Chapter Sixteen
December – New York
“You look gorgeous, cara,” Carlo whispered in Lauren’s ear as they entered the banquet room. “And very, very sexy. Everyone is staring at you.”
Lauren resisted the urge to tug her underwear down beneath the tight fitting dress. “They’re probably staring at you, Carlito, wondering if you’re really that actor who plays Jack Cordero, and then trying to work up the nerve to ask for your autograph. As for looking sexy, I feel like I should be carrying castanets with this outfit. Or holding a red rose between my teeth and shouting ‘Ole!’.”
Carlo snickered. “Except that most flamenco dancers usually don’t wear such tight fitting dresses, or show quite so much cleavage. Not that I’m complaining about either, by the way. But I will say that dress looks like it could have been made for you. Che belisimma!”
“Yeah, well, all of this lace is starting to itch, and my feet already hurt in these damned shoes,” she complained. “I should have never let Maddy talk me into wearing this get-up. I mean, this is a Christmas party, not a Halloween event.”
Carlo shook his head, having witnessed Lauren’s dramatics for more than two decades now. “Relax. You look hot. It’s still a pity you aren’t four or five inches taller. You would have made an incredible supermodel.”
Lauren made a very unladylike noise. “You’ve got to be joking. Like I’d really let anyone tell me what I had to wear, or that I had to diet myself down to a size zero. No, I’m much happier on the other side of the lens¸ my friend. And you are already surrounded by supermodels and actresses and pop stars. Once in awhile you need a regular girl to keep you grounded.”
Carlo deliberately slid an arm around her waist, his hand slipping down to the black lace that covered her ass and giving it a squeeze. “Is that an offer, cara? Because it’s been quite awhile since I’ve been given such a privilege.”
She pinched the skin on the back of his hand, hard enough to elicit a yelp, and he promptly removed it from her butt. “No, it’s not an offer,” she retorted. “We agreed a long time ago that you and I were much better off being friends. And that I don’t want to be one of your many women. So there will be no offers and no privileges.”
“Fine.” Carlo sighed dramatically. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying. And you know, cara, that if you only said the word that you could be the only woman for me.”
Lauren regarded him sardonically. “What utter bullshit, Carlo. No offense, but your acting skills are nowhere near good enough to convince me you could ever be faithful. Or that you care about me that way. I’m guessing it’s just been awhile since you got lucky, and you’d say just about anything right now to get in my pants. Which, considering how tight this dress is, would be very, very difficult.”
The dress in question was a dramatic black lace gown with long, sheer sleeves, a deep off the shoulder V-neckline, tightly fitted at the waist and hips, and then flaring out into a mermaid style bottom. Maddy had raved about the one of a kind Oscar de la Renta, swore that Lauren was the perfect person to carry off such a high profile gown, and had made special arrangements to have it hemmed and altered to fit her. The black lace Louboutin stilettos had cost eight hundred dollars, but they might as well have been cheap knockoffs as much as they were killing her feet right now.
Mandy hadn’t stopped with dressing her up like some sexpot senorita. She’d happily dragged Lauren to the in-house salon at Bergdorf’s, and explained to the head stylist the effect she was looking for. Nearly three hours later, Lauren’s long hair had been piled atop her head in a cluster of messy but artful curls; her nails buffed and polished – though not with the deep red gloss the manicurist had initially picked out but the pale mocha shade Lauren had insisted on; and her face made up rather dramatically with smoky eyes and dark red lips. Maddy had insisted she wear a pair of her diamond chandelier earrings to complete the outfit, and Lauren could feel their heavy weight tugging on her earlobes with each step she took.
Carlo hid a smirk behind his hand. “You’re going to want to watch what you eat tonight then, cara. One too many slices of bread and you’ll bust a seam.”
Lauren grimaced. “The way I feel right now one piece of popcorn is going to take care of that.”
As she and Carlo made their way up to the bar, both of them ignoring all the stares directed their way, Lauren asked herself yet again why she’d let herself get talked into coming tonight. She hated these sort of corporate events and usually avoided them like the plague. She had last attended the office holiday party three years ago, and had vowed never to attend another – not anxious to eat barely palatable food, drink mid-range booze, or listen to a DJ who wouldn’t know a good song if it hit him in the face. Not to mention all the mind-numbing socializing, eye rolling small talk, and having to dress up like some department store mannequin. She would much rather have stuck to her original plan – going out for greasy burgers and fries and brews with Chris and Karl and their significant others, and then hitting the bowling alley before finishing the night off by stopping at one or two clubs. If she hadn’t been outvoted, she’d be chowing down a mushroom Swiss burger right about now, washing it down with a dark lager, and visualizing bowling the perfect game. She sure as hell wouldn’t be worried about busting a seam on her dress or twisting her ankle in shoes with stilts for heels.
But she’d been outvoted three to one, something she was still sulking about. George, of course, was the ultimate corporate kiss-ass and wouldn’t have even considered missing the party. Chris had a new girlfriend, who was apparently very young and very impressionable, and he’d figured a party at the Four Seasons would go a long way towards impressing her, not to mention seducing her. And at first Karl had sided with Lauren – until he’d mentioned the idea to Tamsyn, and she’d surprisingly been in favor of attending the party. Karl’s longtime girlfriend rarely came to New York with him, preferring to hole up on her farm in Tennessee where she raised a herd of cashmere goats. She then wove their luxurious wool into her own line of sweaters, scarves, pashminas, and blankets. Once in awhile Tamsyn liked to poke around the big department stores in Manhattan to check out current fashion trends, and was planning to do just that during her visit. And, fortunately, she and Karl were in a good place in their relationship right now.
It figured, thought Lauren as she accepted a glass of red wine from the bartender, that two artistic, talented people like Karl and Tamsyn would frequently be at odds with each other. Tamsyn was by far the more volatile of the two, more than living up to the reputation that came with having fiery red-gold hair. Karl was one of the mellowest guys Lauren knew, but that wasn’t always a good thing since he tended to keep his feelings bottled up most of the time. In the years she’d known Karl, he and Tamsyn had had some really epic fights, breaking up for months at a time and refusing to speak to each other, until they inevitably found their way back to each other. Lauren had nursed Karl through any number of vicious hangovers, had bullied him out of severe depressions, and had engaged in screaming matches over the phone with Tamsyn, all in the name of trying to get them back together.
It was to Karl and Tamsyn that she gravitated now, feeling closer to the pair of them than to anyone else here this evening. Karl and Carlo knew each other casually, but Tamsyn had never met the handsome actor before tonight.
“I see I’m not the only lucky man here tonight,” he teased as he brought Tamsyn’s hand to his lips. “Where have you been hiding this beautiful lady, Karl?”
“On a goat farm,” replied Tamsyn drolly.
Carlo looked astonished, until she explained in more detail about her chosen profession, and then he laughed. “Well, I would have never guessed,” he replied gallantly. “You could have told me you were a supermodel and I would have believed you.”
“Jesus, you are just obsessed with that word tonight, aren’t you?” groused Lauren. “Though Tam does look incredible.”
Tamsyn was tall and slim, with long legs, creamy skin, and that mass of shiny red-gold hair. She wore a long sheath dress of emerald silk, and could certainly pass for the model Carlo had compared her to. Karl, on the other hand, looked less than pleased to be wearing an actual suit and tie, his long dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail.
The four of them snagged a table for eight, and Karl sent Chris a quick text inviting him to join them.
Lauren eyed the two unoccupied seats warily. “Please tell me that George and Nadine are not joining us,” she pleaded. “It’s going to be hard enough for me to eat in this dress. Having to sit across from those two might be what finally kills my appetite.”
“Uh, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” replied Karl hesitantly. “First, I see that the lovebirds are hanging with some of Nadine’s pals. And, yes, she does have some. And, well, I think our other tablemates might be heading this way right now with Chris.”
Lauren followed his gaze and almost choked on the bacon wrapped scallop she’d just popped into her mouth. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered to herself, not much caring if anyone else heard her.
Walking alongside Chris and his new girlfriend - the one clinging to him like a limpet and who looked about sixteen – were none other than Ben and Elle. Lauren thought wildly that she’d rather sit at a table filled entirely with George and Nadine clones then have to endure an evening of Elle’s tight-lipped, disapproving little looks.
‘And doesn’t she look just perfect tonight?’ thought Lauren mockingly. ‘The perfect lady. The perfect corporate wife.’
She winced at that last thought, wishing she had time to grab and down a second drink before the two couples reached them. Elle was also wearing black but that was where the resemblance to Lauren’s gown ended. Elle’s dress was an slender, elegant column of black silk wool that skimmed rather than clung to her slender body. The high collar was banded with glittering black beads and jets, while the black satin waistband broke up the severity of the otherwise stark fabric. Her raven hair was smoothed back into its usual chignon, and a pair of diamond stud earrings was her only jewelry. As always her makeup was subdued and discreet, and Lauren suddenly felt an urge to grab a napkin and scrub away her vivid crimson lipstick.
But while Elle looked pretty much the way Lauren would have figured, it was Ben who caused her eyes to widen in mingled surprise and admiration. He was wearing a tux, for God’s sake – a classic black suit, snowy white pleated shirt, and plain black bowtie. He was clean shaven, and even though she preferred his three day stubble, her fingers itched to caress that smooth, rugged cheek.
Their gazes collided as he reached the table, and she stubbornly refused to be the first to look away. His gaze lingered for a few moments on her dress, hair, lips, and she recognized both admiration and desire in his dark blue eyes. She gave him a little half-smile and a quirk of her eyebrow, sending him a silent message that even though he looked hot she wasn’t a big fan of the tuxedo.
Elle was her typical prim and proper self, extending her hand to Tamsyn and then to Carlo as though she were a princess or something, her greeting almost excruciatingly polite. It was obvious that she had no idea who Carlo was, recognizing neither his name nor his face.
But Ben evidently did, telling Carlo as they shook hands, “I’m a big fan of your stuff. The Jack Cordero movies are some of my favorites.” To a puzzled Elle he explained, “Carlo is a very famous actor. He’s the star of four – or is it five – action adventure movies.”
“Ah.” Elle lifted that aristocratic little chin at this explanation. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name, Carlo. I’m not much of a moviegoer unfortunately. That is - at least not – well - ”
Carlo smiled politely in return, very likely having pegged Elle as the art house movie type and definitely not the sort to enjoy the films he typically acted in. “No worries, cara. I doubt you’d enjoy my movies. Lots of car chases, gunfights, explosions, that sort of thing. Lauren here is one of the few women I know who can’t get enough of action films. Or espionage. She should have been a spy herself. Or an assassin.”
“Oh, I like that idea!” agreed Lauren. “Like the girl in La Femme Nikita. One of my all time favorites. But the original French version, of course, not the American remake.”
Chris’s girlfriend – Mindy – wrinkled her nose. “Ugh! I don’t think I could watch a movie with subtitles. I want to focus on what’s happening in the movie and not have to read at the same time.”
Carlo gave Mindy a little wink, which only caused the impressionable young woman to gape at him in starstruck awe. “I don’t blame you, cara. But Lauren here doesn’t need subtitles. Why would she when she’s fluent in French, Italian, and Spanish?”
It seemed that Elle and Mindy were the only ones at the table who didn’t already know this information. Mindy just kept staring at Carlo, a few seconds away from melting into a full blown swoon, while Elle gave Lauren one of those tight-lipped little smiles she’d come to hate with a passion.
“I would have never guessed,” Elle replied archly. “I’ve studied French since I was a young girl. A foreign language was a requirement at my school, even from the early grades. Where did you pick up these different languages, Lauren?”
Lauren ignored the way Elle said “pick up”, almost as if to imply that she had picked up her language skills – and possibly other habits – from the street. Instead she merely smiled sweetly and explained, “I learned French from my grandparents, mother and aunt, who were all born in Montreal. The Italian I picked up from hanging around Carlo and Franco and their family, as well as from my uncle who lived in Italy for several years. And I studied Spanish in high school and college.”
She gave a little shrug, as though explaining how she came to be fluent in three languages was the simplest thing in the world. But even though she downplayed her skills, she sensed that Elle was displeased but she didn’t really care why.
She had wanted to give Chris a good hard smack for inviting Ben and Elle to sit at this table, and was frankly surprised that they had accepted. But to refuse would have likely required Elle to lie or be rude, two things Lauren sensed she never did. At least, thought Lauren as she picked up her wine glass, Carlo had seemed to sense her discomfiture with their tablemates and made sure they weren’t seated next to the other couple.
Lauren was unusually quiet as the evening wore on, and for once she ate sparingly. She blamed the tight fitting dress, plus the rather blandly prepared beef and vegetables, for her lack of appetite. But she knew it was mostly the sight of Elle and Ben together that was making her feel slightly nauseous – the way he smiled at her, the sight of her slim hand touching his sleeve, how he would bend his head to hers from time to time as she murmured something in a low voice. Lauren longed to pry those long, elegant fingers off of Ben’s arm, to pull all the pins out of Elle’s perfectly coiffed hair and pull it hard, to “accidentally” spill an entire glass of red wine on her classic black gown.
But she didn’t do any of those things, because she was just enough of a lady to mind her manners at an occasion like this. Instead, she seethed in silence as the meal dragged on, the anger and the irritation and the unwilling desire for Ben continuing to build and build until she felt like screaming.
‘You need to get laid, girl,’ she told herself. ‘That’s what your real problem is. You’re horny and Ben looks pretty damned hot in that stupid monkey suit. Maybe you should make Carlo an offer after all.’
But even as she considered sleeping with her “friend with benefits” one more time, she dismissed the idea as foolish. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize what had been a long standing friendship, not to mention have a bout of meaningless sex. She’d had her fill of the latter last month.
It had been the crew’s last evening in Spain, and she had been unusually morose and moody, knowing that she would be seeing Ben in a couple of days and feeling strangely reluctant to return to New York. Ever since that scene in his office in September, she had continued to have as little contact with him as possible, barely looking at or speaking to him during their team meetings. She knew the other guys had noticed her standoffishness towards their boss, but they had either been too wise or too scared to question her about it.
After dinner they had gone to see a tango show, and both the eroticism of the dance and the seduction of the music had stirred her blood. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, and she was both horny and desperately lonely. So she’d ditched the guys after the show, making some half-assed excuse, and headed for one of the more exclusive clubs in the area. It had taken all of five minutes for the man to approach her, ten more before they were leaving and heading for his flat three blocks away.
The sex had been frantic and hot, but oddly unsatisfying. She hadn’t come, despite her partner’s best efforts, and had slipped quietly out of his bed without a word. Once back at her hotel room, she’d promptly dashed for the toilet, dry heaving with the revulsion she’d felt at her actions. She had practically scrubbed her skin raw beneath the pounding spray of the shower, as though she could somehow wash away her shame.
She had been weak, she acknowledged now. Weak and sad and alone, and she vowed now that she would never be that weak again. She’d never been the sort to sleep around or indulge in one night stands, and her actions in Spain had been a sure sign of how deeply she had begun to sink into desperation.
But that was going to change now, she promised herself. She was Lauren McKinnon, the fearless badass chick that nobody dared mess with, and it was about damned time she remembered that. Ben Rafferty wasn’t worth sacrificing her pride or dignity for, and she was through mourning him. He and Princess Elle were welcome to each other. After all, she consoled herself, Elle might act like a princess, but Lauren was the goddamned queen, and it was about time she started acting like it.
With that resolution, she gave a satisfied little smile and actually summoned up an appetite, enough to almost clean her plate. She happened to catch Ben’s eye across the table, and lifted a brow in response to the brooding look he gave her. But then Elle said something, calling his attention back to her, and Lauren merely began to slather butter on another dinner roll.
Soon after coffee and dessert the dancing began, and Carlo urged her out onto the dance floor. The music was actually a lot better than she’d expected, and soon she was laughing and greatly enjoying herself. Carlo was always good company, and could usually make her laugh, and she was glad he’d had an evening free to be her date tonight.
“Maybe you should have been an actress, cara,” he murmured in her ear as they slow danced. “You’re doing a pretty good job of convincing your boss that he’s invisible. Poor man, got to feel sorry for him, given that he hasn’t stopped staring at you all night.”
“Pfftt.” Lauren flicked her fingers in dismissal. “You’re full of shit, Carlo, as usual. Or else you’ve had too much to drink. My boss is just that – my boss. And he has a girlfriend, in case you didn’t notice.”
Carlos’s handsome mouth turned down at the corners. “That cold fish? Brrr, I’ve gotten a chill every time I’ve looked at her. And Ben might be here with the lovely Elle, but the one he really wants to be with is my bella Lauren.”
“Don’t, Carlo. Please.” She rested her head on his shoulder as they danced, and something in her voice must have alerted him to the distress his words were causing.
“Okay.” His lips brushed her temple fondly. “I’ll stop being a busybody and change the subject. But deny it or not, your boss thinks you look hot.”
Lauren feigned an indifference she didn’t even remotely feel. “Well, duh. Everyone in the room thinks I look hot. And they’d better, considering how this dress is making me itch in about ten different places, and I can feel a blister forming on my foot as we speak.”
Carlo laughed in delight, happy to see her feistiness return. But the fact that he dropped the subject for the duration of their dance didn’t mean the meddling devil was through butting his nose into the matter. As soon as the song ended, he escorted Lauren back to their table and promptly asked Elle to dance.
Elle hesitated for a brief moment before giving Carlo a polite smile and placing her hand in his as he drew her out to the dance floor,
Which left Lauren and Ben alone in what had to be one of the most awkward moments of her life. They looked at each other, then glanced away, until Ben cleared his throat and blurted, “I, uh, didn’t realize that Carlo and Franco were brothers. They, uh, don’t look much alike. Not to mention having very different professions.”
Lauren nodded. “Kind of hard to tell with all that long hair Franco has, and especially when he doesn’t shave for days at a time. As for their choice of profession, all of the siblings have followed very different paths. One sister is a dentist, another a pastry chef, while their brothers include a musician, a cop, and the very youngest who’s in medical school.”
“Are you and Carlo – well, you know,” stammered Ben, clearly not comfortable with the conversation that he had initiated.
“Dating? Fucking?” replied Lauren in her usual forthright manner. She shook her head. “No, to both questions. We’ve, ah, done both in the past, but these days Carlo sort of lives in a different world than the rest of us. There’s no way I’d want to date a celebrity, put up with all the drama and the crazy fans. Besides, he and I decided years ago that we’re much better off as friends. He’s in town for a few days and miraculously had a free night so I dragged him along as my date. Nothing more complicated than that.”
“I see.” Ben took a sip of his wine, looking around the room briefly, until he startled her by asking, “Would you like to dance?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse him outright, but then she met his gaze and her knees suddenly went weak. The temptation to be held in his arms for even a couple of minutes quickly became too much to resist.
“Sure. Why not? Beats sitting here in uncomfortable silence,” she returned flippantly. Karl and Chris and their girlfriends were either dancing or at the bar, leaving Ben and Lauren the sole occupants of the table.
Ben shook his head with a rueful smile even as he guided her out to the dance floor, a hand on the small of her back. “Though I’ll warn you now that I’m not much of a dancer.”
She gave him a cheeky grin as he drew her into his arms. “That’s okay. I don’t mind leading.”
He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I’m sure you don’t. But given your limited mobility in that dress you’re sewn into, not to mention those high heels, I think you’d better leave the leading to me.”
“I’m about two minutes away from losing the shoes,” she replied darkly. “I have no idea how my sister virtually lives in these things. I’d give anything right about now to be in my jeans and sneakers watching the latest Bond movie. With a jumbo tub of popcorn with extra butter and salt, and a huge ass mug of hot chocolate. Spiked with peppermint schnapps, of course.”
Ben looked wistful. “You and me both. These events aren’t really my thing. Neither is the tux.”
“But you look really hot in it,” she blurted out impulsively. “I mean, if that makes you feel any better about wearing it, that is.” She could have happily stepped on her own foot with a stiletto heel right about now for saying something so stupidly inappropriate.
Ben, however, didn’t seem to mind her compliment in the least. “Thanks, I think,” he replied in amusement. “And you look – sinful.” His voice lowered, deepened, as he murmured the last word in her ear. “Carlo is a very lucky man. And I’m guessing every other man here tonight is wishing they were in his shoes.”
“Except for you, of course,” she retorted.
Ben’s cheek brushed against hers as he pulled her a little closer against his body. It was all she could do to suppress a moan at the feel of his warm, hard chest pressed against her breasts, or how the fabric of his tuxedo trousers kept brushing against her legs. He smelled amazing, felt so damned good, and all she wanted was to pull his head down to hers and French kiss him for the next half hour, not giving a damn who watched the show.
“Did I say that?” he whispered. “You’re always beautiful, Lauren, always desirable. But tonight you’re spellbinding. Sensational. And I’m no more immune than the next man.”
She stared at him in bewilderment, but before she could dream up a response, Ben gave a slight shake of his head, silently cautioning her not to speak.
But she didn’t mind, not so long as she could remain in his arms for another minute or two. She didn’t need – or want – any words to spoil this stolen moment, knowing that it was bound to end far too soon.
***
Elle couldn’t decide if she was hurt or angry or mortified – or a combination of all three raging emotions. She sniffled as she gazed at herself in the mirror, daintily dabbing a tissue at the corner of her eyes where her makeup had become ever so slightly smudged. She’d escaped into the ladies lounge a good ten minutes ago, struggling to maintain her composure and not have a very undignified public weeping fit – or worse, a jealous rage – out in the banquet room.
She’d been upset all evening, ever since Ben had impulsively accepted Chris’s invitation to sit at the same table with Karl, Lauren, and their dates. He’d jumped in so quickly that he hadn’t given Elle an opportunity to think up a believable excuse – which she suspected had been his intention. She wouldn’t have minded so much if it had just been Karl, or even Chris – not that they were her favorites among Ben’s staff by any means. But the moment she’d seen that Lauren was in attendance tonight, her entire evening had been ruined.
The photographer admittedly looked good tonight, Elle acknowledged grudgingly, carrying off the dramatic black lace de la Renta like few other women could. Elle had greeted the younger woman coolly, and hadn’t missed the knowing little smile she’d received in return. Lauren had to be well aware of Elle’s thinly veiled animosity towards her, and it infuriated Elle that Lauren didn’t seem to let that bother her one bit.
In Lauren’s favor, Elle conceded that she’d barely spoken to or even looked at Ben all evening, and had spent most of the time chatting with her escort Carlo or with Karl’s girlfriend Tamsyn. But Lauren’s offhand treatment hadn’t stopped Ben from looking at her whenever he thought no one else would notice. It seemed to Elle that nearly every time she’d stolen a discreet sideways glance at him his brooding gaze had been fixed on the lovely, vivacious Lauren.
Elle had grown angrier and more upset as the evening wore on, her nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms as she’d struggled to hold it all together. Rather petulantly, she’d continually called Ben’s attention back to her, asking him questions and engaging him in conversation, but it hadn’t entirely stopped his covert glances across the table.
She’d been so startled when Carlo had charmingly asked her to dance that she hadn’t been able to think of an excuse before he’d taken her hand in his. And at first she had found his attention flattering, unable to deny that he really was very attractive and had lovely manners. It was hard to believe that this suave, sophisticated man in the Brioni tuxedo, with his gleaming white teeth and perfectly styled hair, was actually the brother of the brawny, long haired, and tattooed Franco. Carlo had kept up a steady stream of conversation, and Elle hadn’t missed the way nearly everyone in the room kept staring at him, evidently far more of a movie fan than she was.
And then she had spied Ben and Lauren dancing together, and it had felt like someone had plunged a knife into her chest. He’d been holding her far too closely for Elle’s liking, and Lauren seemed to be perfectly content to have his arm banded around her tiny waist. But it was the way they continued to gaze at each other, the looks of longing and of something else she couldn’t quite define, that made her feel sick at heart. And when Carlo had followed the direction of her shell shocked gaze, he’d merely given her a knowing little smile, leaving her to suspect he’d manipulated all of this – asking her to dance so that Ben and Lauren could be alone. Elle had given him a frosty glare, which had only made his smile deepen, and had none too politely excused herself the second the song was finished. Meanwhile, Ben and Lauren continued to dance as the next song began, seemingly having forgotten about their own dates or anyone else in the room for that matter.
So she’d hidden out here in the lounge, not trusting herself to be around other people until she could compose herself. Her parents had always instilled in her the need to conduct herself in a ladylike manner no matter what the circumstances, and she wasn’t about to cause a scene in front of two hundred or so of Ben’s co-workers – including Brad van Patten, the editor in chief and her father’s old friend.
As Elle reapplied lip gloss with a trembling hand, she wondered if her parents had been right about Ben all along. Both her mother and her father - as tactfully and civilly as possible, of course – had suggested more than once that perhaps Ben wasn’t quite the right man for her. They had pointed out the very different sort of upbringings they’d both had, the gap in their financial and social statuses, their widely varied interests, and had wondered just what it was that Elle saw in him.
She’d asked herself that question any number of times, knowing that her parents brought up good points. She and Ben had very little in common, though she knew he tried very hard to indulge her when it came to things like dining, books, movies, and the friends they socialized with. Elle guiltily acknowledged that she had done very little compromising on her end, hadn’t even considered the possibility of eating a burrito or drinking a beer, seeing an action movie, or going backpacking or mountain biking. All things, she thought darkly, that Lauren no doubt enjoyed as much as Ben did.
She couldn’t properly explain her attraction – her fascination – with Ben, except to know that she had been inexplicably attracted to him from the very first time they’d met. Perhaps it had been because he was so different from herself, or from all the other properly brought up young men she’d associated with since childhood. Whatever the reason, she loved him deeply and took great pride in the fact that they were a couple. Even if he had yet to say those three magical words to her after all this time.
She had never been happier than she had in the last eighteen months or so. Except, she thought with a glower, when women smiled at him or did their damndest to flirt with him wherever they went. She knew he lost patience with her at times over the jealous rages she would fly into, as well as the bouts of weeping. But she’d been making a real effort to control both of those things, had been doing a much better job of it lately. At least until tonight – when the woman who continually kept getting stuck in Elle’s craw had caused her to struggle mightily for control once again.
As if on cue, the door to the ladies lounge opened, and Lauren strode in. Though it was really more of a limp at this point, the tawny haired woman clearly not used to walking around in four inch heels for hours at a time. Elle’s spine stiffened as Lauren walked over, a bright smile on her face.
“Oh, hey, Elle. Here you are. Ben was just wondering where you went,” Lauren said cheerfully. “God damn, these shoes are killing me! I don’t care if these cost eight hundred bucks, I’d trade them in for a pair of Old Navy flip flops right about now. Hey, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying or something.”
“I’m fine.” Elle gave a small sniff. “Though now that you’re here there is a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Lauren gave a little shrug as she peered at herself in the mirror. “Sure. Ask away.”
“Exactly how long have you been having an affair with Ben?”
Lauren froze at Elle’s calmly uttered inquiry. The shock was evident on her face, her skin paling visibly beneath her makeup, her green eyes wide.
“Elle,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am not having an affair with Ben. Why - ”
“Don’t bother to deny it,” interrupted Elle with a hiss. “I’ve seen the way you keep looking at each other tonight, the way you both looked when you were dancing. And I know you had that – that actor arrange it so that you could have Ben to yourself.”
“No.” Lauren shook her head emphatically. “To both accusations. Carlo had no reason to do something like that. And I assure you that there is absolutely nothing going on between Ben and I.”
“I don’t believe you,” whispered Elle tearfully. “I know what I saw. And it’s not the first time. When I confronted Ben about it, he denied it, too, but I’m not stupid. There is definitely something between the two of you.”
Lauren’s jaw dropped. “You – you asked Ben the same thing? Asked him if we were fooling around? When was this?”
“After that retirement party earlier this year,” sniffed Elle. “You were hanging all over him then, too, just like you were tonight. Ben told me I was wrong, of course, just like you’re trying to do now. But I know what I saw. And I know that both of you are lying to me!”
Lauren winced at the shrill, high pitched tone of Elle’s voice, and seemed startled to see her acting so differently than her usual calm, polite self. But Elle knew she was in real danger now of falling completely apart, and she clung desperately to the tiny bit of control she had left, determined not to let her green-eyed rival witness her breakdown.
But Lauren was uncharacteristically gentle, placing a hand soothingly on Elle’s arm. “No one is lying to you, Elle,” she told her in a soft but firm voice. “Ben’s a good guy, one of the best I’ve ever met, and there is no possible way he would do something shitty like cheat on you. Plus, I don’t poach on other women’s men. Ever. I’ll admit to flirting a little more than I should at times, but that’s as far as it goes if I know a guy is already taken.”
Elle jerked her arm away from Lauren’s comforting touch. “I still don’t believe you,” she declared. “And I’m warning you now, Lauren – keep away from Ben in the future. Brad van Patten is a very old and dear friend of my father’s, and if he thought you were making inappropriate advances towards your boss I have a feeling you’d find yourself looking for employment elsewhere.”
“Jesus.” Lauren shook her head in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding, lady. Are you actually threatening my job because you think I smiled one too many times at your boyfriend? Because that’s starting to cross the border into Delusion-Ville, you know. Maybe you ought to see someone about that little problem. On a professional basis.”
Elle gasped. “Are you implying that I need a psychiatrist? That – that I’ve got mental health issues? How dare you?”
“Oh, fuck this.” Lauren shook her head in disgust. “You know, I just came in here to pee – provided I can figure out to make that happen in this dress. I do not want to have a cat fight with you, Elle. Look, I’m going to say this one more time and whether or not you believe me is up to you. I am not having an affair with Ben, and I wasn’t having one at that retirement party, either. But let me give you a little advice, honey. You need to start trusting him because even a guy as good natured as Ben isn’t going to put up with your jealous little fits forever.” She glanced over at the toilets before throwing up her hands in surrender. “Forget it. I’m just going to have Carlo take me home. God forbid I dare to smile at Ben again tonight and have you think we’re sleeping together. Merry Christmas, Elle. And be damned grateful for the gift you’ve already been given.”
But as Lauren walked out of the lounge, Elle remained unconvinced. She knew, just knew somehow, that Lauren had lied to her. And that Ben continued to lie to her. Or, at the very least, they hadn’t told her the whole truth. And as she repaired her makeup for the second time that night, Elle vowed that one day soon she’d finally figure out the real story.