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“Yes, Mr. Sutton?” Mercedes is at the door, waiting for me.
“I’ll work from home for the rest of the day.” What I really mean is, I need a nap, some food, and my dog. Poor Max. I know that my house cleaner will have let him out this morning when she arrived, but I feel terrible for abandoning him.
“I don’t see it being a problem.”
“Can you call in an order to that Mexican place down the street for me? I’ll pick it up on my way home. Just leave the tux, I’ll have it sent to the cleaners later.” I start to collect up the notes I’ll need to work from home when I realize another problem. I don’t have my car, the limo picked me up from my house last night.
“I don’t mind…”
“No Mercedes, we’ve discussed this before—my laundry is not your responsibility. I’ll walk down to the restaurant.”
“Very good, see you tomorrow sir.”
The walk to Uno, Dos, Tres clears my head of the fog from last night’s fitful sleep. Why am I so worked up over this? Do I have any right to be angry that Sophie showed up instead of Elinor? That Sophie is Elinor? The moment I saw her there instead of a stranger, I’d let my guard slip, and she’d promptly cut me down to size. She only agreed to go to the gala because I made her. I have no right to be upset that she pulled away, even though it lit a fire in me I can’t shake.
Pushing open the door, the delicious smells have my mouth watering. The familiar strains of instrumental music are barely audible over the hum of chatter. “Picking up for Sutton,” I tell the hostess before she can open her mouth to speak.
“It’ll be just a few minutes, sir. Do you want to wait in the bar?”
Since I have to wait for my Uber to get here, having a quick drink while I wait strikes me as an excellent idea. I make my way to the bar, perching on a stool without bothering to glance around. The main restaurant is busy with the lunchtime rush, but the bar is fairly empty. A few groups are perched at the high tables dotting the area, but no one else is brave enough to belly up to the polished wood bar. Probably afraid of someone telling their boss.
“What can I get you, sir?” The bartender slides a small napkin toward me. “I’m just making a batch of our famous margaritas, if you’re interested?”
“Who on earth is having one of your lethal margaritas at this time of day?” I can’t keep the judgment out of my voice. It’s one thing to have a glass of wine or a gin and tonic over a lunch meeting, but one of these margaritas? You might as well order an appointment at the unemployment office with a side of Alka-Seltzer.
“Someone who’s having a really bad day.” He jerks his chin towards a table I hadn’t noticed, tucked behind a pillar. One of the women has her back to me, her blonde hair obscuring her face. She’s slumped over against her friend, obviously upset. The friend is leaning down, whispering something to her with a fierce look on her face. I’d hate to be whoever she has her sights set on. My balls shrink in sympathy for whichever man is responsible for the tears at their table. It has to be a man—nothing else could reduce one woman to tears and the other to her defense like that.
Straightening, the friend turns to look at the bartender. I know that face. Ms. Masterson levels me with a glare before recognition dawns on her face and she ducks behind the pillar. I want to laugh at the fear I saw in her eyes.
The blonde.
If that’s Lauren, then the blonde must be Sophie. Is it my balls being threatened over there? I can only hope it’s Sophie’s ex-husband’s instead.
“Gin and tonic please. And put their order on my tab.” The words are out of my mouth and my card is sliding across the smooth, sanded bar before I can second-guess myself. “You don’t need to tell them it was me.”
I don’t know what has Sophie so upset, but the idea of her having a bad day doesn’t sit right in my gut, not after last night. With her reaction to me sitting heavy in my mind, I’m tempted to take my drink and join them, but it’s obvious they don’t need a stranger, and a man at that, crashing their party.
Instead, I content myself with sipping my drink and scrolling through my email while I wait for my food. I’m not trying to overhear their conversation, but now I know it’s Sophie, I can’t help listening to her distinct voice.
“All those times I sent him on his way with a smile…”
“I just can’t believe he would…”
“Do you know a good lawyer?”
“I think Nancy in accounting does.”
Why does she need a lawyer? Aren’t they already divorced?
I manage to contain my curiosity for another thirty seconds, until a quiet sob penetrates the noise of the restaurant. I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, a few long strides all it takes to arrive at their table.
“Ladies,” I clear my throat. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
Lauren stares at me like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, silent. I shift my gaze from her face to her companion, the cardigan-clad, floral-wearing ray of sunshine, currently trying to bite her lip hard enough to stop it from trembling. I don’t know why I’m here, or why I care. I should leave. Just grunt, scowl for good measure, and walk the fuck away.
Rage at whoever hurt this woman builds inside me and I battle an irrational need to sweep her up in my arms and carry her away from here.
“No, but thank you Mr. Sutton,” Sophie mumbles, wiping her eyes with a napkin before tossing it on the pile building up on her side of the table.
