There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story (24 page)

“Excuse me, Miss Conroy?” the receptionist says as I pass her desk.

I stop in my tracks. “Yes, Lindsey?”
 

She’s taken aback that I called her by her name. I learned it during the first impromptu meeting. “Should I call your driver?”
 

I frown. “I have a driver?”

“Upper level executives visiting from the Manhattan and London offices are given cars.”

I arch an eyebrow inquisitively. “So who sent the car to my hotel this morning?” I don’t mention that I didn’t tell anyone where I was staying.
 

“Oh, I did,” she says with pride

Her enthusiasm makes me smile. “Who told you where I was staying?”

“Marjorie, Mr. Adams’s assistant.”

I pause. I’m thrilled and relieved. “Sure, call the car. Why the hell not?”

My cell phone rings as I wait for the car to pull up. I glance at the name on the screen. “What’s going on, Jack?”
 

“I didn’t know you were in town,” he says.

“What town are you referring to? L.A.?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were in town either.”

“We’re in Malibu. Why didn’t you call?”

I blow out a sharp breath. “Like I said, I didn’t know you were in town. What’s going on?” Sometimes his controlling ways really get under my skin.

“How about you come to dinner tonight?”

“I want to, but I promised Monroe a night on the town.”

“Monroe? She’s in town?”

“She lives here,” I say.

“That would explain Charlie.”

“What ever do you mean?” I say in a melodramatic tone.
 

The driver who just pulled up waves me over.
 

“He made a big purchase.”

I snort as I slide into the back seat. “Okay? He’s always making big purchases. That’s why you always have to bail him out after he goes bankrupt.”

Jack laughs. “This time, it’s a good one. This one requires him to work his ass off.”

“So did the private ferry service he bought. Remember that?”

“Yeah… But this time, it’s different.”

“Oh really? Why is that? What did he buy?” I’m beyond curious.
 

“He wants to be the one to tell you.”

“Is that so? Did he say, ‘Don’t tell Maggie because I want to be the one to tell her’?”

“Yes, Mags, he did.” He detected my sarcasm.

I sigh. I’ve just noticed how slow we’re moving, going east on Wilshire Boulevard. “This traffic sucks.”

“Enjoy the stop-and-go ride. If you were in Manhattan, it would be much slower this time of day.”

“True, but I wouldn’t have to drive. I could walk.”

“True. So when are you flying back to the Big Apple?” he asks.

“Tomorrow morning. I have some work to do at the office, and Hannah’s showing at a gallery tomorrow night. She needs someone there for moral support.”

“I thought she was a stylist.”

“She’s a part-time photographer.”

“Good… Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you at the Vineyard next weekend?”

“Yeah. Hey, is it okay if I show up on Thursday? I want one whole day to have free rein of your house to use it and abuse it in whatever way I see fit.”

He laughs. I forgot that Jack has the best laugh in the world. Vincent has the second best.
 

“You can abuse my house any time you like. Do you still leave your clothes on the floor?” he asks.

I laugh.
 

“And there’s my answer.” He chuckles.

Monroe insists that I check out of the hotel and spend the night at her house—more like mansion—in Bel Air. The sun has gone down by the time my driver rolls past her gates. Her circular driveway has a lit garden full of tropical plants in the center. The entire house has a Mediterranean feel with lots of natural rock, brick, and texture.
 

Monroe lets me use the same room I always lodge in when I stay here. I open the French doors to take in a portion of the infinity pool, which wraps all the way around the house, and the spectacular hillside view. Steam rises from the aqua water, and it’s lit throughout. I don’t deviate from habit. I step out of my work suit right there at the door, along with my panties and bra. The warm pool calls my name. A quick dip is just what I need to wake up and clear my mind.
 

I dive in. The refreshing water does not disappoint. I backstroke and think of Vincent and how he cared enough to see to it that I had a car. Then there’s Robert, who’s not only unremorseful about the women he’s nailed but tacky enough to admit to it. Hannah, Cleo, Monroe, and I have a name for men like him. In one word, he’s a scoundrel.
 

“You’re always naked in my swimming pool,” Monroe says.

I open my eyes. I’ve made it to the front of the estate, facing the wooden bridge that crosses to the front porch. Monroe sits on the edge of the swimming pool and sinks her feet in the water. Water splashes her cutoff shorts and plain white V-neck T-shirt.
 

I grab the concrete ledge beside her and flap my feet. “I love your swimming pool.”

“I know you do. Wouldn’t it be great if you moved to L.A.? You could swim in it every day!” She twists her shoulder coyly. “You could move in with me.”

“Uh oh, something’s been cooking up in that head of years. You and me in the same house? That’s another recipe for disaster.”

“You and I have been friends since kindergarten.” She frowns. “I’m lonely without you, Mags.”
 

I splash her. “Oh, stop it. You have plenty of friends.”

“You know there’s no substitute for you. You can transfer to A&Rt Media here! Think about it. Vincent Adams will be in New York, and that’s far, far away. I can help you get over him like”—she snaps her fingers—“that!”

Impossible. “Oh really? How would you do that?”

“Just replace him with another. This remedy has worked for centuries. You should try it. I know tons of guys who will fuck you as good as he did or better.”

“I’m sure you do. Why don’t you wrangle up one for yourself?”

“Because I don’t need the headache. ‘Where are you going? What are you doing? Could we do this? Could we do that?’” She sings it as if it’s a bad song.
 

I dip my head and remerge clearheaded enough to say, “It will take more than a good fuck to replace Vincent. That, I assure you.”

“Ha!” she scoffs. “Don’t say you love him. Please don’t.”

“I do,” I disclose in a small voice.

“You’ve caught the Jack Lord stupidity bug!”

“If you’re referring to his marriage to Daisy, it’s not stupid. They love each other. Once in a blue moon, two people who were meant to be—”

Monroe explodes with cynical laughter. I grab her shirt, pull her into the water, and dunk her. She remerges and does the same to me until we’re laughing like idiots. She pulls herself out of the pool to sit back on the ledge.

Dripping with water, Monroe lifts a finger. “When that fly-by-night marriage falls apart, I’m going to be right there to pick up the pieces. Hell, I can be a hot stepmommy!”

“Keep dreaming. She’s his soul mate. Just wait and see. And Jack and Daisy are in Malibu. Charlie’s here too.”

Her entire expression changes. “Charlie?”

“Yes, and he’s supposed to have made some
big
purchase that gets him closer to having a job. Jack wouldn’t tell me exactly what he’s doing, but whatever it is is supposed to change my opinion of him.”

The cell phone sitting next to Monroe chimes. She wipes drops of water off the screen and gasps. “Speaking of the misfit!”

“That’s Charlie?” I’m surprised.
 

She nods and answers the phone. I thrust myself out of the water to sit beside her.
 

“Speaking of the misfit,” she repeats with a wide grin, “she’s sitting right here.”

“What do you want, Chuck?” I shout.

“He said he loves you too,” Monroe says.

I laugh.
 

She pauses to listen. “We’re going out later. Why do you ask?” Monroe holds the phone away. “He wants to meet us somewhere. He says he wants to talk to both of us.”

I shrug. “Why not?” I’m still eager to hear what Charlie’s got cooking.

My life feels as if it’s back to normal. Hopefully I can figure out a way to convince Lena to transfer me to L.A. Of course, she’ll have to convince Vincent. If he cares about me, then he won’t fight it. He has to know it will be torture for me to see him every day while knowing that he’s married to Gabrielle and still loves me at the same time. Making love to a married man is a line I will not cross, even if the marriage is a sham. So yes, I must transfer to L.A.
 

I didn’t pack night-on-the-town attire, so I borrow a dress from Monroe. Her clothes always fit me. She’s two inches taller, but our hips, butt, and waist are the same size. The dress is black and strappy, and the A-line skirt is extremely short. Would I have bought this for myself? Absolutely not! Do I look amazing in it? Actually, and surprisingly, I do!

“Keep it,” Monroe says when she sees me in the dress. “I have a green one like it that’ll go perfectly with your winter-white skin.”
 

“Is that what we’re calling it now? Winter white?”

Monroe sighs. “Get over it already. Your skin is what makes you. It’s like a baby’s ass. In twenty years, Botox and face-lifts are going to bankrupt me, but you’re going to look like a teenager with a sexy Brazilian ass.” She pinches my butt. “Own it.”

I swipe her hand away. “If you Botox and face pull, I’ll kill you.”

“Have some sympathy for the less fortunate.” She smacks my ass again.

“Ouch.” I massage the sting out of my skin. “That hurt.”

“Come on, let’s go. We’ll take your driver–slash-chaperone-slash-spy that Vincent hired for you.”

“He’s not a chaperone or a spy. Haven’t you heard? I’m a top-level executive. The car comes with the perks.”

“The hell he isn’t.” She flops a hand back and forth. “But no more Vincent talk. Let’s go get drinks and information!”

Although Monroe doesn’t display it, I can tell she’s excited about seeing Charlie again. Her hot, tight, white tube dress has “take me, Charlie” written all over it. Her thick bronze hair is bone straight. Once again, she looks like an exotic supermodel, and I’m the person who walks into the room behind her—which has always been and still is fine with me.

Only Monroe would strike up a friendship with the driver and dare him to make it to the E Sky nightclub on Sunset Boulevard in fifteen minutes or less. I hold on to my seatbelt as we bolt down off-streets, narrowly missing parked cars and running stop signs. Monroe and I gasp with fear and laugh the entire time. He makes it in seventeen minutes, but she hands him three hundred dollars anyway. He refuses to take it. Apparently, the company doesn’t allow drivers to take tips.
 

As usual, the bouncers let her stroll right past the long line and inside the nightclub.
 

“Charlie Lord,” she yells over the music at the young hostess in a dress skimpier than Monroe’s.

The girl’s eyes roll across our faces and outfits. We must pass the test because she puts on a pretentious smile. “VIP booth six, level two!”
 

Monroe takes my hand and leads me through the dense crowd. I’m temporarily blinded by fog from the smoke machine. The floor is packed with people standing around and watching topless girls with fake boobs and boys in stuffed G-strings dance and dry hump each other on tiered stages. Up the carpeted stairs we go.

“There he is!”
 

I point at Charlie, who’s sitting intimately close to a girl. She’s the typical L.A. type: bone-straight hair, skinny as a rail, and barely twenty years old with a pretty face. The girl whispers something in his ear that makes him jerk with laughter.
 

He sees us when he lifts his face. “Thank you for keeping me company, Andy. But I’m going to have to decline your offer.”
 

We don’t have to yell up here. It’s way quieter because the music doesn’t carry. Great acoustics, I guess.

She gasps, offended. “My name is Amy,” she barks and storms off.

He throws his hands up.

I flop down beside him. “Is that how you treat a lady?”

He winces. “A lady? She offered to perform fellatio. Is that what a lady does?”

“Welcome to blowjob city, Chuck!” Monroe jokes.
 

Her nonchalance about another woman infringing on her territory intrigues Charlie. His eyes dance as he gazes at her. “Monroe? You finally answered my call.” He bows his head. “Thank you for that.”

She shrugs one shoulder. Of course she’s playing it cool. I know that look Charlie’s giving her. His crush on Daisy might officially be over.

“You said you had news. What is it?” I ask.
 

Charlie suspends eye contact with Monroe to look at me. “I have a”—he draws quotes—“career.” He announces that proudly.

“And what are you now?”

“I’m an investor in the arts.”

“And what art might that be? Porn?” Monroe asks.

She and I snicker. So far, it sounds like another one of Charlie’s reckless schemes.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Charlie mocks. “No, not porn.” He smirks at Monroe. “But if you’re ever up for it, you and I can make some of our own.”
 

In the past, Monroe would’ve flipped him the bird or said, “In your dreams, Charlie Brown.”
 

Instead, she simpers. They’re having a moment. I can’t believe they’re really into each other. She’s never given him a second look and vice versa. She’s crushed on Jack for years, but so have Cleo and Hannah and every other woman who gets to know him. But Charlie? Never.
 

“Just get on with it,” I say to move this along.
 

“I’ve purchased the film rights to what’s going to be a best-selling novel,” he announces proudly.

Monroe’s mouth falls open. “You didn’t?”

Charlie winks. “Don’t you worry your pretty,
pretty
head off, Monroe. As our contract states, I’m going to be totally hands on in
every
aspect.”