Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“Want me to get you another drink?” I offered. It wasn’t that I wanted to get away from him, but I didn’t find long conversations about Formula One as exciting as the awesome party going on around us.
He handed me his glass and dropped a kiss on my forehead with a knowing smile. “Go on. Go out and find Prince Charming Party Crasher.”
I made my way to the bar and slid the empty glass to a bartender with incredibly douchey facial hair. “Two fingers of Glenlivet with a splash of water,” I said, looking away so as to not encourage dude bro eye contact.
Unfortunately, I ended up making unwanted eye contact with Valerie, who’d just accepted a glass of white wine from another bartender. When our gazes met, I was trapped. We were too close in proximity for me to play it off with a wave. Valerie saw it, too. She took the few steps toward me and said, under her breath, “Be aware that many of the people at this party know that Neil and I have history, and those people are probably watching us right now, hoping to view something unseemly.”
“Awesome. I’m a little bit of an exhibitionist, anyway.” I took the scotch from the bartender. “Can you get me another?”
Valerie lifted her glass. “To the busy-bodies.”
I clinked the glass that had been intended for Neil against hers and nodded.
“This really is a lovely party, Sophie. You and Emma did very well.” She took a sip from her glass. “Congratulations on the house, by the way.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t build it. But I’m so glad to be getting out of the city. I come from a small town, and after six years, it’s starting to grate on me.”
“I can sympathize,” Valerie said with one of her sexy, throaty laughs. “I don’t come from a small town, but New York is unlike anywhere else in the world. It can be quite overwhelming.”
Then why are you moving here? a jealous little voice snarked in my head. I translated it to, “At least you always have the office in London, if you ever want to escape.”
“Well, I couldn’t walk away from Porteras, you know,” she said, glancing down as the bartender slid the second glass to me. “It’s been something of a dream of mine to run a fashion magazine.”
“Has it?” That surprised me. Somehow I’d always painted the acquisition of Porteras in shades of dollar amounts.
“Oh, yes,” she said, brightening up for the first time in any conversation I’d ever had with her. “I wanted to go to school for fashion design, but my father rather strongly objected. It was easier to take business classes than endure his scorn.”
“That makes me feel kind of bad for you,” I blurted, before I realized how insulting that might sound. “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” she assured me. “I know that Elwood and Stern buying Porteras put you in something of a strange situation. I hope my mentioning it doesn’t bother you.”
No, but literally ninety-five percent of everything else you say does. I smiled, closed lipped, and shook my head. “It’s all in the past, Valerie. If you guys hadn’t bought the magazine, I would have never seen Neil again.”
“That’s very true.” Her expression was unreadable as she took another sip from her glass. She looked back to me as though she’d just remembered something. “Do excuse me, I’m getting a wave.”
I looked in the direction she was pointing, to a pair of German businessmen I’d met earlier in the evening. Valerie navigated the crowded floor, and I watched her go, still somewhat stunned at the revelation she’d made. I had something in common with Valerie. It was a miracle.
I caught up with Emma on the dance floor, and she motioned me toward the VIP booth. Neil was sitting with a couple I’d never seen before. They were reacting to what must have been a very funny joke we’d just missed, when Neil looked up and his smile got wider at the sight of me. “Ah, Sophie! Excellent. Ian, Gena, this is my fiancé, Sophie.”
Ian—a man about Neil’s age—held out his hand for a friendly shake. “Ian Pratchett. And this is my wife, Gena.”
Gena was a lovely, slightly plump redhead with a cloud of gorgeous, orange corkscrew curls. She reached across her husband to shake my hand. She might have been in her forties, but her skin was so flawless it was difficult to tell.
“Neil has said only incredible things about you, Sophie,” Ian went on. And he winked at me.
Okay, so maybe Ian hadn’t aged as well as Neil had. And maybe he had kind of a sharp looking nose and a narrow face. But that wink… Damn. His Scottish accent didn’t hurt, either.
“Sophie, Gena is a buyer for Barney’s.” Neil gestured to her with a shot glass, which Ian was quick to snatch and fill up.