Come and get it, p.4
Come and Get It,
p.4
I exaggerate a sigh. “That’s what I get for letting you pick the ringtone.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to hear it. But when you do, we’ll pretend Priscilla has a broken nail.”
“Cat emergency. Got it,” I say.
“And now, onto other matters.” She points to the door. “May the great season of romance in Manhattan begin, Mister Modern-day Gatsby.”
It’s no accident I wore the literary-inspired costume to Spencer’s party the other week. That’s how I like to think of myself.
Whether or not he’s a likable character, I simply do not care. I only need to be likable enough to woo Manhattan’s singles, the ones hungry and willing to pay a hefty entry fee to attend my exclusive events. This city ought to throw me a party as the most successful matchmaker in all of Manhattan.
The how we met stories that feature my parties will soon outnumber all the “let me tell you about everything that went wrong on my last dates” tales that women share.
I want better for female-kind.
Whether Gatsby or I are likable hardly matters. I’m not on the market. But so many people are, and I can give them a chance at true happiness.
So why the fuck wouldn’t I?
As the clocks strikes eight, I nod to Coco, who hangs back by the piano.
She smiles, mouthing off you go.
The music swells with a little “Gershwin meets rap” mix befitting the mood. Channeling my inner Clooney in my tailored charcoal suit and crisp black shirt, I stride to the double doors. Swinging them open, I let in the first stream of intelligent people, outgoing people, nervous people, and, most of all, amorous people.
Fine, many are beautiful too.
A pack of women in short, slinky dresses enters, and I greet them all by name.
“Hello, Allison.”
“Good to see you, Lena.”
“Lovely dress, Priya.”
The men come next.
“How’s it going, Mateo?”
“You still owe me a hundred bucks from the hockey game, Sam.”
“Is that truly you in the flesh, Pieter?”
Soon, the plush living room teems with a sea of gorgeous humanity, and my hosts and hostesses start their jobs. I look around at the crowd, satisfied with the mingling, then I open the door again, greeted by two beautiful women. One redhead, one brunette. The auburn-haired beauty is Hazel Valentine.
Next to her is a woman who makes me do a double take. Chestnut hair falls in silky waves, curling over her shoulders. Skinny jeans hug her toned legs, burgundy heels make her taller, and a black top slopes off one creamy shoulder, inviting a kiss.
I can’t quite place her. But as my gaze zooms in on her mouth—red, lush, shiny—I wonder if Hazel’s plus one is someone I already know.
Perhaps someone I met a few weeks ago. Someone who slipped away.
Tonight, I vow to find out.
* * *
Easton and Bellamy’s romance continues in the full-length novel COME AGAIN . . .
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Contact
You can find Lauren on Twitter at LaurenBlakely3, Instagram at LaurenBlakelyBooks, Facebook at LaurenBlakelyBooks, or online at LaurenBlakely.com. You can also email her at laurenblakelybooks@gmail.com
Lauren Blakely, Come and Get It
