“No, Mom took me back to their house for lunch. The invitations came in. They’re perfect.”
His brown eyes narrow. “You didn’t work out?”
“I ran the stairs, Jack.”
He nods. “How about I Uber to the restaurant, explain to Fred and Martha that you’ve been shopping for your wedding dress, and you drive over and arrive by six?”
He made it sound like an option, but it felt as though it was my only one. “I’m sorry. I should have checked—”
Jack’s lips land on mine. “It will work out fine. I’ll see you at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
As he starts to walk away, he turns and pulls his key fob from his pocket. “Samantha, drive my car.”
Of course, his BMW would look better as we drive away than my SUV.
“And since you’ve been running around and busy, I thought I’d help. I laid out a dress for you to wear. You’ll be stunning.”
I grit my teeth and keep my smile intact. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“It was. You’re welcome.”
Marshal
Our architectural firm just landed a coveted project that includes four new hotels, two in Michigan and two in Pennsylvania. There is this hotel mogul who is looking to expand further, so if he and his board are happy with our final results, this partnership could be life changing for us.
I sayus, but I’m not a partner. However, it was my designs that got the hotel mogul interested, the one that caught his eye. That said, I’m part of a team. Tonight, my team is celebrating on the company’s dime. Hell, The Rooftop is one of the nicest restaurants in Grand Rapids and one with the biggest price tags.
“Marshal,” the owner and CEO of our architectural firm, Jason McMann, says as he pats my back. “What can we get you for a before-dinner drink? As you know, I’m a whiskey man myself.”
“I’m a bourbon fan. I like it smooth.”
Jason grins. “I bet you do.” He turns to the pretty thing behind the bar. “Barbie” —yes, that is her name. It’s on a small pin-on tag right over her large left boob— “can you get my friend Marshal two fingers of Blanton’s.” He turns back to me. “On the rocks?”
“Neat.” My answer comes without emotion as I stare across the bar and clench my teeth.
This restaurant has one of those modern open-concept bars.
If it were warmer outside, the glass windows would be opened and there would be tables on the balcony overlooking the river and the city lights. As it is, the windows are closed, keeping the snow and wind outside. However, the bar is open. Blue lighting projects around the center cabinetry where hundreds of bottles are proudly displayed. From where I’m standing, I can see to the other side, to a group of people.
They’re dressed much as we are, in nice business attire. The women are a bit dressier. I can’t see below their waists, but I know a woman’s body well enough to know the way one walks in tall heels. There’s a rhythm to the way their bodies sway, as if they are asking for a strong hand to support them.
No, I wouldn’t take only their sway as an invitation.
Nearly a decade post-high school and I’m no more committed to a relationship than before, but I’m also not in danger of a sexual harassment lawsuit. I believe in consent.
For once, though, I’m not looking at a woman but at a man.
My jaw clenches tighter as a slimy smile curls his lips, and he whispers something to a woman I don’t recognize. One might wonder why it would matter to me that a man is speaking to a woman at too close of a distance. It does because that man is engaged to my best friend.
“Marshal,” Jason says as he hands me a glass and others from our office gather around. Jason turns to all of us. There are three men and four women. We’re the team that worked on the bid. We’re the team that just landed Jason the biggest (and potentially even bigger) deal he’s ever had. “You did it. Thank you,” he says.
We all clink our glasses.
The bar is getting more crowded as we wait for our table.
“Do you know Jackson Carmichael?” Melinda Beavo, a very talented architect and member of our group and a married woman, asks quietly, following my line of vision.