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“Seems to be.” I play back my mental reel of the night. He opened the door, complimented my outfit, and generally acted like the consummate gentlemen. Minus the whole lying about my job thing. To be fair, he held his position without getting defensive, which is more than I say for most guys. “But Charlie’s a clinical-grade bachelor,” I remind them. “And a smooth talker, you know? It’s wild, the way people are drawn to him. The beautiful people, flocking to their king.”
Skye smirks. “You wanna hand me back that mug? I’ll make you a cup of a Bitter Betty instead?”
Okay, I admit: I have a bit of a tone. “It’s just hard to swallow.”
“My tea?” Jen asks, fake-offended.
“No. Those people at the wedding are the types who won’t bother to learn personal assistants’ names. Who won’t even glance at us as we’re running around keeping their lives running smoothly. But I’m getting complimented left and right because I’m on Charlie’s arm?” I shake my head. “It was just weird, that’s all.”
“Do you think the other guest lists will be as highfalutin’?” Skye asks.
“Probably,” I nod. “Tonight’s is at the Met Museum. The daughter of one of Charlie’s old bosses’ cousins, or something like that. Getting hitched to a dude with Roman numerals after his name.”
“Ooh la la.” Jen shimmies her shoulders. “What’re you wearing?”
“I plan to spend the day figuring that out. Brooklyn vintage shops, take the wheel,” I say. Then I turn to Skye, batting my eyelashes. “And if that fails, I’ll swing by your apartment to borrow the dress you wore to that fundraiser last summer… ?”
She smiles, wrangling her wild curls into a bun on top of her head. “Sure thing.”
In the next moment, the chimes sound over the shop’s door. The girl who enters looks like a college brochure’s sorority page—bright blond hair and one of those beachy, pink tunic dresses. In my experience, she’s here for the cute birthstone earrings as a gift.
“Welcome in,” Skye says. “Let us know if you have questions.”
The girl steps closer, leaning in, to stage whisper: “Do y’all do curses here?”
Jen sips her tea busily, trying to hide her laugh. If we did curses here, Nadia and Miles would have spontaneous crotch poison ivy by now. But Skye smiles at her understandingly. “Not that type of place, I’m afraid.”
“Dang.” She sighs, looking genuinely defeated for a moment. Then she perks up hopefully. “Any chance you sell weed?”
At this, Jen does laugh. “Sorry.” Skye says, elbowing her. “I do have a friend who cleanses energy. And Jen can help you pick out some crystals that might help in the meantime.”
Jen is ushering the girl to the display, when my phone buzzes across the counter. Charlie Fox. “It’s him.”
“He calls?” Skye jokes. “In this day and age?”
“Apparently.” I feel a weird lurch in my stomach. “What if he’s calling to cancel tonight’s wedding?”
And why would I care?
“Hello?” I answer coolly.
“Hey,” Charlie says, sounding casual.
“So, listen, about tonight…”
My heart sinks. I knew it! He’s already decided I’m not plus-one material. “That’s fine,” I start to say, but Charlie’s still talking.
“—I took the liberty of booking you a spa day at the place in Bergdorf today.”
I blink. “Spa day?” I echo, and Skye and Jen gasp.
“Then you’ve got an appointment with a personal shopper. She’s pulling some wedding looks for you.”
I stop. “I thought you said my dress was perfect?”
“It was,” he says calmly. “But, like you said at our first meeting. There are certain expenses for all the events. I agreed to cover them.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing my shopping and hair-styling without assistance.” I’m about to start in on that many merits of the New York secondhand scene when Skye yanks the phone away. “Hey!” I object.
