He did a quick cost-benefit analysis. Sing and risk looking like an idiot. Walk off and abandon Tiffany midsong and look like a jerk.
Idiot won out over jerk—a new one for him.
If he kept the volume low, Blair might not notice. Here went nothing. “‘Baby, it’s cold outside.’”
She noticed. She whipped her head around. He was transported back to his first night here, when she’d done the same thing but in such close proximity to him that her hair had lashed his face.
The memory did something to him that the actual occurrence had not. He’d been annoyed then. Now he wanted it to happen again.
Somehow, he was having these thoughts while managing to keep the terrible song going.
Everyone was watching them now, including the besuited Nordic giant. He was wearing a very good-looking skinny red plaid tie. Very festive, very dapper.
Jack was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Well, hell. He turned up the volume. He turned up thecharm—or tried to. It was possible that his version of turning up the charm was making him look like a literal lunatic, but one did what one could.
Jack had never seen Blair this dumbstruck before, not even when Esme surprised her. The speed with which she’d turned toward him on his first line of the song contrasted with the complete stillness that had subsequently taken over her body. She looked like a statue. A statue with its mouth hanging open.
He didn’t know why she was so shocked; hadn’t the whole point of the party been to get him to sing? He suspected the answer was yes, and that wasn’t main character syndrome. He was pretty sure Blair was trying to… heal him, or some shit. She had helped with his book, so even though she didn’t understand that there was nothing else wrong with him, he would give her this win.
So he kept singing his part, trading the creepy lines back and forth with Tiffany, watching Blair to see if her expression changed. He had to look at the sheet music occasionally to check on the lyrics, but he always looked back up to find her still staring at him.
When they got to the end of the song, which was the only line both parts sang in unison, he realized he probably should acknowledge Tiffany, his duet partner, and the one he was supposed to be flirting with via the story of the song. He turned to find her grinning, looking almost like she was holding back laughter.
The room applauded enthusiastically. All eyes were on him. Or maybe—main character syndrome strikes again?—all eyes were on Tiffany. He gestured toward her and bowed his head. She had a good voice, and she’d been great at managing the pacing of what could be a tricky song in that regard.
Someone in the crowd whistled, and Tiffany mirrored his gesture, prompting the crowd to acknowledge him individually. It wasn’t delusions of grandeur to note that the applause for him grew louder—and it was accompanied by whoops and whistles.Belated embarrassment descended, and he waved to acknowledge the reception, but then to shut it down. Maybe it was still main character syndrome at work, but he was glad no one had a phone. The last thing he needed was a social media clip of him singing a fucking Christmas song.
He thought he’d find Blair after the spotlight was off him, but she was back talking to Mr. Nordic Plaid.
“Who is that?” he asked Tiffany.
“Who is who?”
“That overdressed guy Blair’s talking to.”
She raised her eyebrows and seemed to think for a while, which struck Jack as odd. She either knew the guy or she didn’t.
“That is Bjorn Ekberg. He’s a tech mogul down from Palo Alto. We’re working on shaking him down forGreen Light.”
“What’s the name of his company?” Jack was going to google him later.
“I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember?” That wasn’t right. Everything Blair had said about Tiffany, and everything that Jack had himself observed about Tiffany, contradicted the idea of her forgetting the name of a company owned by a potential investor.
“What a hottie, though, right? I’d seen pictures of him—he’s newly single, so he’s in the society pages a lot—but I was surprised to learn that he’s not just a pretty face. He collects F. Scott Fitzgerald memorabilia. Literary-mindedandrich. He’s perfect, right?”
Tiffany didn’t wait for an answer. She flounced off, leaving Jack feeling some kind of way.
All right. Jack was at a party. A Christmas party. A Christmas party at which he’dsung. No wonder he was feeling off.
Time to head out.
Blair didn’t notice him leaving.
Which was fine. It was ideal, actually. He could work on hisbook. He snagged a glass of champagne from the bar and took it back to the pool house, where he did not work on his book but opened his computer and googled Bjorn Ekberg.
