Playing It Safe (3 page)

My purse is ginormous, so I can probably find more than Mary fucking Poppins in this thing. I pull out a loose piece of paper to create a makeshift fan and then begin fanning myself as a shiny, cherry-red BMW pulls up to the valet. I snort rather unattractively at the sight, because whoever the hell is arriving to the party is almost two hours late. This I have to see.

A second valet attendant, not to be confused with the one who is currently out searching somewhere near the Sphinx for my vehicle, steps forward to open the passenger-side door. Out unfurl two very nicely shaped, tanned, long legs attached to a rather good-looking chick, if I do say so myself. Brunette, guessing about average height, on the skinny side, wearing a Marc Jacobs pleated dress that is color-blocked in black and white, showing off a lot of skin—tastefully, of course, and as only Marc Jacobs can because the man is pure genius. I was eyeing the same dress last week at Nordstrom’s. Lucky bitch.

Whatever, like you wouldn’t be thinking the same thing.

Trying not to attract any attention to myself while I stare longingly at her outfit, I scoot to my left and try to blend in with the plant life. The driver of the BMW steps out. Lo and behold, there he is, Bruce Wayne himself. Or as I know him: Alex.

Really? Now, here, of all places, when I look like shit on a shingle and I’m feeling like a complete scatterbrain thanks to Aiden?

I duck my head before he can notice me, but as luck would have it, the expedition to find my car finally ends, and it appears directly behind his. The attendant gets out of my car and starts looking for me at the same time Alex decides to walk around the hood of his car to hand his keys over to the other attendant. My sorry attempt to hide can’t last much longer when the valet guy finally spots me and whistles to get my attention.

“Dude, I can totally see you. Whistling is
so
not necessary,” I say quietly while clenching my teeth. Especially since everyone is now looking in my direction, Alex included.

Oh well, here goes nothing.

Craptastic fan in hand, I step out of the shadows and walk over to my car like I own the joint while keeping my eyes trained on the “Whistling Dixie” valet.

“Julia?” I hear Alex’s deep, velvety voice loud enough that I can’t even think about pretending that I don’t.

Turning my head as I unwillingly hand over a tip to the valet, I see Alex already making his way over to me in a few elegant strides. Yes, that’s right, I said elegant. The man practically glides when he walks. It’s lovely, and obviously I’ve paid too much attention to it before to be able to categorize it as such. And dear Lord, he looks delicious. He’s wearing what could only be a tailor-made black suit, but no tie, and the top button is undone on his crisp white dress shirt.

He flashes me his dimples when he steps right in front of me, crowding my personal space. “Were you really not going to say hello to me?”

“Alex! Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was you,” I say, doing my best at feigning ignorance.

“Bullshit.”

“Like I would ignore you? Please, what kind of person do you think I am?”

“The kind of person who was ignoring me,” he quickly answers.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

His crystal-blue eyes light up in amusement, and he leans in an inch so that he’s a little closer while putting one hand over his heart. “I’m crushed.”

With him being so close, I take in the wonderful smell that is Alex: a cocktail of perfectly blended amounts of sandalwood and the beach and something else that eludes me. Whatever it is, it’s heavenly. Then it hits me—I’m sure the stink emanating from me is infiltrating his nostrils, so I take a small step backward just as I hear a woman’s annoyed voice coming from somewhere behind him.

“Alex, what are you doing?”

His smile vanishes, and he smoothly pulls back to stand up straight and turns around to face the direction of the woman he arrived with. She’s far too young to be with him, and yes that might be jealousy rearing its ugly head, which when added to the stress of facing my ex again makes me more testy than usual.

“Do you know her?” she asks, clearly bothered by his actions. Can’t say that I blame her. If I were her and my date was all up in some other woman’s grill, I’d be a little peeved too.

“Marisa, this is Julia, a very good friend of mine,” Alex clarifies for her. Then he turns his attention back to me and says, “Julia, this is my friend Marisa.”

Oh, Alex, you have no idea the mess you’ve just made. If Miss Teen USA has any sense, she would have picked up on the fact that he said “good friend” when he spoke about me and “friend” when he described his relationship with her. Although, I have to admit, I find it to be rather intriguing that he would identify us like that for her benefit—or maybe he did it for mine? See what I mean? He’s totally an enigma.

“Alex,” she coos while wrapping herself around his arm, “I thought I was your good friend.”

Yup, she picked up on it without missing a beat.

She giggles, and I swear the sound makes me want to vomit. Alex, in turn, has a tight smile on his face and looks uncomfortable while shifting his weight from foot to foot. Me? I just want to get the hell out of Dodge.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says with a bright smile and way too enthusiastically before extending her hand to me.

I grab it and give it a firm shake. “Hi, Marisa, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Her eyes scan me from head to toe and back again dismissively as if she were Joan Rivers from
Fashion Police
. With that move, she’s officially made it onto my shit list.

“So,” she says, “how exactly do you know the Grandersons?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because.”

I know I’m being purposely evasive, but now I’m having too much fun making Alex more uncomfortable by the minute. Plus, I don’t like her knowing too much about me. Call it women’s intuition, but something about her just rubs me the wrong way.

Marisa lets out a dry laugh. “My, my, aren’t we mysterious?”

“I could say the same about you. Alex has never mentioned you before. Have you, Alex?” Turning my gaze back to him, he tries to hide the smirk that is threatening to crack the corners of his mouth.

He clears his throat before saying, “Marisa is an old friend of the family.”

“An old friend? Well, now you’re just being silly, Alex,” she says, trying to play it off like he didn’t just diss her right in front of me again.

“Alrighty then, you two kids have a great night and try not to be too silly with each other. I’ve gotta get on home. It was nice meeting you, Marisa. Alex … I’ll see you Friday night.”

I couldn’t help myself; I had to throw that last dig out just to see if she’d catch it. By the look of irritation on her face, I’d say she did and is currently trying to figure out why the hell he’s going to be seeing me on Friday night.

As I walk around the hood of my car, I can tell she’s whispering something to him, but when he answers her back, I can hear it clear as a bell. “I’ll tell you later, Marisa.”

Throwing my jumbo purse haphazardly onto the passenger seat before slamming the door, I shoot one last glance over at Alex, who is trying to steer Marisa toward the party. He runs his hand through his dirty blond hair and then looks over his shoulder in my direction while sporting a devilish grin.

Such a flirty bastard. Ugh … and I’m a total sucker for it every single time.

Not more than five minutes into my drive home, my cell phone dings, alerting me of a text. While stopped at a red light, I fish it out of my purse and unlock the screen to see a new text from Alex.

Payback’s a bitch, you know?

I quickly shoot off a text back, playing it off like I’m clueless. I love this little cat-and-mouse game with him. It’s entirely too much fun. Not to mention that it takes my mind off of Aiden.

Payback for what?

Just as the light turns green, my phone beeps again with another text from him.

You’ve been a bad girl, and I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.

When I reach the next red light, I grab the phone and stare at the screen in a daze because that right there might have crossed into the point of no return. You don’t see me complaining, but I’m kind of surprised and not exactly sure how I should answer him. What the fuck does he mean, “teach me a lesson”? Is he going to put me across his knee and slap my ass with a ruler? Is it wrong that the thought of that has me so turned on right now that I want to turn my car around and climb his body like Mount Everest?

My phone beeps again while in my hands with another text from Alex.

Cat got your tongue?

With my heart racing and my stomach doing a somersault, I type out an answer. Two can play this game.

No, I’m just looking forward to it …

My high is short-lived when he responds so quickly this time, it’s scary.

I know you are ;)

Well played, Mr. Holt, well played. For the first time in God knows how long, I’m left speechless. Now I’m just wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

S
tanding before my full-length mirror, I take one last look at myself before heading to the Art Gallery. It’s taken me almost a whole hour just to decide on this dress. It’s a halter, fifties-pinup-style dress in a deep red, very reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s famous white subway dress. So the front dips down a little to show off some of the goods. My hair, which has taken me the better part of the afternoon to finish, is in waves and pinned to one side so that most of my bare back is exposed. I don’t even want to delve into why I’m all of a sudden so worried about how I look tonight. Okay, maybe I do. I’ll give you one guess. His name starts with the letter
A
.

No, not
him
. I don’t even want to discuss or think too much about
him
… Aiden. Because as much as I hate to admit it, the guy has been in the back of my mind since I saw him a couple of nights ago, buzzing around like an annoying fly. And what gets me even more irritated is that the more I think about Aiden, the more I come up with better things I should have said to him when I had the chance the other night. Don’t you hate that? The best one-liners always come to you after you actually need them.

Anyway, enough about Aiden since the
other
guy whose name starts with the letter
A
is the reason why it’s taken me this long to get ready.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m so busted. I must be crazy, because first of all, there’s still that whole mess Alex had with Sabrina last year, but now there’s this new thing with Marisa. But flirting is harmless, right? I mean, it’s not like anything is going to happen between us, so why not just play along and enjoy the ride? If anything, it will provide me with at least a fuck-ton of fantasies to hold me over until I decide to get back into the saddle again. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I adjust “the boys.”

“The boys” are what I affectionately call my breasts, and I currently have them showing off some nice cleavage in this dress. Well, the right amount of cleavage and in a totally tasteful manner because I’m not trying to look like a hooker walking the streets. It’s a well-proven fact that men fall under one of two categories: tits or ass men. I felt it was time I find out which one of those two categories Alex falls into. My money is on tits, hence the cleavage.

The opening itself doesn’t start until seven, but I always arrive at an event I’m handling about an hour earlier to double-check that everything is in place. When I pull into the gallery parking lot at just past six o’clock after dealing with Miami traffic—and if you haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with Miami during rush hour, consider yourself blessed—I’m already in a bad mood.

It would be important to point out that I have not spoken to Alex since we had that super-flirtatious text exchange a couple of nights ago, so I’m not sure what to expect. We’ve flirted and had witty repartee countless times before, but I’m still not sure how what occurred the other night will affect our friendship. Plus, when you throw Miss Teen USA into the mix, well, I could be facing a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I walk in through the back door of the gallery and make my way toward the front of the building where most of the action is already taking place. Sidestepping some of the catering staff and some of my own, I see Lisette talking to Sarah, the gallery’s receptionist. Before I reach them, both of them look up and spot me walking in their direction. Lisette has a grin on her face as she takes in my “
look” for the evening, while Sarah lets out a low whistle.

“Holy shit, Julia! You look amazing!” Sarah says loudly.

“Thank you, girlie. You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Um, no. You’re totally going to be getting digits tonight.”

I glance over at Lisette, who’s still grinning from ear to ear. “What? Why are you grinning at me like that? You’re freaking me out.”

“
Niña
, with that dress, you’re going to be finding more than Prince Charming tonight. You look fabulous!”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off like I don’t care what they think, but let’s be honest,
every
woman wants to hear they look good. Especially when you’ve put half the goddamn time I did into this ensemble.

“So,” I say, changing the subject quickly and jumping into organizing mode, “how is everything coming along?”

In unison, they answer, “Good.”

I chuckle and shake my head. These two together always give me a good laugh. And when I get them both at a happy hour, I might as well be wearing adult diapers from laughing so hard. Which, by the way, I can neither confirm nor deny that that’s actually happened before.

“Good. I’m going to do a walkthrough anyway. Lisette, can you come with me?”

She grabs her iPad from Sarah’s desk, and we head off to double-and triple-check the hell out of this thing before it’s go time. About forty-five minutes later, and after being completely satisfied that things are all good, I duck toward the back of the gallery to use the ladies’ room so I can freshen up. When I’m done, I quickly sashay back to the
front of the gallery, where guests are already starting to file in. Normally, I don’t drink at any of these things, but when I’m working an event at the gallery, I do imbibe on occasion because I’ve handled so many events here that it usually runs like a well-oiled machine with little to no assistance from me. I stop in front of a person from the catering staff and grab a champagne flute off the tray. I spot Lisette at the far end of the room, then lift my glass in a salute and watch her laugh before heading off to keep an eye on everything.

Turning into one of the far rooms of the gallery, which is almost like an alcove that only a few people can fit in at a time, I finally spot Alex.

Alone.

Just me and him in this tiny space.

He’s dressed impeccably, as usual, in a pinstripe suit and a light blue dress shirt that perfectly accentuates his eyes. He’s not wearing a tie again, but that’s good for me because I get to look at his throat while his Adam’s apple bobs up and down while he talks. I know I’m being ridiculous, but something as insignificant as that is so very sexy to me in a really hot guy.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” I ask him before bringing the glass to my lips to take another sip. “Are you hiding or something?”

He smiles and ever so smoothly brings his line of vision down my body and back up again, but not before lingering a moment too long on “the boys.”

I knew it! Alex is a tits man, and I feel so vindicated it’s not even funny. In my head I’m doing the Running Man to the tune of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” and giving myself a pat on the back.

“Why would I be hiding?” he asks.

“I don’t know, why would you be hiding?”

“Why do you care if I’m hiding or not?”

“Why do you answer every question with another question?”

Alex takes a step forward, and there he goes again crowding my personal space, but I’m standing my ground this time. He raises an eyebrow at my stance and says, “Maybe I like getting you all worked up.”

The double meaning in that is
so
not lost on me, and just like that, we went from zero to sixty in no time at all.

“Maybe?” I ask innocently while gazing up at him.

“Now look who’s answering with questions.”

His masculine chuckle resonates through me, making my toes curl while he takes the upper hand again. I seriously cannot keep up with this much longer. I’m either going to throw him against the wall and rub myself all over him like a slutty cat on a scratching post, or I’m going to douse myself with a bucket of ice-cold water.

“For your information, I’m not hiding … at least not from you,” he explains. “Just like the quiet sometimes.”

“Huh. Always figured you for the type that was into parties and shit.”

“That would imply you’re thinking about me,” he says without missing a beat.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He takes a step forward and moves to my side to leave, but not before ducking his head closer so that I feel his warm breath fan across my ear. “That’s a good question. Are you ready for the answer?”

And then he’s gone, disappearing behind me back into the gallery’s exhibit, while I ponder what just happened, kind of pissed off that the son of a bitch just answered me with another goddamn question. Even worse though, I’m so incredibly hot for him right now over his toying with me that I don’t know what to do with myself!

Frustrated in more ways than one, I turn on my heel and blend in with the crowd that has accumulated since I’ve been competing in the Flirting Olympics with Alex. Standing off to one side while I stare out in space with my now-empty champagne flute in hand, I feel a nudge on my side and turn around to see Lisette and Sarah looking worried.

“What’s the matter?” I ask quickly.

They turn to look at each other and then back at me while they debate who is going to be the sacrificial lamb who tells me whatever the hell the problem is.

“Guys, someone speak up and soon.”

“Sarah has something to tell you,” Lisette throws out.

Sarah gives her the stink eye before turning her attention back to me. “Okay, well … see … there’s this woman who’s going off on the catering manager, saying something about this not being what she ordered for the event. He called us over and said he doesn’t get paid enough to deal with brats—his words, not mine. Anyway, he’s threatening to pull his staff if someone doesn’t get that lady away from him.”

I’m already walking with them over to the catering manager, who is stationed in the back of the building, as she’s finishing the explanation. I swing the door open to the warehouse portion of the gallery, which is where the catering staff has all of their prep stuff set up and where they replenish hors d’oeuvre and drink trays. Joey, the catering manager, who is the nicest guy, by the way, is probably freaking out over having to deal with some random woman complaining about the order. This, for the record, is news to me. Lisette
and I
only deal with Alex or Sarah at the gallery, so this mystery lady is about to get a fucking earful by yours truly in about two seconds.

The mystery woman’s back is to me as she’s going off on Joey, something about how he’s inept and clueless and that she demands to speak to whomever is in charge.

I tap her on the shoulder and announce, “You’re looking for me?”

The woman swings her torso around, causing her pin-straight brown hair to whip behind her and almost slap me in the face.

You have got to be kidding me. Marisa, a.k.a. Miss Teen USA, is the bitch on wheels?

Her face goes through a myriad of looks while scrutinizing me before settling on recognition. Took her long enough to recognize me. Call me crazy, but I love a good smackdown. And a tip for all of you playing along at home: never
ever
let it show that they’re getting a rise out of you. The key to a good smackdown is to kill them with kindness. Unless, of course, they cross the line, and then all bets are off.

“Julia, right? What are you doing here?” she asks with obvious distaste in her voice.

I smile. “I’m the person in charge. What can I do for you?”

“You?” she says with a laugh. “Well, isn’t that just perfect.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I can assure you that I
am
in charge, and I ask that you please stop harassing Joey and direct all your inquiries to me instead.”

She looks between Joey and me as I give him the go-ahead to get back to work so I can deal with her. This is when I get a really good look at her. She’s beautiful, no doubt, with her almond-shaped brown eyes and lithe figure. Too bad for her she’s wearing a dress that was so last season and, worse, is coming across like a whiny baby in her mommy’s big-girl clothes for a night out on the town.

“Fine, I’ll deal with you if I
have
to,” she says as she rolls her eyes. “This isn’t the menu I wanted at this thing.”

“This is the menu that was provided to me and my staff,” I say, motioning behind me to Lisette and Sarah. I turn my head in their direction. “Ladies, if you don’t mind, can you please bring Alex back here to discuss this further.”

Marisa crosses her arms and sticks her foot out while pouting as we wait on Alex. Every minute I hate this girl more and more.

“You look different,” she says.

“You look the same.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrug my shoulders. “It means whatever the hell you want it to mean.”

The sound of the door swinging open smoothes the look of disdain off her face. Her mouth morphs into a syrupy sweet smile, letting me know that Alex has just arrived.

“Marisa, what are you doing back here?” he asks calmly, but he looks so incredibly annoyed at the same time.

“Alex,” she gushes as she rushes to his side. “I was just trying to explain to
this person
that the menu isn’t what I wanted.”

Did she just say “this person” like I’m some piece of gum on the bottom of her Jimmy Choos? Oh hell to the no! All bets are officially off!

I open my mouth to unleash the unholy string of curse words that are on the tip of my tongue, but I stop short when I see Alex giving me an apologetic look before directing his attention back to Marisa.

“I told you that I let Julia handle everything at these events because she’s the best at what she does. I would appreciate it if you would apologize to her right now so I can get back inside and deal with more pressing matters than this nonsense.”

Suck it, bitch!

She looks pained when she turns her head to me and says, “Julia, please accept my apology.”

Smiling like a Cheshire cat, I answer, “Apology accepted.”

Of course I don’t mean it, and now I know for sure I’m going to have to watch this one like a freaking hawk. All mini-drama over and done with, Alex, still looking as uncomfortable as ever, mouths an “I’m sorry” as he guides Marisa toward the door to leave. The moment he turns his head, she shoots me a look over her shoulder and then sticks her tongue out at me.