Chapter 2

“I look like I drink cosmos?” I ask with a skeptical eyebrow as he hands me my pink drink.

“You look like you deserve the best. And you’re gorgeous, so a pretty drink seemed fitting,” he shoots back quickly and I know I’m in trouble. He’s handsome, bossy and witty.

“I guess I just have to take the compliment,” I shrug before taking a sip. Although I would’ve never ordered a cosmopolitan for myself, I can’t deny how much better it tastes than a harsh Jack and coke.

“What’s your name?” He asks after a long pause.

“What’s with the hesitation?” I wonder aloud. He looks to be studying me and it makes me a little uneasy.

“I feel like I know you, but I know that I don’t. It’s hard to explain, but you have one of those familiar faces. I guess I was wondering what your name is and figured I could just ask,” he smirks at his explanation as if he’s aware of just how strange he sounds, although he doesn’t seem uncomfortable about the realization at all.

“Well, what does it look like my name would be?” I lift my head, turning from side to side to display myself like a mannequin.

Taking a step back, he squints his eyes and tilts his head, looking at me like a piece of artwork.

“Chantel,” he guesses and I burst into giggles at how wrong he is.

“That bad?” He chuckles, his ego a bit bruised.

“Christy,” I smile while correcting him, looking directly into those deep eyes.

My mother used to say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. His eyes are dark and deep, like there is a lot to know about him, but only a few are granted entry.

“Christy’s better, but I wasn’t far off,” he furrows his eyebrows together. Great, and he’s competitive too.

“It’s nice to meet you…” I begin, extending my hand as I wait for him to finish my sentence.

“Warren,” he answers, taking my hand into his before adding, “Look at that, I’m already completing your thoughts, we’re a match made in heaven.” He raises his hands as if closing a deal and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.

And a sense of humor.

“So, you work at a school,” he begins, using my tactic to learn more about me.

“Yeah, I work with small children. I help them adjust to beginning school – you know if it’s their first year or if they’ve transferred from a different school.” I answer with a nod. It’s such a bad habit, but whenever I find myself nervous, I’m always nodding along like an idiot while I talk.

“Oh, so you work for private schools?” He sips his drink to hide a smirk.

“What makes you so sure of that?” I question.

“That sounds like a service for rich kids. I switched schools every few months, no one ever asked me how it made me feel. I’m guessing rich kids get that type of added comfort,” he explains before motioning over my shoulder at someone behind me.

“I have to go see someone. Stay here,” he whispers in my ear with his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Oh, well,” I begin, but he’s gone before I can protest.

Who does he think he is to just leave in the middle of a conversation and demand that I stay put like a child? Finishing my drink, I glance around the room hoping something, anything, draws my attention so I can have a reason to leave before he returns. I feel like he’s testing me to see if I’m obedient, and that’s a test I plan to fail.

Making my way through the crowd, I head to the dance floor to find Evelyn, but I still don’t see her bright red dress. An older guy in a charcoal suit grabs my wrist, and it takes an entire song to convince him that now isn’t a good time to dance. I should’ve just went with it, I’m sure he would’ve noticed how bad I am and quit on his own in less time.

Finally, I find Evelyn at a corner table sitting with a group of important-looking men in business suits. Pausing, unsure if this is a good time, I begin to rethink my plan until she spots me and smiles wide while waving me over. The men all turn in unison and again I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, they’re eyeing me like a turkey on Thanksgiving.

“This is my good friend Christy! Christy, these are the guys,” Evelyn casually introduces us and we all shake hands as I forget each name the second I hear it.

I know their type, Evelyn’s introduced me to plenty of men just like them over the years. All they care about is money, all they want to talk about is money and all they do is brainstorm more ways to make it.

“We’re just plotting,” Evelyn whispers in my direction, sure of what I’m thinking.

“I figured,” I raise my eyebrows, telling her all she needs to know.

“So, what do you do, Christy?” The man in the dark brown suit asks from across the table.

“I work with children,” I nod.

“Oh, I thought for sure you were a model,” he shrugs as if he’s just spoken the most original thought. The guys beside him nod as if he’s spoken for all of them, and I know it’s time to excuse myself.

“Let’s get a drink,” I say to Evelyn, and she smiles that best friend ‘I know what you’re really doing’ smile.

If I’m honest, my entire reason for returning to the bar is to look for Warren. While I didn’t want to be there when he returned, I did want to see him again, but he’s nowhere in sight.

“Can I help you?” A bartender asks through the crowd. I can hear the people beside us hiss, obviously having waited longer than us.

“Two,” I say while holding up two fingers and he instantly turns away.

“What was that?” Evelyn asks and I briefly explain my meeting with the mystery man from earlier. She seems impressed, but assures me there are no good guys for me here. “These are all workaholic assholes. You need an artist type or something,” she adds after sipping the sweet cosmopolitan.

After finishing our drinks, I decide to leave early since Evelyn is only going to be working anyway. Promising to text her once I get to our shared apartment, I head out of the swanky hotel on my own.

Of course, there are no cabs allowed out front, because they have to make room for the car services of everyone inside. Great, no cabs allowed in New York City, what is this?

The valet advises that I go around to the back of the hotel where it should be easy to find a taxi, so I turn the corner to head in that direction with Evelyn’s words replaying in my mind. What does she mean I need an ‘artist type’? What does that even mean? I swear, if you live in New York and aren’t completely absorbed with money, people treat you like you have some sort of disorder.

I don’t notice the dark car following me until it’s awkward. Looking over my shoulder I see it’s a limousine, and that makes me feel less uneasy. I’ve never known of anyone to get kidnapped by someone in a limo, but please don’t let them think I’m a hooker, because that’s actually happened before.

“Hey,” I hear from a familiar voice and turn to the car.

“Get in,” Warren says as the limo pulls to a stop, the dark-tinted window rolled down to expose his handsome face.