Page 23 of Love at First Sighting
I don’t want him to know the discussion, and it doesn’t matter while I’m near him, getting closer and closer with each breath. Carter raises the glass to his lips.
“Cheers to adding pineapple maybe making it better?” he says. Our glasses clink together, sticky cocktail dribbling over the edges onto our fingers. Then we do the bravest thing two people can do: drink Ian Forte’s vodka.
It is better when mixed with pineapple, but not by much. But that might be a testament to Ian Forte and his ability to fuck up anything he touches—from deep-sea tourism to alcohol.
“Not great, but I’ll take it.” He laughs.
“This is one of the first times you haven’t looked like the only extra in Angel City Noir .”
“I think you might have become obsessed with that show.”
“Hey.” I frown. “It’s so mindless. Makes great background noise as I’m editing pictures. However, I might pay more attention if the leading man was someone as handsome as you.”
He bites his lip and smiles, leaning in so our arms brush together. “Who would I be? A morally gray detective being bamboozled by one very persuasive femme fatale?”
Carter removes the aged trilby from his head and carefully places it on top of my curls. For a moment, I think—when he smiles, magic happens. There’s something electric and alluring in the sparkle in his eyes and the bright flash of his teeth.
What might actually be magic is the way Alaka-Sam appears behind Carter and makes me choke on my drink.
Sam is clad in his usual lace-up leather pants and sequined blue blouse.
Except he’s in a tizzy. And in the time since we broke up, he’s added a dash of glitter to his eyelids, but his hair is still the same greased-up mop of waves and he still smells like cigar smoke mixed with something strangely avian.
“Sam!” I say, still choking. “Uh, hi!”
“Ariel.” He sighs. Carter pivots around quickly and takes his place at my side.
He eyes Sam from head to toe and laces his arm around my back in a way that screams mine .
I think of the way he scoffed at Sam dumping me, how someone who wanted me just for the sponsorships and clout actively pissed him off. “And companion,” Sam adds.
Sam does an imaginary hat tip and eyes Carter warily. Where Sam is lithe and lanky and looks like he wouldn’t make it through a tough winter in Victorian England, Carter is decently taller and has significantly more muscle mass.
“Sam, this is Carter. My…he’s my date this evening. Thank you for getting us in. This party is really something.”
There’s something flustered in Sam’s movements. He’s nervous and more birdlike than usual. “Ian spares no expense. Apologies for my lack of hospitality. I am tormented at the moment.”
Carter tightens his jaw, but the look of confusion on his face is palpable. However, I see this as an opportunity. If Sam needs something, it might be what gets me one step closer to Ian Forte.
“No problem, what’s up?” I ask.
“Katarina,” he bemoans, swiping a hand over his brow. One of his newer accessories is a ring with a glass eyeball at the center, bloodshot and everything. I’m afraid it might wink at me. “My assistant fell ill this evening.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”
“It is. She and I were both offered partnerships with Inner Strength protein powder—”
I clear my throat. “The…protein powder that causes intestinal blockages?”
“In a very small percentage of users. I have no predisposition to bowel complications. Katarina, however…As you know, El, it’s a critical part of the show, having someone to perform with me.
Nevermore, I need to restructure this evening’s performance to accommodate for her absence. It’s perplexing me.”
What is also perplexing is his use of the word nevermore . Sam presses his index fingers to his temples and ponders.
“It’s interrupting conjuring hour as well. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be in my study.”
I have to think about how I’m going to play my cards here.
“Have you changed up your routine at all?” I ask cautiously. I’m not sure what I’m offering, but getting deeper in Sam’s good graces can’t hurt.
“I put a little sparkle on it for Ian’s event, but as a whole, the production is the same.”
I’ve seen Sam’s show enough times to know the basic gist of it.
He does a series of tricks in his hour-long set.
For the first few, he starts off small—card tricks, magic coins, and one where he produces a dove from his sleeve.
Katarina mostly brings him items until his showstopper number, where he saws her in half.
I know how he does it. I made Sam tell me once and he made me swear I’d never reveal his secrets or there’d be dire consequences for him. I’m not sure if magicians have little cards they carry around or something, and whether it’d get his revoked. I don’t plan to tell anyone.
Except maybe Carter. I know he’ll ask.
“What if…I helped you?”
Carter looks to me at the same time Sam does. I can’t tell if the look in his eyes is fearful. I’ll be getting up close and personal with my ex again, but he has nothing to worry about. There is nothing about Alaka-Sam I’ll be running back to.
“You would do that?” he asks.
“Of course,” I agree. “I would be happy to fill in for Katarina. I know the show pretty well. I can do what she does.”
“And you are just as beautiful, no doubt,” he adds, nudging Carter. “Don’t you agree?”
Carter’s grip on my waist tightens. “The most stunning.”
“Sam, I’ve got a favor I want to ask you, too. Do you think if I can help you tonight, you’d be willing to help me out?”
His hands flit dramatically. “Indubitably. I’d be happy to do whatever you please.”
Now that Carter sees what my end game is, he eases his grip on me.
“I appreciate it. I was hoping—”
“Can we discuss it after the fact?” he asks. “I have missed half of conjuring hour, and I need to recoup my energies how I can. But I will allow you to have your dinner with your group, and then we’ll convene for the show. How does that sound?”
I let out a sigh. There’s no guarantee he’s going to buy what I’m going to ask—to introduce me to Ian—but he’s already gone by the time I get out my next words. He’s literally poofed out of our vision, vanishing into the crowd around us.
“Oh,” Carter mutters. “That disappearing act was actually pretty good.”
I’ll have to explain to Carter later how much Sam commits to this bit. He’s transformed his West Hollywood apartment into what he calls a sanctum and refers to his room as the bedchamber. There’s purple tufted upholstery on the bathroom walls. It’s a whole thing.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I am going to get my way to Ian Forte. First, I just have to be cut in half.”