Home > 21 Stolen Kisses(73)

21 Stolen Kisses(73)
Author: Lauren Blakely

When I enter the bustling midtown establishment, I spot Tremaine with his wife and join them at a table.

“Can we get you a drink?” she asks.

“Just an iced tea for me,” I say.

“I’ll head to the bar to order,” she says, then excuses herself.

Tremaine shoots me a strange look. “What was that that all about?”

I furrow my brow. “What was what all about?”

“You leaving the agency and not going after me?”

I laugh because I’d thought he was talking about his wife heading to the bar. “Sorry if I offended you by not trying to steal you from Jonathan. Figured that was the least I could do to my old boss.”

“So you’re gone. What’s the story? I heard some chatter about a girl.”

“You heard right,” I say, then give him the CliffsNotes of the CliffsNotes. I’m tired of pretending. I’m worn out from covering up. Besides, I like the guy and I’ve always been up front with him. No need to be a different person now that I’m not his agent.

“Girls are vexing. I told you that,” he says, and wags a finger at me, like he’s admonishing me as a father. But he doesn’t seem pissed or annoyed.

“They are. But I trust Jonathan is taking good care of you.”

He scratches his chin. “Yeah, about that.” He stares at the ceiling, then back at me. “I really wouldn’t know.”

I shoot him a quizzical look. “What do you mean? You signed with him, right?”

He shakes his head slowly, and a smile forms across his face. “I didn’t. I wasn’t interested in working with Jonathan. But if you were to tell me you’re starting your own shop, that might interest me.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. The first real smile I’ve felt in weeks. “As a matter of fact, I have started my own shop.”

He nods approvingly. “Excellent. And since you didn’t try to poach me, that’s all the more reason for me to ask this question, since I admire your integrity. Would you like a new client?”

“I would love to represent you.”

He extends a hand and we shake.

Kennedy

When we reach the sidewalk, there’s a gleaming black limousine idling by the curb. Amanda gives me a look that might as well be a massive thumbs-up. The chauffeur scurries out to open the door, but Lane waves him off, preferring to hold it open himself.

The three of us spread out across the backseat, Lane in the middle. He drapes an arm around me, another around Amanda, and says in a low Barry White voice, “Hello, Ladies.”

We all crack up as Lane pretends to be our escort, then a rich businessman, then a power player who ordered up two young ladies. Minutes later, we’re all gasping from laughter as the sleek black car pulls up to a hotel on Fifty-Seventh Street where Lane’s school holds its last dance of the year. The chauffeur beats Lane to the door this time. We head inside and step onto the escalator that carries us to the second floor.

A doorman opens the glass doors to the ballroom and I stop in my tracks. It’s twinkling—sparkly silver and shimmery lights with silver balloons coat the ceiling and silver cutout stars line the walls.

“I guess the theme this year is silver,” Lane remarks as we walk onto the dance floor. A loud, fast beat echoes throughout the cavernous room. Guys and girls, and girls and girls, and guys and guys, are moving their hips to the music.

I grab Amanda’s arm. “It’s like heaven!”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know!” She turns to Lane. “We’re easy to please. It’s the all-girls’-school upbringing.”

He laughs. “That is indeed good to know.”

I sense an opening. Or rather, a chance to create one. And that’s what I’ve been hoping to do tonight. “I’ll get us sodas. Why don’t you two dance?”

“Okay,” Amanda says, and she’s seconded by Lane. He gives me a quick look before he starts to dance, but I know he doesn’t like me the way he used to, and I’m glad. I want him in my life as a friend.

I ask the bartender for three sodas. The bartender hands me the beverages, but I’m not ready to return to the dance floor. There will be time enough for me to bring them their drinks.

“Thanks,” I say, and I lean against the bar, watching my friends. I wait and the music slows and the swaying starts.

There’s an awkwardness at first. Amanda and Lane both shuffle their feet, and neither one knows exactly what to do with their arms. I tense, trying to will them to move closer, trying to use the force to guide his arms to her shoulders, then around her back. Soon enough, he figures it out, and she slides in closer, and they have this dance.

The lights dim and silver disco balls descend, spinning kaleidoscopic swirls across the hardwood floor. I’m pretty sure this won’t be their last dance of the night. I take a sip of my Diet Coke, thinking of someone who’s not here, wondering how he’d look on the dance floor with me.

Instinctively, I touch my necklace. I twirl the charms in my hand, listening to the music.

I turn to the bartender. “So this is prom.”

“So this is prom,” he echoes.

“This is what everyone gets all excited about.”

“Yep. This is what everyone gets excited about.”

“I can see why.”

Soon, soon, I will join my friends. I will seize the moment, because in some ways, this is the best of times after all.

   
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