The Princess Suite was too big for one lonely thirty-one-year-old.
This one had a giant whirlpool tub at one end of a bathroom the size of a regulation hockey rink. The bed in the ocean-front bedroom was enormous, and piled high with white pillows of every conceivable size. There was a row of fluffy terry bathrobes—leopard print no less. And a vanity table that sat four.
The living room had a table and chairs. This was where Lauren set herself up to work for the afternoon. But after a couple of hours she moved her laptop to a shapely leather sofa and sprawled on it.
It ought to have been the perfect working environment. But it was so quiet she began to feel twitchy. She missed her desk in Manhattan and the watercooler gossip there. At Nate’s software company she wasn’t Lauren-who-Mike-ditched. She was just the efficient woman Nate trusted with his calendar, with his whole goddamn life really.
She got up and did a lap around the hotel suite, taking time to give each of the dresses she’d unpacked a shake to eliminate wrinkles. There hadn’t been time to snap pictures and e-mail them to Ari, so she’d just brought an armful.
Now she had an idea.
Lauren went back to her laptop and e-mailed Ari and Georgia, asking them if they wanted to swing by the suite for snacks and primping later. “I’ve got some dress choices for Ari. But I’ve also got practically an entire salon up here, including good lighting and those magnifying mirrors that make everyone’s pores look like lunar craters.”
A few minutes later both Ari and Georgia had responded that they’d love to come up to the penthouse floor to get beautiful for the party.
Well okay then. Now she had something else to plan.
She ordered mini sandwiches and finger foods from a deli she located with her Katt Phone. She ordered beverages from room service—a bottle of white wine on ice, as well as a six pack of Diet Coke.
At six o’clock she set everything out on the table. It looked like a lot more food than necessary. But she was so excited about not facing this awkward party alone that she’d gone a little overboard.
When the knock on the door came, she opened it to reveal Georgia and Ari, each carrying garment bags, and—to her surprise—Rebecca.
“Hi there,” Lauren said, trying to keep the shock off her face. “I didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” she said to Nate’s other assistant. If the Brooklyn Bruisers office manager was fully recovered, maybe Lauren wouldn’t be headed to Tampa after all!
“I see that look of excitement on your face,” Becca said. “But, sadly, I’m not back in action yet. My fancy new doctor has outlined several weeks of therapy.” She marched right over to the table and plucked a pickle off a tray. “I whined so loudly that Nate agreed to a temporary furlough. I’ve been let out for good behavior for this party so long as I’m back at the therapist’s office in forty-eight hours.”
“Oh.” Lauren’s heart dove. “Ah, well. I guess I have to go to this fucking party after all. Somebody open the wine.”
“This looks great,” Georgia said, eyeing the munchies. She lifted the bottle from its ice bath. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“I didn’t make the sandwiches or the wine,” Lauren pointed out. “And anyway—this will probably be the most enjoyable part of the evening.”
“Not a fan of parties?” Ari asked.
“It depends on the party.”
“I brought the mani-pedi kit!” Becca said wandering toward the windows facing the ocean. “This is a killer suite.” She peeked into the ridiculous bathroom. “You have a hot tub? Holy shit.”
“It’s a little much,” Lauren agreed. “If we can’t get beautiful in here, there’s really no help for us.”
Becca snorted. “You’re in a fun mood.”
“Fun” wasn’t really the word Lauren would have picked. “Frazzled” would be a better choice. “So what is everybody wearing?”
Georgia laid her garment bag over a sofa and unzipped it. “If this party is on the beach, I brought the wrong shoes.” She pulled out a strapless dress in pale pink.
“That’s pretty,” Lauren said. “I wear a lot of pink. It does nice things for my skin.”
“This one did nice things for my wallet. I found it on sale at Saks yesterday.”
“Shoes don’t matter tonight,” Rebecca said, lining up wineglasses. “The party is outside. I’m just going to kick mine off and go barefoot. I flew all the way to Florida to feel some sand between my toes. I took a peek at the beach before my room was ready. It’s gorgeous.”
Yes, it is, Lauren privately agreed. It was in one of the hammocks strung between the palm trees that she and Mike had made frantic love that night. Yikes. Stop thinking about that. “So,” she clapped her hands. “Let’s pick a dress for Ari.”
Georgia bit into a finger sandwich. “Ari looks good in everything.”
“If only,” Ari said, following Lauren over to the closet. “I brought a simple black dress just in case.”
“You can’t wear black!” Becca argued, pouring the wine. “I want to see you in one of Lauren’s designer numbers. And I’ll paint your toenails to match.”
“Let’s pick something,” Lauren agreed. “I brought six dresses. And not one of them is purple.” A cheer rose up, because they were all sick of wearing the team color. “How do you feel about red?” She pulled out a dress with a gathered waist that would look pretty on Ari’s yoga body.
“That’s a little brighter than I usually go,” Ari admitted. “But the fabric is gorgeous. Wow.”
Lauren set it aside. Maybe she’d wear the red one tonight, then. “Okay, this one is great,” she said, pulling out a silver sheath. “But we’d have to pad your bra. It’s a little too big in the chest for me.”
“Oh, god,” Ari laughed. “If it’s too big for you, it’s never fitting me. There isn’t enough padding to make that one work.”
Lauren had to agree. She pulled out the next one and hesitated. “I wasn’t sure whether to bring this.”
“Why?” Becca asked. “That would look smashing on you, Lauren. It would make your eyes look super blue.”
Lauren held the dress up and tried to see it with unbiased eyes. “Mike Beacon bought me this dress as a surprise. I wore it to a wedding here in Florida.”
“Wait!” Becca squeaked. “What do you mean he bought it as a surprise? Like—he walked into a store and chose it?”
“He did, in one of those boutiques on Collins Avenue in South Beach,” she said, her eyes traveling the soft gathers of silk at the bosom. “He bought it because he said it was exactly the same color as my favorite hydrangeas. It fit me perfectly, too.”
Georgia laughed over the rim of her wineglass. “I love Leo desperately, but I’d be terrified to see what he’d walk out of a dress shop with.”
Ari snorted. “Patrick would probably choose stripper wear.”
“Right?” Georgia cackled. “Try it on, Lauren. I want to see.”
“We’re dressing Ari right now,” she dodged.