Page 5

Stella

Old Stella is back.

I’ve hooked a man in five minutes flat, which isn’t a new record, but it’s on par with the woman I used to be. And God, it feels good.

“Just enough,” I echo him, not daring to look away lest I lose the confidence I’ve regained. But his gaze is so intense that I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. “All right, if you say so.”

I know I pressed my luck with Prince Charming here. He could have found me and my little adjustment of his toast crude and off-putting. I wouldn’t have been surprised, given his aggressively posh bearing, but when he looked at my lips like he was imagining them doing something more than talking, I figured I might as well try.

And am I glad I did, because the way his eyes lit up after he recovered was worth the risk. A win I desperately needed. The spark it sent through my blood was only a bonus.

It’s nice to feel wanted again. Nice to know my allure hasn’t completely vanished. It’s been hard not to think I’ve completely lost it, considering I couldn’t keep my fiancé’s attention in the final months of our relationship, but this is proof that I can still draw people in. That I can still be lusted after.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to close the gaping hole that lingers in my chest, but this is like a Band-Aid pulling the edges together. I’ll take it over having nothing.

“I promise it’s a compliment,” Thomas says, fingertips skimming over my bare knee. “I appreciate boldness.”

His touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake, stirring something to life inside me. But I don’t get the chance to give it a name, because the feeling is devoured by sharp, gut-churning guilt. Guilt that I’ve betrayed my fiancé by shamelessly flirting with this man.

I have to quickly remind myself that I don’t have a fiancé anymore. I’m not in a relationship. I have no one to be loyal to. No one to cheat on. And I said I was going to cause a riot tonight, didn’t I? A girl can’t do that if she’s holding herself back.

But if I really want to inspire the most chaos—and prove to Daphne that I’m not the saint she thinks I am—it’s time for me to lure in my next victim. This one was only supposed to be a stop along the way, my first of many conquests tonight.

Except…I don’t really want to find another.

First of all, I’m comfortable here at the bar, away from the shrill screams of winning women and the shouted curses of losing men coming from around the room. Second, Thomas is actually putting the charm into the Prince Charming nickname—boy can banter. And third…maybe Old Stella doesn’t need to come all the way back. I’ve already proved to myself that she’s still here, that she’s just been hibernating. That matters more than proving anything to some mean girl.

And all right, he’s easily the hottest man in the room. Why would I leave just to find someone less appealing?

“Good,” I tell Thomas, and then I toss back the rest of my old-fashioned. When I set down the empty glass, I level him with a smile as the whiskey warms my veins. “Then you can get me another drink.”

He laughs, deep and low, but he’s already lifting a hand to signal to the bartender. It gives me a chance to sneakily assess him again. He’s prettier than I first thought, with the lightest smattering of freckles across his nose and a few faint laugh lines around his eyes. He might have been wearing that grimace earlier, but this is a man who smiles often.

When he finishes ordering, he looks back at me, an expectant lift to his brow. “Any ideas for what our next toast should be?”

I pretend to think, tapping a finger against my jaw. “How about to the absolutely ridiculous bride and groom who thought a combined bachelor and bachelorette party was a good idea?”

The corners of his lips twitch up, his gaze sliding out to the crowd where I’m sure Janelle and Ron are acting like fools. “Did you know in Canada they have a name for this kind of thing? ‘Buck and doe.’?”

How funny that I’d been thinking about that same trivia tidbit earlier. I won’t read into it, but it’s a fraction of a point in his favor. Instead, I shake my head in disgust. “I knew there was something off about the Canadians.”

He laughs again, the sound wrapping around me like a warm embrace. “I feel the need to stick up for a Commonwealth nation, but I fear this is indefensible.”

“I’m just kidding,” I say breezily, eyes flicking to the bartender as he sets down our next round. “I love Canada. My most successful store is in Vancouver. Beautiful city.”

“Store?”

“Ah, that’s right,” I muse, cocking my head to the side as I smile sweetly at him. “You still don’t know who I am.”

My eyes track his movements as he reaches for his glass and—Lord have mercy, man’s got big hands. Long fingers and broad palms, the kind I could imagine doing wicked things.

Too soon, Stella. You’re not ready for that.

“Then tell me.”

I have to take a sip of my drink to wet my suddenly dry mouth before I can reply. “I’m an entrepreneur.”

It’s a vague answer, but there’s not much else that sums up my career and all the things that make it up.

Of course he calls me out on it. “That doesn’t explain why you’re famous.”

“Not famous, per se,” I correct. “Well-known in certain circles.”

He shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed in me for playing coy. He must not have been lying about liking boldness.

“Give me more than that.” He leans in, our eyes catching again. There’s a curiosity in his gaze that takes me aback because I can’t remember the last time a man looked at me with such interest. “Tell me who you are.”

My heart’s beating faster. This isn’t a competition, but it still feels like I’m losing the upper hand. He’s supposed to be on my hook. I’m not supposed to be dangling from his.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Start from the beginning. Give me the highlights.”

“The beginning? All right.” I huff out a laugh and settle into my seat. “I was born in Atlanta to the CEO of a major food conglomerate and a corporate lawyer. They met when my father’s company was being investigated for fraud. My mother won his case. He proposed soon after.” I leave out how the man’s been whipped ever since. Or how my vision of true love looks like them. “I grew up doing beauty pageants and modeled as a teenager, then went to college at Georgetown for accounting. And then I…blew up on social media.”

“Blew up?”

This is the actual beginning most people are interested in, but it’s disingenuous to leave out the earlier parts, especially the wealth and privilege I come from. Nothing in my life would have been possible without it.

“I used to bake a lot in college,” I explain. “It was a stress reliever. And I was very good at it.” No use being humble, considering what I’ve accomplished. “So I would post my bakes and recipes online. I made little videos, really let my personality shine through—just had fun with it. I was known for my macarons.”

It’s slow, but I can see the recognition beginning to dawn. Oh, he knows who I am. He just didn’t realize there was an actual person behind the name on the storefront.

“I got a lot of messages asking me when I was planning to open my own bakery,” I go on. “It wasn’t until my senior year that I started thinking about it seriously. I mean, a career in accounting sounded stable, but it sounded boring —unless I could work it into something I actually cared about. Like baking. My parents didn’t love the idea, but my father bankrolled the flagship patisserie in DC, and that was it. In eight years, we’ve opened a hundred locations with more on the way.”

Heavy silence follows my story, and Thomas searches my face like he’s seeing me with new eyes.

“You’re not just Stella ,” he finally says, and I swear there’s a note of impressed awe in the words. “You’re Stella Margaux .”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Huh.” He leans back, elbow propped on the bar as he looks me over again, a grin spreading across his face. “How unexpected.”

“About as unexpected as me meeting a race car driver.” I take another sip of my drink, the liquor easing its way through me. “And I’m Stella Baldwin, actually,” I amend. “Margaux is my middle name. I figured it sounded better for a macaron shop.”

“It does have a nice ring to it.”

“And macarons aren’t my only venture.” I don’t know why I’m still speaking, but there’s something about the way he’s willing to sit here and soak in my every word that has me wanting to ramble on. “I have my fingers in a few pies.”

His brow rises. “Literally?”

“Some days.”

Another laugh breaks free from him.

“I have other bakeries,” I explain, encouraged by his amusement. “My sweet tooth couldn’t be contained with just macarons. I also have a few cafés and boutiques, but those are a pretty new venture.”

“You’re making me feel inadequate,” he says, but there’s no resentment behind the confession. “All I do is drive around a track for a living while you’re out here taking over the world.”

I drop my voice to a loud whisper. “And you’re not even winning. I’m much more impressive.”

When he laughs this time, he throws his head back, drawing my eyes down the line of his neck.

“You find me very funny, don’t you?” He’s been delighted by nearly everything I’ve said, no matter how dry or deprecating. With most people, I try to tone it down to keep from coming off as insulting, but I can’t hold it back with him. More importantly, he seems to understand my humor, something étienne hardly did.

Stop thinking about him. It’s not like he’s thinking about you.

Thomas shoots me a grin as he recovers. “What can I say?” he admits. “You’re incredibly entertaining.”

“I think you mean honest .”

“I was trying to have some tact.”

“Very English of you.”

“Nice of you to notice.”

“But you did call my ex a cunt,” I point out, enjoying this back-and-forth far more than I should. “I think it’s a little late for tact.”

“And you all but invited me to fuck you, so I’d say we’re on equal footing.”

Heat blazes through me like a wildfire, settling somewhere in my lower belly as he stares me down. I have a name for that earlier feeling now—attraction. Maybe even desire. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it that the sensation is almost foreign. But this time, miraculously, only a faint brush of guilt joins it.

“As far as I remember,” I say, trying not to let on to how breathless his casual comment has left me, “I was just giving you another option for a toast. It wasn’t an invitation.”

And it’s true. This night isn’t going to end with us in bed—or pressed up against a wall in a dark corner, or locked in a grody bathroom stall. Old Stella wasn’t sleeping with everyone, but she was certainly (and happily) leading them on. That’s all this is going to be.

He could get up and walk away now that he knows there’s no chance of us hooking up. I wouldn’t blame him for it either. Why waste his time hitting on me—if that’s even what he’s doing—if it’s not going to go anywhere? I don’t think he’ll call me a bitch or a cocktease, like some other men might in this situation, but what do I know? This guy’s a stranger I just happen to have a mutual connection with, and we’ve been thrown together in one of the strangest situations imaginable.

“Good to know,” he says, like it’s really that easy for him to accept the limit I’ve set. “I’m perfectly fine with just talking.”

I snort, not buying it. “Oh, really? Am I that interesting?”

“Compared to our current company?” We both glance out at the rest of the high rollers’ room just as Sydney climbs up onto one of the poker tables and throws a shower of plastic chips in the air with a joyous squeal. “I’m happy spending my night with you.”

He’s already looking at me when I turn my head back, his eyes like pools of dark water, threatening to drown anyone who dares to stare for too long. Even I’m tempted to take a dip.

My stomach churns again, stirring heat through me. I didn’t expect to feel anything like this so soon after ending a relationship. It feels wrong and yet agonizingly right.

“Sweet words,” I finally eke out, lifting my glass again in hopes that more whiskey will wash away whatever’s simmering in my gut. Instead, it’s like throwing gasoline on a flame.

I have to glance away, so I stare down at my lap. At some point, and I couldn’t say when, I uncrossed my legs. Now we’re fully facing each other, my knees parted just enough that one of his has slipped between them, while the other brackets my right leg, almost as if he’s keeping me from bumping it against the bar. It’s annoyingly considerate.

But it also means he can probably see up my dress. Not that I mind. Someone other than me might as well admire my designer lingerie, five hundred dollars’ worth of chocolate-brown lace—but admiring is all he’s going to be able to do.

Well…unless I let him do more .

Flustered by the intrusive thought, I hear myself say, “Excuse me. I need to go powder my nose.” And then I’m pushing his knee away and slipping off my barstool. I grab my clutch before hurriedly following signs for the restroom.

I pull out my phone the second I step into the dimly lit back hallway, and fire off a text to my best friend as I try to breathe deeply. I need to cool down and get a handle on whatever fucked-up hormones have me sweating, because this is not appropriate.

STELLA: There is a very hot man here and I’m trying not to act a fool. Tell me to get my shit together.

I wish she were here tonight, and she would have been if she hadn’t broken her tibia five days ago while on a skiing trip in the Alps with her husband. While she’s technically not related to Janelle, Daphne, and me by blood, she’s still considered one of the Baldwin cousins since we all grew up together. More of our family photos have her in them than not.

Her reply pops up on my screen within seconds.

MIKA: Go fuck him

I guess that’s what I get for asking her to convince me to do the right thing. Of my cousins, Janelle’s the angel on my shoulder. Mika’s the devil in a little red dress.

STELLA: That was NOT the answer I was looking for

MIKA: Why not??? You need to get laid, it’s been too long. Pussy’s probably got cobwebs all up in it at this point

Instead of replying, I call her.

“First of all, that was just rude,” I scold when she answers after the third ring. “And second of all, I am not about to make any bad decisions tonight.”

“Hooking up with a hot guy is not a bad decision,” she counters without missing a beat. “Besides, he knows Ron, right? And don’t we like Ron? Doesn’t that mean this guy’s essentially been vetted?”

We do like Ron. Mika and I put him through hell when he first started dating Janelle so we could be certain he wasn’t an asshole who’d mistreat our girl. In the year they’ve been together, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man—other than my father and Mika’s husband—more hopelessly devoted to his partner. I’d be jealous if I weren’t so hideously happy for her.

“He’s a good guy,” I concede. “But that doesn’t automatically extend to the people he knows.” And, as I’ve learned, Thomas isn’t even close with him.

“You don’t need a good guy to get your rocks off,” she points out. “You’re hooking up with him, not marrying—”

“Hey!” I interrupt. “Still sensitive about that topic, all right?”

She heaves a sigh. “I know, I know. But, babe, you and Frenchie just weren’t meant to be. You need to put yourself back out there. He’s certainly not wasting any time.”

Her nickname for étienne brings a hint of a smile to my lips. “I will eventually, but for now I’m trying to—” I cut myself short when her last sentence registers. “Wait, what do you mean he’s not wasting any time?”

Silence crackles across the line. If there’s one thing Mika never is, it’s quiet.

“Mika, what did you mean?” I press.

“Stella, don’t worry about it,” she finally says, but from her tone I know she didn’t mean to let that slip.

“Well, I am worried about it.”

She groans, hesitant to tell me anything. “Look, I may have heard that he was spotted out with a woman last night and that they looked…cozy.”

“Cozy?” I repeat, trying to keep the hysterical note out of my voice, but it’s no use. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Stella…”

“Tell me.”

“It means they were kissin’ and cuddlin’, all right?” she says bluntly. She’s not doing it to hurt my feelings—she knows how much I appreciate honesty—but it still makes me wince.

I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. “And you trust the source it came from?”

“Well, the source was my own eyes, so…”

So étienne really was out in the streets with someone else two weeks after leaving me at the fucking altar.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble, wanting to rub away the burn behind my eyes but knowing better than to ruin my mascara.

There’s a strong chance he was cheating on me for at least part of the time we were together, especially toward the end, but I never had proof or anything more than my intuition. Hearing this, though…It makes me wonder what I might have been willfully oblivious to, all because I was so desperate to make it work.

I can’t deal with this. Not here, not now. There’s a pinching in my chest that always precedes a sob session, but I refuse to break down right now. étienne stole so much from me already; I’m not about to let him steal more of my dignity by crying in the dark hallway of a casino.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” Mika says, and I know she genuinely is. “But if not wanting to go out and have the time of your life has anything to do with loyalty to him, throw it out. He doesn’t deserve it. It’s time for you to go live your life without that dour French storm cloud hanging over you. C’est la vie, right?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off the tears, but I can’t help the watery laugh that escapes me at her horrible attempt at a French accent. “Pretty sure you’re not using that phrase correctly.”

“Hey, you’re the one who took lessons, not me.”

It’s a reminder of all the things I sunk into that relationship: French lessons so I could chat with his grandparents, missing store openings because he wanted me to constantly travel to Paris with him, all the nights I stayed out too late entertaining his business associates even though I had my own important meetings the next morning. I put a lot into keeping us together, only to be repaid with heartbreak and disrespect.

“I want you to be yourself again,” Mika goes on when I don’t say anything. “I want my Stella back.”

I glance toward the doorway to the high rollers’ room. “I was actually trying to bring her back tonight.” If I thought Daphne’s comments were enough to inspire Old Stella’s return, then this news about étienne has made me more determined to not hold back.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she says brightly. “I’m living vicariously through you right now. Kind of hard to get it on when you’ve got a cast halfway up your leg, though that hasn’t put me off trying. Let’s just say we’ve been getting creative with it.”

“Good for you, babe.” My eyes are drying, my smile returning. “Just don’t break anything else.”

“No promises. But hey, why are you wasting time talking to me? Go get that dick.”

“There will be no dick getting tonight,” I tell her firmly, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—her or myself. “But I will be flirting like my life depends on it.”

She’s right that I need to get myself out of this funk. It’s okay to grieve, to sit and lick my wounds, but it’s also okay to live my life however the hell I want. Who’s going to stop me?

When we hang up, I swing by the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror and make sure my makeup is still perfect. I throw in a little pep talk for good measure.

“You’re a fucking knockout,” I tell my reflection as I zhuzh the roots of my silk press. “Total package. Brains and amazing tits.”

It’s the speech I know Mika would give me if she were here. For the rest of the night, I’m determined to cling to the devil on my shoulder. The angel’s busy anyway.

Thomas is still sitting in the same place when I come back, his gaze tracking me as I approach. There’s a part of me that expected him to be there, yet there’s another part that’s surprised he hasn’t moved. He really didn’t get up to find a different conversation? To find someone he can actually take to bed tonight?

“I think we’re gearing up for the next event,” he announces as I slip back onto my barstool, and I watch the waitresses attempting to herd people toward the elevators. “Want to be my buddy for this excursion? Something tells me this night is going to devolve into mayhem.”

I don’t think he’s wrong about that. And considering he’s been decent company so far, I wouldn’t mind hanging out a little longer. He’s making what started as a terrible night into something bearable. “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine,” I offer.

“Great, because I’m not sure I like how that lady over there is looking at me.” He nods toward a woman a few feet away, sipping her vodka cran through a tiny straw as she shoots coquettish glances in his direction.

“That’s Christine,” I whisper like I’m sharing a dark secret. “You’re right to be worried. She’s on the hunt for her fourth husband. Number three disappeared under suspicious circumstances last year.”

His eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Nah, I’ve actually never seen that woman in my life.” I hop off my barstool and offer him my hand. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”