Page 29

I push open the door and see her smile falter slightly when she sees me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, stepping inside. Her office is now complete and it suits her so well. Everything that she picked out has a piece of her in it. Her beauty, her simplicity, her sharpness. She belongs sitting behind the big desk in the center of the room.
“How is the writing going?” I ask.
“It’s going…” she says distractedly.
“I’ll let you get back to it, but I wanted to discuss something with you.”
“Oh?” she looks wary.
“I have an event coming up this Friday. It’s the Conservatory Ball. It’s one of the biggest charity events. I go every year…”
She looks at me curiously as she waits for me to finish. I don’t know why I feel so nervous, why she makes me feel this way. I pull slightly at my tie, loosening it.
“I’d like you to accompany me,” I say.
“I’m not sure—” she starts to say.
“It’s business,” I reassure her, even though I don’t want it to be. “I have some business deals I’m trying to drum up and this is the place to test the waters with some potential partners.”
She looks thoughtful for a moment, and I know I need to seal the deal.
“There will be New York’s finest politicians, past and present there. You’d have exclusive coverage for your column.”
I know it’s a hard deal for her to turn down.
“Okay,” she says reluctantly.
“Great. That’s just great,” I say a little too enthusiastically. “So yeah, it’s Friday night. Seven p.m. It’s black tie. You can take the company card if you need to buy anything for it.”
I pull my wallet from my jacket pocket and slide over the card. I don’t want to stay any longer in case she changes her mind.
“I’ll let you back to it.” I drum my knuckles on her desk before exiting the room, leaving her with her mouth partly open as if she’s about to protest.
Turns out I didn’t need four days to convince her. But now I have four days of hoping she doesn’t change her mind.
She doesn’t though. As the limo pulls up outside her Greenwich Village apartment, I can feel my nerves starting up again, just as they always do when I know I’m about to see her. It happens in the morning, when I come into the office. It happens around every lunch break when she lets me know she’s going on break. It happens when I walk by her office and the doors open. I’m not used to this feeling.
I step out of the limo and walk up to the entrance of the apartment building. I look on the intercom and scroll for her name. It simply says Erica G. No full name, probably for safety reasons. I press the button and wait.
“I’ll be right down,” she says.
I feel a sense of relief, knowing the night is here and she didn’t back out. I go and wait by the limo, leaning my back against it. My heart is beating in my chest quicker than normal. Then I hear the buzz of the doors. I look up and see her standing there in the doorway and my hand instinctively finds its way to my chest. It’s like it’s hard to breathe as my eyes take her in.
She’s wearing a strapless, floor-length dress that I can’t determine whether it’s gray or blue as it drapes across her oliveskin, pulling in at the waist before flowing around her. As she walks toward me, the silky fabric catches the light and continues to dance a fine line between colors, though any color would look good on her. Her hair is piled into a bun on top of her head, dark, wavy tendrils framing either side of her face as a simple pair of pearl earrings peek through.
“Wow,” I whisper more to myself than to her.
She must hear me because she says a quiet “thank you.”
“You look…” I struggle to find the words. “Beautiful.”
It seems too simple a word for the vision she is, but I say it anyway, and I see her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red at the compliment.
The driver of the limo has quietly come around the car and opens the door for us. I hold out my hand and she hesitates before taking it, allowing me to help her slide inside the car. I follow in behind her, and wonder what seat to take in the large, empty interior. I test my luck and sit beside her. I feel her tense, and I wonder if this was a good idea. I wonder if she will ever let me in again.
“Champagne?” I ask, pulling a bottle from the ice bucket beside me.