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Nara
What a freaking awesome diversion from, well, everything.
Brodie first dazzled me with a helicopter ride (a helicopter ride!) over Manhattan, and then dinner in the Hamptons.
I mean, who the hell lived like that?
I’d met some wealthy people during my time in New York. The city was full of them. But I’d never known someone who lived at this level of luxury. I mean, the guy obviously worked his butt off. It didn’t seem as if anyone gave him his good fortune from what I could see.
But what did I know? Truth was, I knew hardly anything about him aside from the fact that he ran a successful New York City hotel. And participated in silly bachelor auctions.
When his driver picked me up at the office, minus Brodie, I thought, what the hell? Why’d he ask me on a date and then not even pick me up himself? But we swung by the hotel to get him, and headed over to the Wall Street Heliport, usually reserved for the city’s titans of finance and industry.
Who knew that crazy Manhattan, and boring suburban Long Island, could be so beautiful from up in the air? And then we landed in Montauk, on the far eastern end of the skinny peninsula that was the Hamptons, the collection of seaside communities for New York’s well-off.
I could get used to living like this. But I wasn’t going to.
Even if the guy did kiss like a champ.
* * *
We settled into our table at Flagstone, a restaurant I’d only ever heard about. Of course, it was elegance personified—white table linens, fine silver, lots of glistening crystal on every table, and incredible views of the water. A glass of bubbly seemed kind of uninspired, so I went all out and ordered a martini.
“So, Mr. Brodie. I barely know anything about you. Educate me.”
I chomped on one of the most beautiful breadsticks I’d ever seen. Delicious, too.
He sipped his scotch and sat back in his chair, enjoying the view of the Atlantic Ocean. If it was possible, he was even more handsome in profile, with that square chin and his crazy thick eyelashes. “Well, Miss Happy. I’m boring. I’d rather hear about you.”
“Okay, then. What would you like to know?”
“All right,” he said. “Tell me the best thing that happened to you today and the worst thing.”
I shrugged and took the tiniest sip of my martini.
“I’m boring,” I said, shrugging. “Nothing to report.”
Except I was being extorted by a crazy Englishman, my business was on the rocks, and I was being hounded to attend a class reunion I’d rather die than attend.
“C’mon. Spill it. I know you have something to tell me about your day. I can see it on your face.”
Christ. Was he a mind reader? Well fine. If he wanted to hear my shit, then my shit he would hear. I leaned onto the table so I could lower my voice and looked around conspiratorially.
“Well. My husband called me at work to harass me for ten thousand dollars. Other than that, the day was fairly routine.”
I figured that would be the end of that. Check please! Catch the helicopter back to the city, and never hear from the guy again.
But he rolled with it. Gotta give him credit.
“Really? That sucks,” he said. “My wife called today to tell me she was pregnant with our tenth child. And I had a vasectomy three years ago.”
I tried looking at him seriously but burst out laughing.
“That was the best comeback ever,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I gotta hand it to you.”
He blew on the back of his knuckles and rubbed them on his chest. “What can I say?”
Then he sucked an oyster from its shell.
Why did I find that so sexy?
“So. Did your husband really call you today?” he asked.
Might as well spill it.
“Yup,” I said, slurping my own oyster.
“Damn. Miss Happy is a married woman. I’m not usually into married women.” He sipped his scotch and downed another oyster.
I kept drinking and slurping, hoping that was the end of that conversation. Why I’d brought it up, I didn’t know.
The waiter dropped off our lobster roll sliders, some of the cutest little edibles I’d ever seen. We both dove in, lost in the exquisiteness of fresh seafood.
After a few minutes, Brodie asked, “So. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“No.” I took another sip of my martini. It was a small sip.
“You sure? He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you married or not?”
I set my seafood fork down and dabbed my mouth with the corner of my napkin.
“I actually am married,” I told him.
“Ah ha. So you weren’t kidding.” So far, he seemed unfazed.
“When I was just starting my business, I took money from an English guy to marry him so he could get his green card.”
He nodded. He was being cool so far, so I continued.
