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“You’re looking proper,” James said as I entered the kitchen.
“It’s not my usual style,” I admitted. I went and helped myself to coffee.
“I like your sweatpants better,” James said.
“Me too.”
James was wearing another suit, his hair fixed perfectly. He looked as if he was about to charge through a hundred corporate meetings, not attend his brother’s pre-wedding brunch.
“Are you working today?” I asked.
“I have some calls to make,” he said. “Other than that, I’ve had my schedule cleared.”
“I’m free, too,” I said, joking, “If you want to hang out.”
“Hang out?” James asked and laughed.
“Yes,” I said. “When was the last time you had nothing to do all day?” And the last time I had no one to do all day?
“I don’t remember,” he said.
“Me either,” I said. I sat down and drank my coffee; I had to face his mother and her collarbones soon. I needed to be properly caffeinated. “So let’s do it. After brunch we can change. We could go to the park, walk around…we could probably go to a Red Sox game. If you’re into that sort of thing.”
“You like the Red Sox?” he asked. He was looking at me as if I had three heads, all of which were glorious and gorgeous.
“I was born and raised here, and I have a beating heart,” I said and crossed myself. “Of course I like the Red Sox.”
He was already on his phone, tapping away, probably ordering tickets. Men were actually a lot easier to manage than they liked to believe. Even the super-rich ones, apparently.
“The game’s home—it’s at four,” he said, looking at me hopefully. “Does that work for you?”
“Your wish is my command,” I said. I decided I was going to make the next two weeks fun, whether he ever fucked me or not, whether I had cried alone in my bed last night or not.
Game face, Audrey, game face, I chanted to myself.
* * *
I definitely needed it for brunch.
“I hate brunch,” James complained as he opened the door for me. We were at another hotel, a stuffy one, and the clientele was beautifully dressed, just like us.
“The concept of brunch? Or brunch itself?” I asked.
“Both. Fucking waste of time,” he said and grabbed my hand.
“It’s just two hours—and there’s booze,” I reminded him, trying to be upbeat. That lasted until we got to the table and Celia Preston patted the empty chair next to her and motioned for me to join her.
I didn’t even let myself look at James. I just squeezed his hand and went to sit next to the captain of the firing squad.
“Good morning, Mrs. Preston. You look lovely,” I said. She was wearing a flowered blouse and diamond studs so large they looked like ice cubes.
“As do you, Audrey,” she said. She smiled at me without warmth.
I smiled at James’s father, Robert, who was sitting to her right. “Good morning,” I said.
“You take good care of my son last night?” he asked in a ribald tone.
They were both watching me.
