33. CASSANDRA

“I can’t believe I’m wearing $14,000 worth of clothes. That’s obscene.”

I smile like a little kid and look at Carson. “Isn’t it?”

He settles back into his side of the limo’s bench seat and gives me an appreciative once-over.

“Someone once told me wealth is relative,” he says. “Me spending fourteen grand would be equivalent to your average New Yorker spending eight bucks for a coffee, which they do all the time.”

I do some quick math. Whoa.

“Are you serious?” I ask. “Just how rich are you?”

He flashes mock annoyance.

“Rich enough to be able to afford it when my date chooses the most expensive dress in the store,” he gripes.

I slap him. “You chose it, you jackass! I was happy with that dark green one.”

“Yeah, but that ugly old lady said plum compliments red hair, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. She’s the expert, after all.”

“That was a man and you know it!”

I tap the reverse camera on my phone and check out our digital reflection. The old lady – I mean man – was right, the purple totally works. Carson is in another tux, different from the one he wore to Modern. I guess that’s another way to answer my question: he’s rich enough to need more than one tuxedo. Until Carson, I’m not sure I knew anyone who even owned one.

Against my better judgment, I snap a selfie. Like, I don’t want to be one of those girls. But sometimes it’s unavoidable. Like starting a sentence with “like.” Oh, gosh, I’m doing it again. How can one man have me so flustered?

“Let me see!” Carson crows.

I suddenly remember that the previous photo in my library is of the woman in the red dress. A tiny stab of panic goes through my belly as I tuck the phone into my purse before he can get his hands on it.

“A girl’s phone is her castle,” I say. “Or something like that. You know what I mean.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he says with mock gravity.

“I like the sound of that.”

Carson pulls a bottle of Salon champagne from a perspiring silver ice bucket in the console and pours us each a flute. The matching silver tray next to it is covered in a pyramid of chocolate-dipped strawberries that doesn’t seem to be shrinking, even though each of us had at least half a dozen.

The interior of the limo is ringed by bands of polished cherry wood that gleam a deep auburn in the reflection of the bar lights. All in all, it’s the kind of place I just didn’t even think existed before I met Carson. For the second time, I mean.

He raises his flute. “To ugly old men who look like women,” he says.

“I’ll drink to that,” I giggle.

A voice comes over the intercom from the front seat.

“Boss, we’re about a block from Piccolo.”

“Thanks, Leonard,” Carson answers. “Let’s do a few laps before we go in. There’s still champagne to finish.”

“You got it, boss.”

“I can’t believe you pay a driver to be on standby all day,” I say, clucking my tongue.

“He doesn’t cost me near what your dress did.”

That’s it. I pummel him with both fists. He grabs my wrists and we play wrestle for a little bit. I’m having déjà vu so hard it’s almost a physical feeling. Still, there’s one thing I know for sure. There is no way he was this strong when we were in high school.

“Besides,” he laughs. “It makes me feel good. Call it job creation.”

After we settle for a moment, I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

“Do you remember when our study dates would devolve into stuff like this?” I ask.

He gives me a wistful smile. “Of course. It’s not like we had to study, so why not?”

“I always knew you had it in you, y’know.”

“Had what in me?”

“This,” I say, waving a hand through the interior of the car. “The dress, the car, the driver on standby.”

“Really?”

“Okay, maybe not this level, but I knew you’d be a success.”

He smiles. “You will be, too, Cassie. I’m positive of it.”

“How do you know?”

He leans forward and plucks a couple more strawberries from the tray. I open my mouth and he slides one in. My lips close over his withdrawing fingertip for a moment until it pops out with a wet smacking sound.

The look in his eyes is priceless.

“Ask me again sometime,” he says. “Right now I want to focus on the moment.”

So do I. God, those eyes: the color of the morning fog in San Francisco bay. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they could see right into my soul.

I wonder what he would think if he actually could.

“I want to talk about your career soon, too,” he says. “I bet it’s been fascinating.”

No, thanks – we’re not going down that road.

I swig back the dregs of my champagne and drop the glass into the little rack on the inside of the door.

“Ask me again sometime,” I say, searching desperately for a humorous way out. “Right now, I’m starving and I want to see if I can spend as much of your money on food as I did on this dress.”

“Challenge accepted,” he grins. His finger finds a panel on the door frame. “Leonard, we’re ready now.”

“Just pulling up front as we speak, boss.”

Seriously?

We come to a stop and the door opens a couple of seconds later. Leonard reaches in a gloved hand and helps me out onto the curb.

“Ma’am,” he says, tipping his cap.

Carson claps him on the shoulder and says thanks. Leonard slips behind the wheel again and is back in traffic almost immediately.

“That’s why I keep Leonard on standby,” he says. “He’s worth every penny.”

I take Carson’s arm again and he leads me toward the carved mahogany doors of Piccolo. I glance around, trying to get my bearings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this particular block before,” I say.

“This is a pretty exclusive little area,” says Carson. “A lot of people pay a lot of money to be out of the public eye here. There’s a world-class boutique hotel next door.”

“Really? I’d love to see it sometime.”

Carson’s smile is dazzling as he leads me into the restaurant.

“I can definitely make that happen,” he says.