay’s goodness that she hadn’t even made a plan.
She needed to calm down. No. First she needed to ditch the jacket so Lin-Manuel could sign her arm. Her Wandsworth autograph had already faded despite the fact she hadn’t washed that arm in weeks. He could choose left or right. Maybe she could get him to autograph both.
“I’ll take it.” Jay held out his hand even though she hadn’t said a word. She shrugged off his jacket, wondering if this was what it was like for normal couples. Anticipating each other’s needs. Understanding the compulsion to gush all over your favorite Broadway star. She supposed it was handy when said Broadway star was fifty yards away, and you had a limited window of time to get the autograph you’d been dreaming about for the last five years.
She had taken only a few shuffling steps forward when Lin-Manuel moved back toward the door. Her heart leaped into her throat. No. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t get this close to her celebrity dream only to be held back by firmly stitched pink Chanel and four-inch heels.
Strong hands gripped her hips, holding her in place. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jay kneeling down behind her.
“Shoes,” he said.
“What?” Her voice wavered, the disappointment of missing her chance almost too much to bear.
“Your shoes. Quickly. Take them off. You’ll be able to catch him in bare feet.”
Hope flared in her chest and then faded. “But . . . my skirt. It’s too tight to run.”
Jay gripped the material on either side of the back slit and pulled it apart, rending the skirt a few extra inches at the seam.
“Jay . . .” Her voice caught when he slipped off her shoes, holding up his hand to help her balance. “I don’t want to embarrass you. I promised myself I’d keep things low-key.”
“You could never embarrass me.” He gestured to the door. “Now run, sweetheart. Lin-Manuel Miranda is in the house.”
It was stupidly romantic.
It was everything.
She had never been so irritated in her life.
• 22 •
The knock, when it came, startled her. Curled up on the couch watching Annie, with a carton of ice cream, a glass of red wine, and Marmalade purring on her lap, Zara was busy wallowing in self-pity and not inclined to answer the door.
How badly had she messed things up for Jay when she’d run barefoot across the City Club? Had it been enough to dissuade him from being so damn . . . nice? Where was the arrogant, officious, bossy Jay from the paintball field? She wanted him back.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Who is it?” The building had a buzzer downstairs and the other tenants on the floor kept to themselves. Parvati was out on a date for the evening and had her own key.
“Security.” She didn’t recognize the muffled voice, so she checked through the peephole and saw Jay’s stern face partially covered in dark glasses.
“Jay?”
“J-Tech Security, ma’am. There was a theft at the City Club last night. Apparently, the thief fled in bare feet. We followed the trail to this address.”
Zara swallowed hard. Time for the reckoning. She’d been too embarrassed to return to the table after her celebrity encounter so she’d called an Uber to take her home. She hadn’t even said good-bye.
She opened the door a few inches. Jay was in full uniform: dark glasses, black hat, blue shirt, safety vest, black pants, heavy boots, and a utility belt that held a flashlight, baton, handcuffs, and a walkie-talkie. He was her fantasy come to life, but opening that door would mean dealing with the desperate, aching feelings she’d been trying so hard to ignore.
