For 100 Days(87)

Apparently I can’t deny it to my best friend either.

“So where is lover boy today?” she asks as she stabs a forkful of Caesar salad. “I’m surprised he let you out of bed long enough to come see me.”

“He’s got business meetings with his acquisitions team in London again.”

“Oh, back to London again?” She sighs melodramatically, her voice effecting a bored tone. “Well, Tony’s going to Staten Island tomorrow to head up a new sewer pipe installation with his construction crew. So really, that’s like almost the same thing, right?”

“Shut up.” We burst into a fit of giggles, and I shake my head at her. “Anyway, Nick left yesterday and he won’t get home until a week from Friday.” I don’t mention that I’m missing him terribly and can’t wait for our time apart to pass. Instead, I munch on a fry and glance over at Tasha. “Speaking of work, how are things at the restaurant?”

She rolls her eyes. “Kimmie got promoted last week. Joel put her in charge of the bar, of all things.”

“What? She can hardly place a drink order without messing it up, much less mix one.”

“You’re telling me? Not that it matters. She’s an expert at kissing Joel’s fat ass, so she’s golden.” Tasha dumps a sugar packet into her tea, then chases the granules and ice cubes around with her spoon. “I’m supposed to be training her on the inventory and the register in our downtime, which, as you know, is next to nil. So, basically, I’m doing everything myself while she stands around and chats up Joel and the customers.”

I wince. “I’m sorry. If I’d known my leaving was going to make things worse for you—”

“No. Don’t even go there,” she interjects sharply. “I’m glad you stood up to him. I’m glad you got out of there. Believe me, I would too if I had half your guts.”

There was a time, not so long ago, that the thought of locking horns with my employer would have been unthinkable, let alone something I’d actually do. But I’m not that person anymore. Maybe I never was. I just never dared to push back before, to let that side of me loose.

Nick has said he thinks I’m running from who I really am—hiding from it. I’ve been turning those words over in my mind ever since, and although he made that observation in connection to my art, I can’t help thinking that he is right. There is so much about me that he’s gotten right. So much that he’s unlocked, set free.

I can open doors for you. I can lead you through them.

The truth is, he already has. Even if our relationship ends tomorrow, I know I can never go back to the person I was before he entered my life.

Where exactly that leaves me now, I haven’t quite figured out yet.

“So much for my bartending career,” I mutter, giving Tasha a wry look. “Vendange was the only restaurant I’ve worked in since I came here, and it’s not like Joel is going to give me a reference.”

“Oh, please.” Tasha dismissively waves her hand. “Who needs references when you’re Dominic Baine’s mystery girl?”

“His what?”

“You haven’t seen it?” She draws back, giving me a surprised look. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot—you’re allergic to the Internet. Yes, you and your maybe-sorta boyfriend were all over the society pages after the mayor’s gala last month.”

She wipes her hands on her napkin, then digs in her purse for her phone. I feel uneasy and confused, waiting as she brings up a website page on her browser. She turns the screen toward me and wiggles her brows.

“See? There you are.”

It’s the gossip page of a big New York City newspaper. There among the dozens of paparazzi shots of socialites and business magnates attending the mayor’s fundraiser are two photos of Nick and me. One is the snapshot taken of us through the windshield of Nick’s limo. The other was captured as we made our way past the photographers and police barricades into the hotel for the event.

“‘A rare public appearance tonight by billionaire businessman and philanthropist, Dominic Baine, arriving with his guest, Ms. Avery Ross,’” Tasha recites for me, adopting a faux snooty inflection that normally might make me giggle along with her. But not now. Not over this.

“Let me see that.”

I take her phone and look at the photos, groaning because I know how Nick values his privacy. Hell, I value mine, too, and it’s with no small amount of alarm that I realize these photos—and my name—are now in the public domain. They must’ve gotten my name off the registry when Nick and I checked in that night.