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As I brush the taste of vomit out of my mouth, I inspect my face for damage. Thankfully, all I need is to reapply my lipstick. The smoky eyeshadow Emma applied is still intact, my pale blue eyes popping against the deep navy she used, and my hair hasn’t budged.
Brushing my teeth helps, the minty taste and smell focusing my brain on something other than the painful mental math of Jake’s new relationship. I refuse to let him have any power over me. I am Sophie “gave birth without an epidural even though I wanted one” Alexander. I did that and I can do this.
Betrayal, despair, anger, and utter sadness all war inside me. I want to go home. I want to forget. I want to cry and I want to scream. Most of all, I really, really, really want a drink.
Instead, I take a deep breath, straighten my dress and push open the bathroom doors. Rounding the corner into the lobby, I pause, taking in the sight in front of me. Theodore Sutton has his back to me, his hands tucked in the pockets of his very well-fitting tuxedo pants. He’s staring out the window at the brilliant sunset lighting up the sky. I can’t see his face, but the golden light dances over his dark hair and shoulders.
Mr. Sutton turns to look in my direction, the sunset throwing his face into shadow. I’m too far away to get a good look, but I swear he recognizes me for a moment. But that’s impossible. Lauren promised I look nothing like my usual self with my tight dress, heels and glasses. Besides, it’s not like he knows who I am. Sure he knows my name, but he knows everyone’s name at Mailbox. He’s got that whole genius thing going on. Just because he remembers my name doesn’t mean he actually notices me at work.
I’m only the receptionist.
“Are you alright?” Mr. Sutton strides towards me, his head cocked to one side. He usually walks through the lobby with his shoulders back and his head high, as if he owns the place. Because he does. He hasn’t lost the aura of power and authority that he always has, but it’s tempered by something else right now. He looks exhausted.
“Elinor?”
Realizing I haven’t said a word yet, I swallow hard. “Yeah. Yes. I’m okay.”
“Should I have the limo take you home?”
I’m mesmerized by his face as he speaks. I don’t actually think I’ve ever heard him speak so kindly. When he walks through my lobby he’s always yelling on the phone, or telling someone off.
Do I want to go home?
Yes.
But I think about what’s waiting for me there. Emma, who’s going to ask why I’m not out, and she won’t stop until I tell her. I can’t tell her this. Not until I talk to Jake. Oh God. I have to talk to Jake.
Not tonight.
I’m not going home. I’m going to go to this stupid gala, forget about what I just saw, and definitely overindulge in both food and drink before I get dropped back home and my Cinderella moment ends.
Smoothing down my sides to give my fluttery hands something to do, I clear my throat. “No, thank you. I’m ready to go, Mr. Sutton.”
“Theo.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Sutton all night long. Theo is fine for this evening.” Straightening his bow tie, which I hadn’t noticed until now, he offers me his arm. “If you’re sure?”
Nodding, I take his arm, feeling steadier on my feet as soon as my fingers close around his warm biceps. “Goodnight, Rex.” Mr. Sutton—Theo—tips his head and leads me towards the door.
The July evening is still bright and warm as we step outside, but a cool breeze off the Columbia River keeps it from being uncomfortable. The lushness of the city has always been one of my favorite things about living here. Growing up in the dry, asphalt-covered metropolis of Southern California, I always longed for the greenery described in my favorite books. Arriving in Oregon for my freshman year of college was a revelation, and I’ve never looked back.
Mr. Sutton opens the door to the limo, stepping back as I awkwardly slide in. I haven’t ridden in a limo since my senior prom, and the floor-length gown I wore twenty years ago was easier to navigate than the much shorter dress I’m wearing tonight. “Settled?” Mr. Sutton asks—I can’t call him Theo in my head, I just can’t—sliding in beside me.
I nod, not sure what to say. My mind is still racing, but I need to push it all aside for the sake of tonight.
Tonight, I’m Elinor Price, writer and badass.
Elinor isn’t divorced. Elinor didn’t just find out her ex-husband is engaged to a woman young enough to still be on her parent’s health insurance. Elinor takes no shit from anyone, not even Mr. Scary here. Especially not from Theodore “I’m an alpha male” Sutton.
I wonder if there’s champagne or something in this limo?
“So, Lauren tells me you’ve been writing for us for the last few years. I had a look at some of your past articles and while the topics may not be my cup of tea, I did find your writing style quite enjoyable.”
Quite enjoyable? I thought Sutton was in his early thirties, not his eighties?
“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed the opportunity to be part of the writing team at Mailbox.” God, I sound as bad as he does. At least I have the excuse of complete and utter mortification to sound like I have a yardstick up my ass. “Lauren mentioned the gala was a fundraiser, what organization is it for?”
