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With one step back, I remove her hand from my arm, then force myself to lean in far enough so only she can hear the words I bite out through a tense jaw. “Chantelle, I don’t have time for lying, cheating women, and given you fall into both of those categories, I’d say we are done here.”
Her heavily painted face twists into a nasty scowl, but before she can retaliate, I turn and walk away, heading in a straight line toward Dana.
My mood instantly lightens when she catches my eye, unspoken words seem to pass between us as she beams a smile at me from across the room. Fuck, she looks gorgeous with the lights catching in the glossy fair waves that trail like strands of golden thread over one creamy shoulder. And that dress, I fucking love it.
To say it isn’t her usual conservative style would be an understatement.
Her round, full breasts are barely covered by folds of fabric, the deep V ending in a thick satin band that wraps around a waist so tiny I could almost reach my hands around her completely. Thin straps disappear over her shoulders, and the skirt is a sea of shimmering aqua diaphanous fabric. Thank God the lower half of her dress provides me with somewhere to look, because the top has me nearly swallowing my tongue. The closer I get, the more is revealed. Under the yards of fabric in the skirt, a split that ends high on each of her thighs offers more teasing glimpses of her gorgeous skin. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
Since when has Dana had Kardashian-style curves? And since when have I ever taken notice of what Dana is wearing? All I know is that this sexy dress is sending off vibes that are nothing like the professional power suits she wears to the office or the casual jeans and shirts she prefers on weekends.
Tilting my head back, I drain the remainder of the whiskey still clasped in my hand, then swap it for two glasses of champagne on a passing tray. Anything liquid at this stage to ease my dry throat.
I reach her and lean in for a friendly peck on her cheek, and I can’t help inhaling her scent. Her familiar fresh, floral perfume cleansing my senses of Chantelle. It’s my favorite fragrance, reminding me of Dana and summer days on warm golden beaches.
Chapter five
Dana
There’s no turning back now, I tell myself, taking one small, tentative step through the doorway of the opulent ballroom. One long year of therapy has led to this moment. Not to mention all those years before when I denied that I even needed therapy.
Vicki said it was time for me to put myself out there. She was right, so I bought this dress. And for the last two hours, I’ve been sitting in my Upper East Side apartment, arguing with myself. Do I wear it? Or not?
The dress is certainly putting myself out there. I glance down again to check that all the essential bits are still safely tucked away. Something that wouldn’t have been possible without copious strips of strategically placed fashion tape. Whoever came up with the invention of fashion tape deserves the same global recognition as the Post-it note guy. Although they could have made removing the backing strip a little bit easier. I wasted at least thirty minutes fiddling about with that, nearly giving up and deciding that the universe didn’t want me to wear this dress.
I pat down the edges of the fabric over the swell of my breasts. Without tape, I’d certainly be putting everything out there and would probably be arrested for indecent exposure soon after. My hand drops down to my hip while I search the crowd for a familiar face.
The dim lighting has a purple hue, with pockets of brighter gold spotlighting the bar areas and stage. Waiters with full trays of drinks weave in and out through the gathered groups of Manhattan’s wealthy elites who’ve come out to empty their wallets for charity. This event is a highlight in the social calendar, and rightly so. Each year, the Carlson family’s foundation raises millions of dollars for local children’s hospitals, and I’m so proud to be a small part of it.
I’m guessing there are about two hundred people spread out across the massive ballroom, only some of the expected six hundred guests who will take their seats at the many large round tables covered in crisp white linen dotted about the room. In the center of each table is a single gold tree wrapped in string lights and dripping purple and gold baubles. The tiny lights shoot sparks up from the shiny flatware, gold embossed plates, and sparkling glasses. The total effect is a glittering festive extravaganza.
Pulling my shoulders back, I walk further into the room, faking a confidence I’m far from feeling. The low hum of polite conversation rises over the soft orchestral background music. No jarring Christmas tunes here, like all the stores are playing on repeat at this time of year. This is a refined, exclusive affair, though as more of those champagne flutes on the trays are emptied, things will get louder and a little messier. Well, that’s how the previous years’ events have ended up.
My casual glance around the room catches and zeros in on Jason, who is coming my way. It’s like we’ve got our own homing device, even in this crowd. And damn, he looks good in his tux—the expensive fabric stretching across his broad, muscled shoulders and nipping back in at his waistline. All those years of competitive swimming has given him a physique women drool over and men wish they had. There is nothing off the rack for this man; he’s custom-made all the way. But best of all, his fair hair is tousled, like a blast of wind has blown through it or his hands have raked the messy lines. Jason is a contradiction tonight, casual and familiar above his bowtie, sophisticated and polished below.
Another kaleidoscope of butterflies joins those already there in the pit of my stomach. I wonder what he will make of my new putting-myself-out-there style. I can’t hold back the small smile that tips up my glossy pink lips as a heated look passes between us. His answering cheeky grin typical of the man and seeming to answer my unspoken question. His focus never wavers from mine as he cuts a path across the room, leaving plenty of women staring in his wake.
Jason isn’t oblivious to the effect he has on the opposite sex, but he mostly ignores it. I only wish that I could too. Instead, the little green-eyed monster comes out with a dagger of jealousy stabbing me in the chest. I tamp down on the familiar twinge. I’ve been planning this night for too long to let anything derail me from my goal.
When I saw Vicki for the last time before the holidays, I told her I was ready to take back control of my life, and the thought of controlling the brawny hunk of man coming my way floods my body with a warm, tingly feeling that reaches all the way down to the junction of my thighs.
Great! Now I’m not only worrying about flashing my tits to the socialites of Manhattan but also concerned that the vast expanse of exposed skin on my chest is blushing a blotchy red.
Jason should just be my work colleague and friend, but of course, to me, he’s so much more. Though, a glance across a crowded ballroom shouldn’t be causing me to turn pink. This is ridiculous, especially when I saw him only hours ago in the office.
But there is something in the determined way he is striding toward me that is very unlike Jason. My stomach does a few backflips and tumble turns, dislodging those butterflies again. I wish I had a drink in my hand. I need something alcoholic to settle my nerves.
His long legs eat up the remaining space between us, slowing only to collect two glasses from a passing waiter’s tray. It’s like he read my mind, and a fuller smile pulls at my lips. Why does he have to be so perfect for me? But it’s time to tamp down my feelings. If Jase had any inkling of the hot thoughts streaming through my head at the moment, he’d be running a mile in the opposite direction.
Finally, he stops in front of me, handing me a glass before taking my other hand in his and bending to kiss my cheek in a disappointingly friends-only kind of way.
“You look amazing, D,” he says, looking intently at me and triggering a tiny shiver to tickle over my heated skin. “Beautiful.”
My heart skips a beat with memories of the other rare occasions when I’ve been in his arms. I want to sink into the embrace, but instead, I take a big step back. Just because I’m dressed like a seductress doesn’t mean I am one. Again, I find myself questioning my dress choice. Too late to reverse now, so I straighten my shoulders, flick my hair behind me, and pretend to be someone I’m not. In my highest heels, I’m taller, but it still only brings me eye level with his mouth. Not somewhere I need to be focusing on.
Jason’s gaze dips lower for a second before making a speedy return to my face. His throat bobs as he gulps from the champagne flute in his hand. That’s funny … Jase has always hated champagne, and from the way his eyes are watering from the fizzy bubbles, I’d say he still does.
“Are you okay?” I ask, squinting up at him suspiciously.
