“Jameson whiskey sour, please.” I lean one elbow against the bar top and face her. “What are you doing here?”
She takes a slow sip of her drink before she gives me any of her attention. “I’m assuming the same thing you’re doing here. Celebrating the endorsement deal for a…” Her voice trails off as she realizes just who the endorsement deal is for. “You?” She shoots me a side-eye, her nose scrunching up as she takes another sip of her drink.
“Yes, me, and I’m almost positive an interior design intern isn’t needed for any part of this deal, so I’ll ask again, what are you doing here? Did you crash the party in an attempt to find some rich guy to latch onto?”
She cackles, throwing her head back like what I just said was the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Then, she stands, and because I’m standing directly next to her barstool, the front of her body rubs up against mine, and her perky tits, which are overflowing out of the top of her dress, press against my chest. I force myself to keep my eyes on hers.
She leans into me and whispers, “I’m here with the man you made the deal with, silly. The man, who in about sixty minutes will be nestled between my thighs, fucking me senseless. And if I wanted him to, would give me ten of these stupid ugly cars.” Giselle smirks snidely as she edges out from between the stool and me, remembering to take her drink with her.
“There you are, lovely.” Roman Ette, the man responsible for this deal taking place, comes over and rests his hand on Giselle’s back, giving her a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I should’ve known you ran off to the bar.” He smiles at her, and Giselle giggles. What the fuck! She actually giggles. Who the hell is this woman, and if she’s dating him, why is she crying broke?
“You know me too well, Roman. I was actually on my way back to find you. I was only gone but a minute.” She giggles some more. “Were you missing me already?”
“Always.” He shoots her a wink then turns his attention back to me. “Mr. Blake, I heard the guest of honor arrived.” He extends his hand and I shake it. “Are you excited to see your special edition?”
“I am, sir. This is truly a dream come true.” I spot Tabitha making her way over, but for some reason, everything I found to be beautiful about her suddenly seems so plain. I refuse to acknowledge my thoughts have anything to do with the woman still standing in front of me, currently eye-fucking a man more than twice her age.
Tabitha stops at my side and I make introductions. “Tabitha, this is Roman Ette.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” She smiles politely.
“And this is his date.” I make it a point not to mention Giselle’s name, refusing to give her any importance, just to piss her off.
So, I’m shocked when Tabitha says, “Nice to meet you, Giselle.” My eyes dart over to Tabitha first, who doesn’t seem to notice her slip-up—maybe she knows her?—but then my gaze goes to Giselle. Her glacier-blue eyes which normally appear cold, go wide with what looks like worry, and I know right away something is up.
“Do you two know each other?” I ask.
“We do.” Giselle quickly speaks first. “We went to school together.”
“Oh, really? Where did you go to school, Tabitha?” Her eyes are now as wide as Giselle’s.
“We went to NYU—” Giselle begins to say, but I cut her off.
“I asked Tabitha.”
“We went to NYU,” Tabitha says.
“Really?” Roman says, joining the conversation. “I thought you went to school in Paris?” His question is aimed at Giselle.
“I did. NYU Paris,” she says, her perfect smile never faltering. But as I rake my eyes down her body, I notice she’s wringing her hands together—something I’d seen her do a few months back when she was worried about her mom. It’s her telltale sign she’s nervous. Why would Giselle be nervous? Unless she has something to hide…
“Yes, NYU Paris,” Tabitha agrees, but unlike Giselle, she isn’t as good at faking it. Her voice wavering with each word she speaks.
Roman smiles, none the wiser, but something feels off. My gaze meets Giselle’s, and for the first time since I ran into her, she isn’t glaring at me. Instead, it’s almost as if she’s pleading with me to drop it. Her eyes are no longer icy—they’re vulnerable, exposed. I’ve seen this look from her before. I remember it well because it’s not often Giselle allows herself to appear weak.
My thoughts go back several months to the night we spent in the Hamptons with our friends. We had been partying at AM Southampton until Olivia got too drunk and Nick felt it was time to head home.