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I close the door and Tabby appears at my feet. Scooping her into my arms, I return to the living room and clean up the remains of our meal.
If someone had told me Marcy and I would be sitting around like old friends, laughing and joking, I would have called them crazy.
But I like it. It gives me hope there could be something more between us.
I just wish I had the courage to tell her how I feel.
Chapter Eleven
Marcy
What the hell am I doing?
I twirl the card for the Plaza Hotel between my fingers. There’s a room number scrawled on the back. Fuck. I can’t seriously be considering this. Can I?
After the impromptu dinner with Rob last night, nothing has eased the ache—not cold showers, not self-stimulation. I should have been honest with him, but I couldn’t do it. Whatever tenuous friendship we’ve formed over the past few weeks is hanging precariously by a thread. I don’t want to ruin it by throwing myself at him.
No. I need to distract myself. Maybe have a little fun. Work has been stressful, and between the wedding and Rob’s strange behavior, I deserve a break from the usual.
By break, I didn’t mean to disregard my no dating clients rule. But Vic seemed sincere enough when he issued the invitation earlier this week. It’s just dinner. Right?
I pick up the phone and punch in the digits for the hotel. When the front desk clerk answers, I request Vic’s room.
“Hello?”
“It’s Marcy, the stylist.” I lick my lips, and my heart pounds like a drum in a cave.
“You changed your mind?”
“Maybe.” I twist the cord around my fingers. “You want to grab dinner?”
“I could eat. The restaurant in the hotel is fantastic. Meet you there at seven?”
“Perfect.” I hang up the phone and nearly drift off into space.
This is the craziest thing I’ve done in a while. It’s been too long since I’ve had any kind of action. The last guy wasn’t even worth the effort. Such a disappointment. The guy I want is the one I can’t have. There’s no Rob tonight. It’s just Vic and me. Whatever happens, happens. I’m not going to stress about it.
After an hour of primping and prepping, I manage to nail that effortless, not-trying-too-hard glam I see so many women wasting hours to perfect. Looking good is my brand. I need to stay on top of it. I pop in a stick of Doublemint gum and slip on my glasses.
I manage to flag down a cab and take it to the Plaza. Inside, the concierge points me toward the hotel restaurant. Shit, this place is high-class. I tug at my skirt, knowing I must look like I’m in the wrong place. Screw it. I straighten up as I enter the restaurant.
Vic stands when he sees me. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” I warm at the compliment and take the seat across from him.
“Would you like something to drink?” Vic waves to the waiter.
“Red wine, please.” I address the waiter before turning back to Vic.
He’s wearing a blue-and-red pinstripe button-down dress shirt and black trousers. It’s simple, but the color amplifies his eyes. He’s handsome. Definitely movie-star quality handsome. And charming to a fault.
Guilt creeps in. Why should I feel guilty? He asked me to join him for dinner, and damn it, I’m going to soak up the attention.
I scan the menu and steal a glance at him over the top. “So how’s the promo tour for the new movie going?”
“Great. We have a few more interviews here next week before flying to LA for the red-carpet event.” Vic’s gaze lingers on me as he reaches for his glass of water. “Perhaps I could entice you to be my date for opening night.”
It takes me two whole seconds before the implication of his words sinks into my addled brain. “We haven’t even gotten through dinner and you’re inviting me to LA for a massive, highly televised event?”
