A young lady that seems barely legal with dark reddish-brown hair in a casual updo and smokey makeup perfectly capturing the milky blue of her eyes is scrunching her nose disapprovingly as she glares at us.
Gorgeous and wearing a dress that costs more than what I make in a month. Much more.
I sideways glance at Michael, wondering if he’s thinking how beautiful she is as well, trying to beat back the green-eyed monster pestering me with questions about his relationship with her.
But he’s just looking around, smiling at everyone in the room as if he has not a care in the world, providing the occasional wave and trigger finger greetings. He doesn’t even acknowledge the girl still staring at us until we reach the table.
“Posey, you look ravishing!” he declares, kissing her hand just like he did Sandra’s, but his eyes hold no more than a friendly warmth, and I think back at how he looked at me when I came down from the gallery, the way that tawny gaze turned hot and admiring.
It dawns on me that Hattie is right. Michael wantsme, not because I’m easy prey or owe him or any other bullshit I’ve been using as an excuse to keep my defenses up. But because when we’re together, he doesn’t have to be whoever it is he’s pretending to be right now, for Posey and for Sandra.
We laugh together and feel comfortable in our vulnerabilities. We make each other feel good. And there’s no reason we shouldn’t feel even better.
Now I just need to figure out how to get Michael on board with the notion.
* * *
Michael
“Michael, it’s been too long.” Posey flashes me her best million-dollar smile, her eyes darting to Lauren in suspicion, probably wondering why she’s still here and not trying to schmooze her way through the crowd like my buffer-dates often do.
Posey is a nice kid, but she’s exhausting. Especially since she lost her social status due to her dad running off to Panama three years ago with the family fortune, college funds included, when all the fraud and embezzlement he’d been committing was discovered. That was a week before her seventeenth birthday, and despite her conceited exterior, she’s a strong, good person. She stepped up bigtime, became a solid rock for her mother and younger brother, and took on a job waiting tables while keeping up her grades and scoring a scholarship for a local college.
She never complained or asked for anything for herself, only for them. Even when Sandra offered to pay her Ivy League tuition, Posey requested a raincheck on the offer, in case her brother would need it, then inquired if Sandra knew anyone who would hire her mother despite a lack of experience.
So, yes, Posey demands a lot of consideration, but I get why, and I go out of my way to accommodate her, which is why I’m usually paired with her at these functions. Not to mention other guys have tried to take advantage of her. Men her father’s age, sometimes older. She’s a smart girl, she never gets involved with them or anyone else, and I suspect it’s why she demands so much ofmytime. She’s using me the same way I usually use my dates, to ward off unwanted attention. And in her defense, she has never attempted anything beyond mundane flirting without any intention behind it.
“I haven’t been to the West Coast in a while,” I agree, suddenly noticing the wary look in her eyes. “How’ve you been, Posey?”
“Splendid!” She declares in a chipper voice, too high pitched to be convincing, and I make a mental note to try and get her somewhere quiet to talk. “But look at you, handsome man, you’ve been working out.”
I’m about to answer when Lauren practically shoves me out of the way, and Posey’s eyes grow wide.
“I’m sorry,” Lauren starts, and it’s not that I want a scene, but Lauren feeling the need to assert a claim in front of Posey is a nice pat to my ego. “But I have to know—is that anoriginalAlexandre Vauthier glitter wrap cocktail dress?”
Wait. What?
“Yes, it is,” Posey replies carefully, almost as if she’s also surprised that Lauren is addressing her directly, kindly, and dare I say with a hint of genuine awe.
Lauren lights up and sits in the chair next to Posey.This girl is crazy.
“Oh my God, it’s even more gorgeous on you than it was on the rack,” Lauren fawns, and Posey shoots me a questioning glare, to which I reply with a shrug and take the seat on the other side of Lauren. “It was out of budget for the photo op I was shopping for, but it stuck with me, and I am so happy I got to see it worn, especially by someone who wears it so perfectly.”
“Thank you.” Posey blushes, and I almost choke on my water.
What in the blazing hell is happening?
“I’m Lauren Banks.” Lauren offers her hand, and Posey takes it.
“Posey Highwater. Where do you work?”
“Garderobe. I’m in wardrobe.” Lauren sips her drink, then perks up and pulls out a card for Posey. “But I’m working on my own clothing line.”
“I wish I had the talent.” Posey sighs and takes a healthy gulp of her wine as she looks appreciatively at the work of art Hattie produced for Lauren. “I only know how to buy and wear clothes.”
“So, you’re a stylist.” Lauren lifts her drink and stares at Posey expectantly, receiving only wide-eyed shock in response.
“Posey?” I lean closer, the tips of my fingers lightly touching Lauren’s shoulder, that soft tingle I feel every time our skin comes in contact combined with her jasmine blossom scent filling me with a sense of calm while making my heart beat a little bit faster.