“How?”
“Oh, you sweet summer child. I’m not telling you until the time is right.”
The right time is late evening. The garden party has wrapped up and Nat and I head back to our floor.
“Be ready for dinner in fifteen. And look smoking!” she instructs and struts to her room.
“Dinner is at 7 p.m. It’s only 5,” I mutter to the empty hallway.
I enter my room and my gaze snags on the suit jacket. I grab it and resist sniffing. That’s weird behavior.
I stall. No one will find out.
I press it to my nose and draw a deep breath. A shiver dances through me.
Quickly, I take a bath, put on a nice, casual evening gown, and tie my hair up. As ever, some ringlets fall loose and frame my face. Before I can stick them back up, there’s a knock at the door.
It’s Nat.
“Oh, my goodness!” she beams. “You look gorgeous, babe.”
“You think?” A smile curves my lip. “I was thinking of just fitting these into...” I reach for the loose hairs but she swats my hands away.
“You look perfect. Don’t touch anything.”
“Okay.” I take in her knee-length strapless dress and slick sandy blonde straight hair complete with expert-level makeup. “And so do you.”
“I know.” She flips her hair. “You’re ready to go, right? Grab the jacket and wallet.”
I do as I’m told and hurry to catch up as she’s already out of the room. “Nat, but dinner is at seven. What are we doing?”
“Keeping a lookout for him.”
I frown.
“Chance Easton? The man you want to bang?”
“Shut up,” I say and she smiles.
We get into the elevator and I flashback to earlier today. I grab my dress, holding it close to my body. The elevator is empty, save for an older couple who pay us no attention.
“We are going to wait at the bar until he comes. If he doesn’t, then...” She chews on her lip. “Well, he will have to come. He’s staying here so why won’t he?”
“Wait, do you expect me to run to him when he shows up and just accost him?” I’m gaping, because what?
Nat eyes me. “Um, not run, just walk elegantly.” She nods at my heels with approval. “Did you want to hide in a corner and hope he finds you?”
I blow out a breath. “I guess not.”
She throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me to her side. “Look, it’ll be alright. Just try to look less nervous.”
That one would be a challenge.
We’re at the bar for nearly an hour and Chance Easton is a no-show. I could distract myself with awing at the glistening bar top or the chandeliers hanging from the too-high ceiling or the many elegantly dressed folks gliding around looking rich, but no.
I’m nervous all over. Many scenarios run through my head. What if Chance isn’t coming back? Would I go hours looking stupid carrying a suit jacket? What if he’s looking for me elsewhere and thinks I made away with his card details?
“Another glass for my friend,” Nat says to the bartender.
