“Oh, he’s here somewhere. I think Daddy was showing him off to the head of some private security firm or something. Hey, you’re not going, are you?” She has that kicked puppy thing going on as I disentangle myself from her embrace. I know she was trying to use me as a shield between her and Edward, but I really don’t have the energy to play nice at the moment.
“Sorry, Lore. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Edward, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Laura shoots daggers at me as I duck off into the confusion of people. I’ll probably be hearing about it for weeks, but I had to bail. No two ways about it. I can’t find Cade in amongst the sea of dusty, gray-haired old fucks and their plastic, bleach blonde wives, so I grab a whiskey from Sarah, ask her how her new grandbaby is, and quietly go about getting drunk alone in a dark corner.
My father moves from one small group of people to the next, continually shoveling canapés into his mouth and pouring champagne down his throat until he’s tripping over his own damned size tens. Looks like this year’s speech is going to be slurred again. Eventually the quartet stop playing and take a break, and I spy Cade on the other side of the room, talking to Laura and Over Eager Eddie. No way am I going over there now. I’ve had six whiskeys and I already successfully escaped that clusterfuck once. Cade will come find me when he’s had enough of this pretentious bullshit, by which point I will be comfortably numb, anyway.
“Excuse me? Do you...? Hi. Do you know where the bathrooms are? I’m dying over here and I only have a few minutes.” In front of me, a petite little brunette with pretty cornflower blue eyes is clasping her hands in front of her stomach, looking like she’s about to pee on my father’s highly polished parquet. The short black dress she’s wearing shows off her tanned, rather delectable legs.
“Do I know where the bathroom is?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m sorry, you probably don’t have a clue either,” she says, laughing nervously.
“Oh, I know where they are. I grew up here.” I sling back the last of the whiskey in my glass and slowly place the tumbler at my feet. I offer her my arm. “Come on. I will escort you there directly.”
She looks up at me like a frightened baby deer, her cheeks flushing, but she places her hand into the crook of my arm and follows me all the same. I don’t take her to the downstairs bathroom behind the staircase. I don’t take her to the one through the servants’ walkway, just next to the kitchen. I lead her up to the next floor, straight to the en suite of one of father’s overly plain guest bedrooms.
“Thank you. If you go back downstairs and see a really stressed out looking violinist, will you let him know I won’t be a second?”
I lean against the wall, pulling roughly at my tie. “You’re one of the musicians, then?”
Her cheeks turn crimson. “Yes. I’m…the cellist.”
I have a very witty response lined up about her liking a solid piece of wood between her legs, but I keep my mouth shut. She’s not the sort of girl you use that kind of innuendo on. She is the kind of girl you tread carefully with. I’m not one for the softly, softly approach, though. There’s a fine line between terrifying a woman like this and getting her so wound up that she’s trembling at the knees.
“You’re very beautiful. Do you know that?”
She swallows. “I—thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
“Do you think I’m attractive?”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m attractive?”
“Well, that’s not a question people normally ask you five seconds after meeting,” she says, laughing softly.
“Maybe not. But you’re here, working, and I’m here, suffering, and it seems to me that both of us are going to be leaving this place soon. We’re probably never going to see each other again. So we don’t have much time to waste. If you don’t think I’m attractive, I’ll happily be a gentleman and go back downstairs. Is that what you want?”
She looks at me like I just told her aliens are invading and the planet is about to be blown to smithereens. Her mouth opens and then closes twice. “I—”
“Don’t worry, little cellist. I’ll go find your stressed violinist and tell him you’ll be down in a second.” I make to leave, but she places a hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks.
“Of course I think you’re hot,” she says quietly. “You’re, like, a young, sexy James Bond in that suit. And your eyes are…” She shakes her head, apparently not sure how to finish that sentence. “Maybe I do want you to be here when I come out of the bathroom. Is that bad?”
Leaning down so that my mouth’s mere inches away from hers, I stare at her lips, knowing she wants me to kiss her. Knowing she wants me to do any number of very bad things to her. “Go use the bathroom. When you come out, I’ll show you just how bad we can be together.”
Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t change her mind. She does as she’s told and uses the bathroom, and when she comes out I make good on my words.