Chapter Nine
* * *
I PULLED ON my robe and opened the door to our hotel suite. A familiar face grinned at me.
“You’re not room service,” I said.
“You ordered room service?” Roxanna echoed. “Fabulous. I’m starving. I walked from downtown.”
“I take it you got my note,” I said as she pushed past me into the hotel room.
“Yup. Wow, look at this place!” Roxanna said as she dropped her bag in the middle of the living room and peered around. I quickly shut the doors to the master bedroom where Duke was sleeping. “Duke may not spend his money on clothes but he’s not a cheap bastard when it comes to hotel rooms.”
“Priorities. He has them,” I said, with a satisfied smile.
“So how was your hurricane?” Roxanna asked. “Mine was fantastic.” She smiled in a way that suggested she spent the whole time drinking and having phenomenal sex with her mystery lover.
“It was fine,” I answered.
“It seems more than fine,” Roxanna said, eyeing me. “You have sex hair.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. But I felt the tousled and slightly knotted strands of my hair and understood what she was talking about.
I was saved from replying by Duke’s arrival. He’d taken a quick shower and put on clean clothes.
“Hey, Roxanna,” Duke said.
“Hello Mr. Austen. Hope you don’t mind my crashing your love nest.”
“Please, make yourself at home. I got a room for you,” he said, with a nod in the direction of the second bedroom.
“You’re too kind,” she said, slinking off to the spare bedroom, where she left her bags and changed into a robe. In the living room, Duke just gave me A Look.
“You were right to get a second bedroom,” I said.
“I know,” he said, grinning.
“Let’s talk about room service,” Roxanna said. Duke and I did not disagree. We all conferred over the menu and then called in our order of tuna and avocado tartar, mixed green salads, a hamburger for Duke and two orders of steak frites for Roxanna and I.
We chatted about our time during the hurricane—she had crashed with her boyfriend at his Soho apartment. She did not elaborate on how they kept themselves entertained, but I had an idea. Duke and I told her about our adventure—complete with a woeful lack of supplies, dancing without music, and lamenting the loss of electricity.
“Question,” Roxanna said, kind of changing the subject. “What was your ex-boyfriend doing on our front stoop with a bloody nose and black eye?”
“Is he still there?” Duke and I asked this question at the same time—his voice was angry, mine was weary.
Duke turned to me: “Are you sure you don’t want to call the cops?”
“I might. Though I think you doled out one hell of a punishment. Darling.”
“The cops?” Roxanna echoed. Then, with a firm command, she said, “Spill.”
“There was just . . .” I didn’t know the right words. “There was a thing. With Sam. The night of the storm.”
“A thing?” Roxanna asked flatly. She glanced from my grim expression to Duke’s and then back to me. Pursing her lips, she strolled into the kitchen—of course this massive suite had a complete kitchen—and found the stash of mini alcohol bottles so quickly one had to wonder if she had a finely honed radar for alcohol.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Do you know how expensive things from the mini bar are?”
“In two days’ time that guy will be a billionaire,” Roxanna said, pointing at Duke. “I think he can afford some miniature alcohol bottles from the mini bar.”
“I can,” Duke said. “And get me one.”
She chucked a small bottle of Jack Daniels his way. I sighed and gave in.
“Is there chardonnay?” I asked.
Wine and whiskey in hand, Duke and I explained what had happened with Sam. Roxanna’s eyes got wide with shock. Then they narrowed angrily. She might have paced around the room while I told her about the drinks, and what happened up against the brick wall after the drinks.
“That f*cker,” she swore. I suspected there was more to her tirade, but it was thwarted by the arrival of room service. We all dug into what was our first proper hot meal in days. There wasn’t much talking until the plates were clean and Roxanna and I were devouring the last of the French fries.
“Do you ladies mind if I head out to the office? I have to get my new lawyer up to speed since the previous one made a mess of everything.”
“Go ahead,” I answered. “We’re fine here, thanks to you.”
He gave a goodbye kiss, grabbed his laptop bag and headed out.
“A thing,” Roxanna repeated.
“An assault-type thing. Whatever. It was horrible. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. So don’t talk about it,” Roxanna said. Because sometimes, things were just that simple with her.
“So I’m not going to the party. Obvs.”
“Yes, you are,” she said firmly.
“Are you crazy?” I asked, aghast.
“Are you a pansy?” she challenged.
“How can you call me that for simply wanting to avoid my crazy ex-boyfriend? God, it’s just basic safety. I shouldn’t be alone in his presence.”
“Point taken. But let me remind, there will be other people at this party. And Jane, let me remind you what you did to radiate awesomeness while attending this party. You faked an engagement. You fell in love. You busted your ass to write f*cking novels so you could keep your word. You can’t let your douchey ex-boyfriend scare you off from enjoying your night of triumph.”
“But Duke can’t go and I don’t want to go alone,” I protested.
“Can’t or won’t?” Roxanna challenged, with a lift of her brow.
“I suppose it depends on when the power comes back downtown, if Wall Street opens and the place where they’re having the party . . .”
Roxanna cut me off.
“None of that matters. You want to go to this party, Jane.”
I did, even thought I knew it wouldn’t be a great party. Just a little thing in my hometown with all my friends who had married and had babies and lived the life I had imagined for myself. The food and the wine would be bad. But I would show everyone that I wasn’t the failure they thought I had become for a hot second there, when my boyfriend had dumped me on the same the day I got fired from my job.
Also, Sam would be there.
“It’s a stupid little party,” I said. “You said so yourself just two days ago.”
“Well now I think you should go, looking superhot,” Roxanna declared. God, I envied her confidence. “And you look that f*cker in the eye and let him know that he doesn’t own you, he doesn’t hurt you, or f*ck with you anymore.”
“Won’t that be rubbing everything in? He was pretty messed up about being homeless, jobless and single. Seeing me hot, successful, and in an amazing relationship might just be salt in his wound.”
“Don’t hide your light under a bushel,” Roxanna retorted, and I was momentarily rendered speechless. We exchanged shocked glances. She couldn’t believe what she’d said either.
“Did you just quote the Bible?” I gasped.
“I’ve been drinking,” she muttered.
“You have a point. Maybe. I’m also just scared to go alone while I’m having such shitty luck. First I lost my ring. Then my favorite sweater-set. And then pages of a new manuscript I wrote on Duke’s computer before the power went out. How can I go into such a fraught situation with such bad luck?”
“Don’t be afraid even when you’re afraid,” she said with a shrug. As if it were that simple. But what if it was?
“Since when did you get so philosophical?” I asked. “What are you drinking? What happened to my friend?”
“Being above 14th Street is warping my brain,” Roxanna said. Then with a mischievous grin that made me nervous, she added, “For what it’s worth, I think your luck is about to change. Now let’s go buy you a totally fierce dress. Barney’s is within walking distance.”