Chapter 21

Linny

Jeremy Weston stood me up.

Dammit. He stood me up after I went to all the trouble of arranging a mini preview party of the vanilla vodka launch.

I called my contact in guest relations at the Bishop Hotel Tribeca and asked if I could rent the terrace for two hours tonight. She agreed without question, even offering the space for free. I was hoping she would after all the extra work I did for them during the launch of their new hotel on the Lower East Side earlier this year.

After I blasted out a text invitation to eight of my contacts in the food industry in Manhattan, I set up a private tasting bar for Rizon vanilla vodka.

The evening was complete with two servers, a decadent platter of caviar, and soft music.

It was an intimate prelude to the main event. That will take place in a few weeks, on the eve of the vodka’s official launch.

Everyone at the party was a potential new contact for Jeremy.

It was a foolproof idea since Jeremy had reached out to me via text late yesterday afternoon telling me that he wanted to meet for dinner at Axel Tribeca at seven p.m. tonight.

The restaurant is in the same hotel I’m planning on having the launch party, so it seemed like a great way to showcase my idea to him and avoid another round of twenty questions about why I won’t admit I’m the woman he slept with in Vegas.

I texted him back and said I would see him tonight.

His reply was instant. He was looking forward to having dinner with me.

That was the last I heard from him.

It was Trent who showed up in the lobby of the hotel looking for me with a weak excuse about a situation that only his boss could handle.

He offered Jeremy’s sincerest apologies before he spent the next two hours telling me how impressed he was by my trial run of the launch party.

I didn’t do it for him.
I did it to show West that our relationship is strictly business.

It’s exhausting pretending I’m not the woman he slept with in Vegas. I don’t know how much longer I can do it, but when I do finally confess, I want there to be an immediate understanding between us.

He needs to be on the same page as me and that’s one where we don’t fuck again.

I can’t risk my future over great sex.

I watch as the last guest boards the elevator that will take them back down to the lobby.

“I wish Jeremy could have seen this.” Trent waves his arm in the air. “The bright lights of the city, the cool breeze, our vodka flowing freely. The launch party is going to be one for the record books.”

I skim my palm over the front of the black lace dress I’m wearing. I took more time than I should have getting ready for tonight. Logically, I know that West and I can’t pick up where we left off in Vegas, but I don’t mind the way he looks at me.

“I took some pictures. I’ll forward them to you so you can show them to Jeremy when you see him.”

“I’m on my way to see him now.” Trent takes one last sip from his glass, swallowing the vodka that was left. “He’s going to love this, Linny. Seriously, you did a great job.”

I want to ask if the situation West was dealing with is resolved, but I bite my tongue. I don’t want to admit to myself that I’m disappointed that he didn’t show up. It stings even more than it should because West was under the impression that he was meeting me for a quiet dinner.

This is exactly what I wanted, so why is it bothering me?

“Thank you,” I reply with a smile. “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

“Me too.” He places the glass down on a table. “I’m going to head out, but I’ll reach out to you early next week to hammer down the details for the launch. I want everything in place before we round the homestretch.”

I nod in silence.

Tonight was a big win for my career, so why do I feel like I’ve lost something?

***

“This was just delivered for you, Linny.”

My head pops up at the sound of Hal’s voice. He’s standing in the open doorway of my office with a broad grin on his face and a square white box in his hands.

“Loretta wasn’t at her desk.” He glances over his shoulder at my assistant’s empty chair. “I signed for it.”

I push back from my desk and stand. “Thanks for doing that, Hal. How’s your day going?”

I only ask because the poor man is on a tight leash held by Mitchell. Hal is brilliant in his own right, but Mitchell has kept him tied to the position of his executive assistant for years.

Hal would never admit it, but I’m convinced that many of the commendable ideas that Mitchell has come up with were born in Hal’s imagination.

“You know,” he says with an exaggerated laugh. “It’s Friday, so there’s that.”

I straighten the skirt of my navy blue dress. “Do you have big weekend plans?”

“Mitchell’s never asked me that,” he says quietly, pushing the box at me. “I’m going to a film festival in Brooklyn.”

“Sounds fun.” I glance at the box. There’s nothing on the outside that identifies who sent it. “Did this arrive in an envelope?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “The delivery guy said he needed a signature from you or your assistant. That’s all I know.”

Anxiety pricks at me. I’d classify this as a surprise, and as usual, I’m not thrilled by the prospect of that. “Thanks again, Hal.”

I wait for him to take the hint and leave. He does.

“Have a good weekend, Linny.”

“You too,” I say under my breath as he walks back through the doorway.

I rush to shut the door, not wanting anyone else to stroll into my office unexpectedly.

I set the box on my desk and stare at it. Clients have sent me thank you gifts in the past, but this feels different.

Pulling on the corner of the silver ribbon, I feel my heart beat quicken. I lift the top of the box off to find a pillow of pink tissue paper.

I pause for a second before I grab two of the ends and separate the paper.

Something glimmers when the overhead light in my office hits it, just as the realization of what it is, hits me.

It’s the tiara.

The plastic, cheap tiara that I had on my head in Las Vegas, and left in West’s hotel suite is now sitting on my desk.

My hands shake as I reach for the small white envelope tucked next to the tiara. Sliding out the card, I take a deep breath.

The handwriting is bold and masculine, the message concise and to the point.

You in this tiara: beautiful.

You in my bed in Vegas: breathtaking.

I close my eyes to try and stop the flood of memories of that night. I want it again. I want him again, but that can’t happen.

I throw the card back into the box, slide the lid on and put it all in the bottom drawer of my desk.

What happened in Vegas with West is in my past. That’s where it needs to stay.