Page 14 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Judging by the anguish wrinkled between her brows, Celeste didn’t get her way. “They turned down your idea?”

“Vehemently. They want runway fashion. All samples in sizes double zero to two. They want to call a size six, plus size. It’s vile. And now I’m sitting here wondering how Greg can sleep with a woman like that , but won’t advocate for her.”

“My ex, Hannah, nearly gave herself an eating disorder trying to fit into Versace. She wanted this unbelievably expensive dress, but they never had it in stock in her size. She decided she had to shrink her body.”

“They probably never even made it in her size,” Celeste confirms, shame clouding her expression, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“She fell victim to an old trade trick. They add the bigger sizes to the website, but it’s always marked out of stock.

We make everything limited edition to create a sense of urgency.

They get desperate enough and they change their bodies to fit the dress instead of vice versa. ”

“Seriously?” I quirk a brow, the string quartet transitioning to an up-tempo waltz that fills the momentary silence between us. “That’s a thing?”

Celeste’s eyes fall to her lap, fingers mindlessly twisting the napkin. “It’s a thing.”

“It’s your company, Celeste. If you want to make a change, make one.”

She laughs at my naivety, the sound tinged with resignation. “I’m the designer, not the decision maker. I couldn’t have built what I have without Greg’s early investment. So, I do the work, and he and his fat-cat board of advisors call the shots.”

“On behalf of men, I’m sorry…if that helps.”

Running her fingertips through my hair, her lips relax. “We’re friends, right? Odd friends, but still?—”

“Definitely friends,” I assure her. “I would’ve joined you tonight whether you paid me or not.” I place my hand on hers, turning over her palm to trace small circles with my thumb. It’s a gesture that always calms her.

“Then friend to friend, why do men cheat?” Celeste asks, disarming me. I wasn’t expecting that question of all things. Her hazel eyes—usually guarded—now hold mine with unsettling directness.

I clear my throat, the sudden dryness making me wish I had another drink, buying time for an enlightening response, but I can’t come up with anything helpful. “I don’t know. I never have,” I admit.

“Greg made all of this so messy. There was no prenup. If he didn’t want to be with me, why didn’t he just break up with me?

Then, he’d be free to screw all the dimwitted, busty, gold-diggers he pleased, guilt-free.

Why did he have to cheat and make a mockery of me?

I don’t want him back, Forrest, it’s just… ”

The bitterness in her voice contrasts with the painful vulnerability in her eyes. They’re glossy under the dim mood lighting, but she keeps her unshed tears at bay.

“Your pride is hurt?” I offer gently, my voice barely audible over the clinking glasses and murmured conversations surrounding us.

She nods solemnly, a strand of dark hair falling across her face. “I’m about to be forty. I thought I was past all this. Greg’s the only man I’ve ever been with. Now, I have to date again? I can’t do it. I can’t even wrap my head around that.”

“You’re on a date right now,” I counter, gesturing between us with a slight smile, hoping to ease the heaviness that’s settled over our table.

“It’s not the same.” The corner of her mouth twitches upward, almost a smile but not quite. “We both know this night isn’t headed anywhere further than this.”

“It could if you want.”

That gets her full attention. Her eyebrows shoot up into high arches. “What do you mean?”

I pop my shoulder, showing her an earnest smile. My heart rate quickens against my better judgment. “If you need to break the ice with someone you trust, I’m here. You pay me for my time. What you choose to do with that time is up to you.”

She leans in close. “I’m more than ten years your senior. Is sex with an old lady really what you want?” She lowers her tone but fiery boldness flickers in her irises.

“I want you to never call yourself an old lady again, Celeste. Stop talking like your life is over. Start a new company you control. Date . Fall in love again. It’s not over for you.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips. “Not even close.”

For a moment, she melts into my gaze. I instantly regret my offer. If Celeste wants things to go any further, it’ll change our dynamic. I’ve opened up to her about a lot. She’s the only client who I’ve ever told about my daughter.

“What do you think? Do you want to get out of here?” The bride and groom have already left the reception.

The guests are slow to clear out, probably reluctant to leave such a fanfare.

It’s without question the most luxurious wedding I’ve ever been to.

With butter carved into little roses, a miniature ice sculpture at each table, I’m pretty sure the theme of this wedding is We have a shit-ton of cash.

“I do.” Her brows lift marginally. “But not with you.”

I clutch my chest like it’s wounded. “Ouch.”

She chuckles, relaxed and sweet, her playfulness washing away the uncomfortableness. “As odd as this sounds, you’re the most comfortable relationship I have with a man right now. I don’t want one night of good sex to jeopardize that… Or, at least I’m assuming it’d be good.”

I wink flirtatiously. “It’d be great.” But I also breathe out in relief, my shoulders dropping as the tension flows out, learning we’re on the same page. “How about one more slow dance and then I call your chauffeur and get you home?”

“Sounds like bliss.”

I push back my chair, the legs dragging softly on the plush carpet, intent on helping Celeste up in the most gentlemanly way possible…except I just collided with a body behind me. The soft fabric of a dress brushes against my arm. “I’m sorry. Excuse me?—”

Turning my head to address my poor victim, I lose my words when I see who I’ve rammed into. She’s wearing a pink ball gown-style dress that’s covered with black tulle. Her hair is in a neat twist, resting at the nape of her neck. And her eyes are red and swollen, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Cookie girl. From the coffeehouse.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” I slide out of my seat, my sudden concern well out of the realm of a stranger’s politeness.

“Oh that’s not what this is.” She paws at her face, wiping her tears so aggressively that she’s practically smacking her face, the sound surprisingly sharp. “But you’re on my dress.”

I glance down to the chair leg which I slid right over the base of her gown.

With unnecessary Hulk-like enthusiasm, I rip the chair off her hem, releasing her.

I notice the damage in the tulle I most definitely caused.

I squat down to assess it, and see what I can fix, but cookie girl leans down at the same time and somehow my forehead lands right between her breasts.

She leaps away but trips over the extra fabric of her gown. Instinctually I reach out to prevent her from toppling backward into the table behind her. All I manage to grab, though, is the front of her dress. This time, I hear the fabric tear.

“Shit!” I exclaim. What the fuck? Is this dress constructed of toilet paper?

Once she’s steady on her feet, I release her. She has to clench the V-neck of her dress together so she doesn’t risk exposing her tits. I unwittingly catch a hint of perfume—something sweet, like peaches and cream. “That was not on purpose. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you. It was a reflex.”

Her head is down, fresh tears replacing the ones she wiped away. “I’m not accusing you of anything. You were trying to keep me from falling.” She holds her palms up for a millisecond before clutching her dress again. “We’re good.”

Does she recognize me? Maybe I’m forgettable… She sure as hell is not.

“I’ll pay to replace it,” I awkwardly offer, my neck roasting from embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine.” She sniffles, forcing a smile as she nods at me, then Celeste. “Have a nice evening.” Then, she whisks away, presumably toward the ladies’ room, the damaged tulle trailing behind her.

Celeste smirks at me as I hold out my hand to help her out of her chair, finally. The satin of her dress gracefully cloaks her slim frame as she stands. “Wow, Forrest, that was…not smooth.”

“Thanks,” I mutter bitterly, my eyes still on cookie girl as she weaves through the ballroom, her hands still firmly clasped around her chest, disappearing among the crowd of gowns and tuxes.

“You looked shocked to see her. Someone you know?”

When cookie girl is finally out of sight, I tilt my head to the ceiling, noticing the dozens of crystal chandeliers overhead. “Sort of.”

“She’s very pretty. Her Marc Jacobs is a little out of date, but she wears it so well.”

“Until I ripped it,” I bellyache.

“It’s salvageable. Tulle can easily be replaced.”

Good grief, Celeste knows her industry. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to designer brands. She could tell you what everyone in the room is wearing without looking at the tags.

“What’s her name?” Celeste asks, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

“I don’t even know. A couple days ago, I bumped into her at a coffee shop. I was trying to make a joke, but I came off like an ass. I apologized. That didn’t go great either.”

Celeste nods in agreement. “Based on the interaction I just witnessed, I fully believe you.”

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan. Holding out my hand to her, I ask, “Ready for that dance?”

She assesses me head to toe, giving an obvious once-over. “You know what? My feet hurt.” She pulls out a miniature sewing kit from her gold clutch and wiggles it between her fingers. “I always bring this for emergencies. I’m going to call my driver, how about you go do some damage control?”

I shake my head, ignoring the knot of uncertainty in my chest. “Don’t be silly. I came here with you. And Greg is supposed to see us leave together.”

“I’m tired of worrying about Greg for tonight. And plus”—she shoos me with a flick of her hand—“I’m bored of you now, cabana boy. Get out of here.” Celeste nods toward the corner of the room where cookie girl disappeared, her eyes dancing with encouragement.

“You sure? It’s not what you think… I just humiliated her and I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Celeste gives me a close-lipped smile, showing off her amusement. “You’re answering questions I didn’t ask, Forrest.” Her eyes gleam knowingly as she nods to the right again. “Go.”

Before I can second-guess myself, I peck her on the cheek, and then I’m off to find the woman who I should probably stop pursuing, because quite frankly…

She keeps throwing me off my game.