There are multiple tiers filling the cavernous space, each filled with tables covered in fine linen tablecloths, spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy. In the back of the room, there is a raised platform where a live band plays, the volume still relatively low at this early hour. Several couples are already dancing on the polished hardwood dance floor located in front of the band area.
As the waiter guides me across the room, I catch sight of Christian sitting at one of the round tables. He’s seated with six other people and there is one open chair for me. He laughs at someone’s joke, but upon glimpsing me following the waiter across the floor, he stands up and waves in my direction.
A woman with shining auburn hair spilling down her back sits facing away from me, next to the available seat at the table. I’m ten feet away from the table when she turns to look in my direction.
When her gaze meets mine, the faint smile on her face shifts into a look of shock, her mouth forming a round O, her eyes wide.
It’s Jessica.
Chapter Eleven
Jessica
The moment I see him coming toward the table at the Swan, something inside me shifts.
It’s been a long time since I made the break from my parents’ conservative Christian views, two years since what happened with Michael taught me to rely on myself, to lead a life of my own choosing and not to depend on anyone else. So, I’m well past the point of relying on or believing in divine intervention.
But when our eyes meet as he approaches the table, a thousand-watt smile playing across his lips, it’s like the entire world stops moving for a single heartbeat. When it starts spinning again, it’s going in the opposite direction.
My heart hammers inside my chest.
What are the chances?
What are the chances?
I never asked Christian how he met my date-of-the-week, and even if I did, how could it possibly explain the infinitesimally small odds that Alec and I are working against? New York City is jam-packed with handsome men. Christian has more connections than anyone I’ve ever met—he has an easy charm about him that makes you feel like you’re his new best friend—but how did these two ever come across each other?
I make a mental inventory of everything I know about Alec, and aside from an intimate knowledge of the ridges and dips of his body, the answer is—because of my own rules, Jesus Christ—almost nothing. He has a nice apartment, it’s clean with new furniture and has recently been renovated by the looks of it, but it isn’t the kind of thing that would connect him to Christian, one of the richest men in the city aside from Jax Hunter.
Too late, I realize that my mouth is still hanging open, so I snap it shut as Alec reaches the table, sliding smoothly into the seat next to me.
Christian has noticed and is already laughing at my stricken expression.
“I take it you’re impressed with your date for the evening, Jess?” I narrow my eyes at him, speechless, flabbergasted. At this, Christian’s laughter doubles and the rest of our group grins indulgently. When he finally gets ahold of himself, dabbing the corners of his eyes with his napkin, he reaches a hand across the table for Alec to shake.
“I’m sorry, Alec, that wasn’t polite. It’s just that my friend Jess here looked like she’d seen the ghost of a male model coming to be her date for the night.”
Alec cuts his eyes toward me, still smiling, an ember of excitement burning in the center of his green eyes. “Don’t be too hard on her. We’ve actually met before…once or twice.”
Christian’s eyes go wide, and he drops back into his seat more heavily than I think he intended. “Really?” He looks from me to Alec and back to me again.
I find my voice, and I can’t resist. I have to know.
“How the hell did you two meet each other?” I ask, my voice going high with my disbelief.
“At the gym,” Christian says immediately, and the three words set the wheels spinning in my mind. Christian’s gym is without a doubt the most expensive fitness club in New York City. He’s taken me as a guest a couple of times, and the place is no joke. If Alec is a member, he’s got some serious personal capital.
We have never once discussed money. Why would we? That’s in the same category as “last names” and “identifying details.”
Suddenly, I remember that I took him with me to the Bystander, and my cheeks go hot with shame before I can stop myself from caring who notices. It is absolutely pointless to make comparisons between the kinds of places I frequent when left to my own devices and the kinds of places where my friends have memberships. Holy shit. He’s probably got enough money to afford a membership at the Swan, and I took him to the Bystander like some kind of scraping-by grad student.