“To David and Vivi,” answered the collective voices of the guests.
Vivi blew Hank a kiss for his chivalry. Once again tonight, Hank’s quick thinking had spared Vivi undue embarrassment. In that moment, the appeal of a good guy struck a little too close to Cat’s heart, causing her heart rate to soar.
But it would pass.
She’d make sure it would pass.
After the main course, Cat excused herself from the table to find the restroom. She reapplied her plum-colored lipstick, adjusted the strap of her dress, and then drew a deep breath. She hadn’t heard from her agent this week to confirm whether her fragrance endorsement contract had been renewed. Cat was bracing for it to go to someone younger, or some up-and-coming actress, which made each day of waiting for news seem an eternity.
A week ago she might not have cared as much. But yesterday’s doctor’s appointment had awakened her, had sharpened the teeth of apprehension. Having lost control over her own body, she now needed to take charge of something in her life. It may as well be her career.
She leaned closer to the mirror and traced the fine lines around her eyes with her fingertips. The bronzed complexion she’d inherited from her mother now showed the subtlest signs of aging—signs that would accelerate if, in fact, she were menopausal.
As she studied her face, she couldn’t help but compare herself to the fresh new talent so eager to replace her. Soon enough they’d shove Cat aside, just as she had others a decade earlier. The fierce competition produced a paranoid mindset, hardening her and making genuine friendship a rare gift. She wouldn’t miss that aspect of the industry whenever she did finally call it quits.
Yet, having walked away from college without a second glance, modeling was her sole accomplishment, the only thing she really knew. Who would she become when she was no longer young and beautiful—when she was no longer a cover girl?
Her spine stiffened in response to the pathetic moment of fear and vanity. She smoothed her long, dark hair and straightened her shoulders. Screw it. Time to go have fun.
Three of David’s colleagues stopped her as she passed by the bar. Their alert, hungry eyes temporarily boosted her ego, so she spent several minutes with them while downing yet another glass of champagne.
Years of runway experience had trained her to recognize their Brunello Cucinelli and Armani suits, Fendi shoes, and Prada cuff links. Cat adored fine things, whether clothing, jewelry, or furniture. Yet it was Hank who, in his off-the-rack attire, made her skin feel tight and tingly whenever he passed by.
Why now, after all this time?
Determined to stop tracking his every move, she excused herself from the other men and retreated to her table, which suddenly seemed a million miles away.
David and Vivi started dancing to Ben Folds’s “The Luckiest.” Jackson slid his chair closer to Cat while keeping his eyes on the newlyweds.
“I still find this all a little hard to believe, but they’re damned happy.” He slung his arm around Cat’s shoulders. “Good for them.”
An undercurrent of melancholy simmered beneath his tone. Naturally, he refused to acknowledge or discuss it. Standard St. James behavior.
“You haven’t been traveling as much lately,” Jackson said, turning his attention away from the dance floor. “What’s up with that?”
Cat lifted a fifth glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and sucked it down. “I’ve been working closer to home.” She feigned a carefree smile to avoid a deeper conversation about her career. “I’m starting to consider some different opportunities.”
“Different opportunities. We could all use those, huh?” Jackson’s smirk and remark caught her by surprise.
“Really?” She’d envied his autonomy—the utter control he exercised over his destiny—so his tone of dissatisfaction caught her off guard. “What changes would you make?”
But he merely shrugged a shoulder before changing the subject. “Speaking of changes, how’s the new condo?”
“It’s okay.” She sighed when Jackson turned and waited for her to go on about the Lenox Hill unit she’d impulsively purchased in order to move before the restraining order against Justin expired. “Not enough closet space. When I brought you to see it before I made an offer, I’d assumed your home-building expertise would keep me from making a bad purchase. You failed me.” She playfully cocked her brow.
He threw back a large swallow of his drink. After setting the tumbler on the table, he covered her hand with his own. “You’ve got increased security there. That’s what matters to me.”
Cat nodded, although the anonymous “love” letters, e-mails, and tweets she received from men never spooked her as much as the real-life nightmare she’d experienced with Justin.