Page 25 of Love at First Sighting

El

Sam owes me now.

The second the curtains close, he ushers me offstage and into one of the wings. A waitress quickly offers each of us another glass of Terra vodka, and while Sam drinks it, I most certainly do not.

“What a rush, Ariel! Isn’t it magical?”

While participating was a little bit fun and I never minded Sam’s shows, magical is not the word I’d use. He’s not a bad magician by any means, just a truly lackluster boyfriend.

“It was fun!” I tell him.

“You saved my show. I was deeply panicked about the loss of Katarina, but you are a hero. I mean it.”

“Uh-huh,” I begin. “Happy to help. Now, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Of course,” he says.

“I want you to introduce me to Ian Forte.”

Sam grows quiet, and after a moment he sighs. “I would love to, but—”

Considering I saved his show, I’m not asking for much.

He’s willing to perform alongside me and show me off but not introduce me to Ian?

I know their families are good friends. They’re even neighbors at the airfield where they store their private jets.

Sam comes from old oil money, which explains how he can afford to follow his passion to be a literal magician, and the Fortes have been continuous investors in his career.

“But what?” I interrupt.

“Look, El,” Sam begins, “I got you in because this soiree is the who’s who of cultural icons, and I brought you onstage because I was in a quandary and I trust you to perform well.”

“Who here is an icon ?”

“Trust me, there’s enough of them here that you won’t draw attention.

I’ll admit, the way I ended our affair was a little harsh, so let’s call it an equilibrium getting you into this party.

But I can’t provide Ian Forte—I mean, Ian Forte— with damaged goods.

Right now, people will see anything you do as a cry for attention or an attempt to reframe the narrative. ”

Damaged goods. Despite the glittering dress I’m in, the sparkling necklace and earrings, and the way Carter looked at me like I’m the brightest thing in the room, I now feel dull.

At one point, Sam saw me as a rung on the ladder to climb.

Now he’s boosted himself up and, having gotten what he wanted, wants nothing to do with me, but I know he’ll saunter back around if it’ll ever benefit him again.

“Look, if I wasn’t trying to straighten out a deal to be the main entertainment act on Ian’s luxury submarines, I would be happy to. But right now, you’re a risk and I am trying to keep my precarious associations as quiet as possible. You get that, right?”

In another timeline, I would have.

“I…yeah,” I stammer out.

Sam presses a cold, bony hand to my cheek. “I knew you would understand. El, I’m happy our paths have crossed again. Please enjoy the rest of the party.”

Sam sips again at his drink and vanishes behind a curtain. When I pull it back to find him, he’s already gone.

Great. I was sawed in half for nothing in return. I’m going to have to find a new plan. I gather up my skirt and push through the stage doors, ready to find Carter and recalibrate our agenda. I’m immediately face-to-face with one of Ian’s waitresses, clad in a blue velour dress.

“Oh! Just who I was looking for. Ms. Martin, my name is Skylar, one of Mr. Forte’s associates. He’s requested to meet you.”

Oh thank god . I’ve never been so grateful for my pageant girl skills. Clearly, my damaged goods are a special delivery for Ian.

“Of course,” I say. “I would love to meet him.”

Skylar directs me to follow her into one of the private parlors, where Ian Forte is waiting with a glass of clear vodka in hand.

He can best be described as buttery . He’s not conventionally attractive by any stretch of the word, but he is a billionaire, so that might not matter.

His dark hair is slicked back and his hairline is receding, even though he’s only in his mid-thirties.

His suit is black with gold paisley print and his pants do not cover his ankles, naturally.

He greets me with a haughty laugh and a kiss on each cheek. Ian smells like vodka and overpowering cologne, and the look in his eyes is hungry for opportunity.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. I’m genuinely shocked to hear an authentic British accent after all of Bex’s butchering. “You’ve tried the vodka, yes?”

“I have,” I say, and I know I’m going to have to stomach more of it. “It’s delicious. I’d love another drink. Could I do it with the pineapple juice?”

Ian waves me off and saunters toward the bar. “You don’t need to mix it. I made sure of it. Terra Vodka is top-shelf quality and can be consumed on its own.”

He has the bartender pour me a glass on the rocks.

His voice drops to a posh snarl. “Tell me you’ve never tried anything like this before.”

I trace the collar of Ian’s blazer as he passes me a fresh drink. He has a sad tuft of hair on his chin that should be a beard. I take an eager sip of the vodka and utilize my most Academy Award–winning acting to not gag.

“It’s crisp. Clean. It tastes like prosperity,” Ian muses with a gurgling chuckle. “Doesn’t it?”

“It tastes like the future.” I clink my glass with his.

It’s the corniest thing I could have said and Ian gobbles it up like Thanksgiving turkey.

I’m not sure where he’s planning to take me, but as we leave the parlor, Ian opens a door disguised like a bookshelf, which leads down the hallway, and we step in.

I know Houdini House has plenty of private rooms for their performers, and some are available to rent for parties.

The room Ian’s taken me to is a dressing room—clearly the largest. Sam has his own, but it’s nothing like this.

Ian’s dressing room is nearly the size of Carter’s whole apartment, with a circular couch in the back corner and a canopy draped above it.

The carved-oak walls give the room the feel of an old library, but, like…

a kinky one. He shuts the door and the cacophony of Houdini House quiets to a dull roar.

“Come in,” he says. “Hard to talk with all those eyes around, you know?”

“Sure do,” I lie. I take a seat at the edge of the couch and arch my back to accentuate my curves. Ian follows like a desperate puppy. He sits beside me, crossing his legs and attempting to play footsie with me. Our ankles touch and I don’t pull away, but I refuse to give him more.

“Now, tell me, Eloise—”

“Ariel,” I cut him off. “My name is Ariel.”

His eyes narrow with a goofy smile. “ Little Mermaid . Cute.”

“Sure is.”

“Are you enjoying the party?”

Think, El . Ian’s dressing room is full of gaudy gift baskets, and he reaches behind him to a Harry & David collection of nuts and pops a peanut into his mouth.

There’s got to be something in here that’ll lead me to the right place, even if Ian won’t.

That’d require getting rid of Ian. If this were a spy movie, I could go for sedatives, knocking him out, or tie him up somewhere, but this is not a movie and I’m just a girl in a pretty dress.

I need to play with the weapons I do have.

My biggest weapon has always been my image.

Beautiful, and always underestimated. No one ever buys how smart I am and everyone thinks all I have to offer is surface level. It’s why even a man as powerful as Ian Forte is going down.

“Loving it. This place is amazing ,” I gush.

“Have you been before?”

“I have,” I say, “but nothing like this. I can’t say I’ve ever been to a party like this. You outdo yourself, Mr. Forte.”

Ian smirks and scoots closer. “Ian, please.”

“I was wondering…” I toy with the buttons at the center of his chest. He’s got three chest hairs and a fake tan underneath. He is all the kinds of fake I have grown to absolutely hate and never want to be again. “Now that you’ve conquered the alcohol business, what’s next?”

“Well, you know about the submarines, right? You know the Terra subs? You should come with me sometime. We’re making improvements to the comfort level every day.”

As much fun as it sounds to dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench with a man who looks like a horrifying sea creature himself, I don’t plan to make any commitments on the matter.

“Of course,” he continues, “there will be vodka on the subs, too. We’re testing to see if it tastes better under the sea.”

“Anything else?” I prod. “If you’ve taken to the oceans, what about the skies?”

He closes his stumpy fingers around mine and rubs the back of my hand.

It’s nothing like Carter’s lithe, calculated hand that fit with mine like no one’s ever has before.

Carter’s hand dwarfed mine, and at the mere thought of my red-manicured fingers lacing with his, I smile.

Ian, however, has grubby, sweaty hands and I want them off me.

“It was my father’s passion to put the Forte name wherever we could, so yes, of course. Excelsior, you know?”

I look to the vanities in the dressing room, which are covered in gifts. If I know anything about rich men, it’s that they partake in metaphorical dick-measuring contests through gifts. I spot a large crystal sculpture of a Terra Vodka bottle with the tag From Jeff hanging from the side.

“Why do you ask?” he drawls. There’s a knowing gleam in his eyes, like maybe he knows who I am better than he’s let on. If Terra was behind what I saw that night, I fear word’s made it back to him and the charade is up. I worry I’ve underestimated Ian Forte, too.

“Can’t a woman ask a visionary how he wants the world to look?” I reply with a beaming grin. I also push my boobs together.

“?‘Visionary,’ huh?”

“It’s what you are, isn’t it?” I say. Ian raises his drink between us and takes a sip, wetting the inside of his lips.

“I was curious what brings you here, you know, considering what they’re saying about you.” I grind my molars and let him continue. “The UFO sighting, no? You’ve gotten quite the attention lately, and not all of it good.”

Shit. Maybe my question about the skies was too ambitious and forward. I didn’t think I’d even be on Ian’s radar. But if what I saw had something to do with Terra, maybe I am. It feels like some kind of confirmation, even if I’m nailed to the cross in the process.

“You can’t listen to everything people say. You must know that.”

“Of course I do. I wonder because of what you saw. Your questions. They’re intriguing to me.”

Ian doesn’t know it, but he’s handing me all the vague answers I need.

“Really? How come?”

As Ian goes to speak again, the door to the dressing room swings open. Saved by the bellboy.

“Sir,” the Houdini House worker says.

“Yes?” Ian says with annoyance.

“Seal has arrived.”

I furrow my brows. “Seal? Like ‘Kiss from a Rose’ Seal?”

“That’s the one,” Ian says, standing and brushing off his suit.

His demeanor changes instantly. Suspicious and sinister one moment, and giddy and nervous the next.

“Big fan. Didn’t think he’d come. Take me to him.

” He turns back to me with a leering smile.

“And you , stay right here. I’ll come back for you. Enjoy your drink.”

Ian hurries to the door, and the employee pulls it shut behind them. Bingo. I never thought a nineties pop singer would come in so clutch for me. I’ll be sure to make an Instagram post set to “Kiss from a Rose” at some point in the future.

I reach into my clutch and pull out my phone the second Ian is gone.

El (8:49 pm): Come down the hall. Third bookshelf to the left.

Carter (8:49 pm): Omw.