Julia chimed in, “Oh, come on, Nash. Sit and have something to eat. You’ll feel better.” She patted my shoulder like I was a child, and addressed Diana with a conspiratorial wink. “You know how men are. They get so grouchy when they’re hungry.”
“Actually, I’m not at all hungry. And since you seem to have found yourself in excellent company, I can leave now. Good night.”
Annoyed beyond belief, I strode out of the ballroom. Julia treating me as if I were her partner and sharing cutesy confidences with my father’s wife was the final straw.
I was done.
* * *
CHAPTER 4
* * *
After meeting my subway companion on my way out, I turned right around to go up the escalator and find out what he’d bought and why and for where. Ernesto was on the floor, and I snagged him by the men’s designer jeans.
“Yo, Ethan, dude, what’re you still here for? Spending your paycheck?”
“No way. I got too many clothes already. Listen, help a friend out. Did you ring up this guy—a little older but good-looking? He spilled coffee on himself?”
“Ooh, yeah. He had some fancy benefit at The Pierre tonight and needed a shirt. Ended up buying extra ones and some sale ties to keep at his office.” Ernesto brushed his lapel with his fingers. “You know your boy has a way of making a good sale.”
“A benefit, huh? At The Pierre. Fancy.”
“Uh-huh. He’s got the goods, though. I can tell when someone’s faking it, but he wasn’t. Used a Platinum Amex, and his wallet was the shit. Hermès.”
“Yeah. He’s real for sure.”
“You know him? How?”
“Long story, but not really. Just seen him to talk to. You know his name or anything?”
“Nah, sorry. I didn’t even look. I had a line. Wesley was watching me, and you know he don’t like when we get too chatty and the customers have to wait.”
I slapped him on the back. “No worries. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
Now that I had a bit of information, I was ready to get home, become one with my futon, and dig deeper into the mystery that was my train-ride companion.
Suddenly hungry, I thought I wouldn’t mind an egg roll and some lo mein to go along with my detective work. With that in mind, I stopped at the corner Chinese place, and then bag in hand, trudged home. Much as I liked Gladys, my landlady, I hoped she was busy. I had some sleuthing to do and didn’t want to have to listen to who had the best price for chicken legs and how many pounds of tomatoes Pete had picked out of the backyard garden that afternoon.
Luck was on my side as their car wasn’t in the small driveway, and I hustled up the two flights to my tiny apartment. I plopped down on the couch, opened my laptop, and went to The Pierre’s website.
“Of course it wouldn’t be listed there.” I dug into the bag, found an egg roll, and chewed on it with one hand while clicking on Twitter. “Come on, baby. I know you’re gonna tell me where my hunka-hunka is tonight.”
Was it a wedding, or an anniversary party for a friend? Or was it strictly business? I scrolled past the uninteresting tweets about their history and found the evening events. One was a jazz club and the other a bar mitzvah. I kept looking, not feeling the vibe.
“Huh. Now this looks interesting.” I clicked on the event for Mercy Hospital and began to eat my lo mein. “An evening celebrating the achievements of Dr. Martin Roman, the new Chief of Oncology and Head of the Cancer Research Center.”
That had to be it. I slurped up the rest of my noodles, then clicked over to Mercy Hospital and checked the images for the board of directors, but my subway seat sharer wasn’t one of them. Discouraged, I tossed the empty container and bag into the trash and checked my emails to see if I’d had any responses to the résumés I’d sent out.
Nada. Disgusted, I slammed down the lid of the laptop and immediately reopened it, determined not to let my stalled attempts at moving up the corporate ladder prevent me from moving forward.
My phone rang, and I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go to voice mail, figuring it was a scammer. It stopped ringing but started up again. Annoyed, I picked it up.
“Yeah?”
“Ethan?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
“This is Arlo Cheswick, from Paul Stuart.”
I sat up straight, the remote falling to the floor. “Oh, hello.” I’d applied to them for an assistant-manager position. Maybe this would be my big break.
“I’m sorry to be calling so late, but we’ve been slammed with a sale and there was no time for a break. I’d like to know if you could come in tomorrow for an interview.”
“Yes, sure. When?” I rubbed my face. “I work from nine to three thirty tomorrow.” I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t too late, already preparing to tell Wesley I had to leave early. Did I feel guilty? Kind of, but this could be the break I’d been waiting for, and I had to do whatever was necessary.
“That works. Be here at the Madison Avenue store at four thirty.”
“Sure, yes, I’ll be there.”
“Good night.”
I danced on my toes around the apartment for a few minutes, then sped into the bathroom and took a shower, moisturized myself, and slathered serum all over my face. For the next hour, I tried on my best suits and decided on one of my Gucci ties with a sparkling white shirt. I went to bed with stars in my eyes, dreaming of the first day of the rest of my life.
* * *
With a spring in my step, I entered the subway car and found my mystery man standing at the far end. Grouchy-faced didn’t begin to describe his demeanor, but I wasn’t about to let him rain on my parade.
“Good morning,” I said in my perkiest voice. “Did you have fun last night, wherever you were going?”
Instantly suspicious, he narrowed those glacial eyes. “What makes you think I had something planned?”
“Most men don’t find it necessary to replace a shirt they spilled coffee on if they don’t have someplace to be after work. They’ll wait until they get home.”
His troubled face cleared. “Oh. Well, you’re right.” His admission, begrudgingly given, still didn’t give me the answers I was looking for.
“Was it a work thing? Where do you work?”
His jaw tensed. “It was. But I didn’t stay. It wasn’t necessary.”
I instantly regretted asking two questions at once, but my mouth had gotten ahead of me. That gave him the out to only answer one, which of course he did, and it wasn’t the one I’d wanted.
“Well, since you obviously hate talking about yourself, let’s talk about me. I have a job interview today.”
He gave me a sharp once-over but said nothing.
“It’s with Paul Stuart—not the haute-couture luxury I’m looking for, but a good start. It’s for an assistant-manager position at their flagship store on Madison Avenue.”
“Good luck.”
Damn him. I’d never seen anyone so tight-lipped. “Thanks. So if I get it, that’ll cut our morning meetups. I’ll have to change at Atlantic for the 4 train.”