He shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll just figure something out.”

  We eat the rest of our dinner in terse silence. Every scrape of our forks is louder than the last. When I load my dish into the dishwasher, it sounds like a bomb detonating.

  I invite him to stay the night while, in my head, I actively hope he declines the offer. Maybe he can sense my true feelings because he shakes his head and claims he has an early morning anyway, just like I do. He kisses my cheek at the door, and he leaves.

  After I put away the leftovers and wipe up the kitchen, I open my bedroom door to find Moira completely splayed out on my pillow like the Queen of Sheba, the tip of the shrimp’s tail dangling out of her closed mouth. She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed that her lady parts are on full display.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “He’s gone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Scarlett

  I love costume parties, but I especially love costume parties planned by my mother. All the passion I channel into law, she channels into entertaining. She’s been throwing Elwood Hoyt parties since before I was born—hell, I was probably born because of an Elwood Hoyt party. She has such a knack for turning a forgettable event into something spectacular and noteworthy. It helps that she has a team of party planners on the company payroll, of course, though the vision is all her.

  She’s been sending me pictures of the event setup all day. The party coordinators rented out the rooftop deck of the St. Regis and had a crew in here first thing, creating the most over-the-top magical menagerie, replete with circus tents housing each of the four bars, sweeping floral arrangements that arch into the sky, and antique circus stalls filled not with animals, but with Cirque du Soleil performers painted and decked out to become animals. It’s sexy and fun and when I walk inside, I’m greeted by a fire breather blowing a plume of flame just over my head. I know it’s going to be a great night.

  “You’ve seriously outdone yourself,” I tell my mom, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

  She only returned from Europe a week and a half ago, and she’s managed to get everything just right for the party. I have no idea how she does it.

  “Looks great, Katherine,” my dad says lovingly while holding on to her shoulder, delicately enough that his hand drapes partly against her neck.

  They’ve dressed for the theme, of course. My dad is a ringmaster. My mom sourced the suit from France. She said she found it at one of the markets and it sparked the inspiration for this year’s party. He looks the part, as if I snapped my fingers and drew him here from the 1930s.

  A clown walks past us, pauses, and returns to entertain us with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He slips the eccentric yellow top hat off his head and digs his hand inside. I think he’s about to draw out some never-ending rainbow scarf when instead, he presents each of us with the evening’s signature cocktail.

  My mother’s is yellow, my dad’s is blue, and mine is pink. There’s a color-coordinated ball of cotton candy my mom tells us we have to eat fast or it’ll dissolve into the drink. A laugh of delight spills out of me as I hurry to eat the sugary pink treat, which I was expecting to be bubblegum flavor but instead tastes like champagne heaven.

  “Mom!”

  She laughs and shrugs one shoulder like it’s nothing.

  She’s dressed up like Lillian Leitzel, the German-born acrobat who famously performed for the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. She’s wearing a tight dress that flares out at her hips like a demure tutu. Her legs are wrapped in tights, and her shoes are pale pink ballet flats that tie up around her ankles. I hope I’m half as stunning as she is when I’m older.

  No one else is dressed to theme, of course. None of us knew what we were about to walk into, so there are all the usual suspects floating around: a vampire beside a cat, a bloody Jason in his telltale white mask chatting up a Barbie and Ken duo.

  “Did Jasper say he was going to meet you here?” my mom asks coolly.

  “He said he was going to try,” I reply with a smile. “He’s having dinner with his parents first.”

  Before they can prod any further about the Jasper situation, a photographer dressed like a mime motions for us to get close for a picture. Just as he snaps it and my eyes adjust to the flash, I see Hudson over near one of the bars. He’s wearing a super realistic-looking flight suit with aviators tucked into his collar. It’s silly that he looks so handsome considering it’s just a costume, but quite frankly he looks like he just walked off the set of Top Gun and it’s fulfilling some kind of weird fantasy I didn’t even realize I had until this very instant.

  Barrett and Nyles haven’t arrived yet, but they swore they’d be here. I could really use them right about now because my mom and dad are immediately swept up into conversation, leaving me on my own just as I spot the other first-year associates clustered together in a group nearby.

  Kendra is dressed as a cat—she’s the fourth one I’ve seen so far—and Makayla is a Handmaid, but I can’t really tell what everyone else is supposed to be. The guys aren’t in costumes at all, which I’m sure they’re regretting now because this is not a party where you show restraint. All the senior associates and partners have gone all out. It just makes it seem like the first-years take themselves way too seriously.

  “Is that Dorothy?”

  I spin around just as Barrett and Nyles walk into the party beneath the floral arch dressed as the Tin Man and Scarecrow. I gasp, totally in shock. I mentioned to Barrett the other day that it seemed like Jasper was going to skip the party. Maybe he could tell I was a little hurt by it, but I never thought they’d go to the trouble to do this!

  The photographer hurries back to take our picture just as they join me. He captures a picture of Nyles wrapping me up in a tight hug, and I already know I’ll want a copy to frame. I mean, they really went all out. The costumes look homemade. While the photographer snaps away, I try to figure out the logistics of Barrett’s Scarecrow costume.

  “Did you stuff your overalls with real hay?”

  “Yes! That’s what a scarecrow is, city girl!”

  Nyles didn’t half-ass it either. He’s painted his face and neck and hands so his deep olive skin is covered with silver paint.

  “You know the real actor was hospitalized from the aluminum makeup they used on set,” I tell him, peering closer to try to discern what he used. Whatever it is, it’s completely covered his skin. He’s applied it so well it blends into the little tin hat he’s pinned to his hair. Usually, it’s jet black, but tonight he’s sprayed it silver.

  Nyles laughs. “Don’t worry, I skipped the aluminum, sis. Now where can I get one of those fancy drinks you’re holding?”

  “Find a clown.”

  His eyes cut to me with suspicion. “What?”

  I smile. “I’m serious. One of them pulled it out of his hat, though I’m sure you can do it the traditional way and just order one from the bar.”

  Nyles takes me on his arm, and we follow behind Barrett. The two of them save me. For the next hour, we mix and mingle. Barrett introduces me around to the senior associates and partners from other departments I haven’t had a chance to meet yet. For the most part, everyone is kind. There was one guy who was slurring his words and made a point to tell me I was the “hottest Dorothy he’d ever seen” before Barrett intervened and pulled me away. Apparently the guy is already on his last leg with the firm anyway. I doubt we’ll bump into each other again, tonight or ever.

  “For the record,” Nyles says quietly, “you are the hottest Dorothy, and don’t you forget it.”

  I laugh and scrunch my nose at him, realizing just then that Barrett and Nyles have unintentionally pulled me into a group of attorneys that happens to include Hudson.

  I notice him right away, but he doesn’t notice me. He’s across the circle, holding the neck of a beer, chatting with the man on his right. Well, chatting is a strong word. The man is talking at Hudson, and Hudson is pretending to listen. I notice now that his flight suit is unzipped just enough to reveal a glimpse of his tan chest. I realize I’m chewing on my bottom lip, and suddenly, I release it, appreciative of the long-wear red lipstick the makeup artist used on me.

  I’m not surprised he hasn’t spotted me. We’re not in a perfect circle; that’s not the way it works at parties. I’m stuck a little behind Barrett’s shoulder, sandwiched behind him and Nyles. The party has really picked up in the last hour; the rooftop is packed with Elwood Hoyt employees, invited guests, and all the performers. They’re the best part. At any moment you might cross paths with a knife-eating enchantress or a juggler on stilts or a magician ready to steal the diamond right off your ring finger.

  “Jansen, have you had the chance to meet my sister? She’s a first-year in your department.”

  Jansen—the guy I saw in Hudson’s office a few weeks ago, the one who had to hurry home to help his wife put his children to sleep—turns in my direction with a nod. “Scarlett, yes. We’ve seen each other around but I haven’t been formally introduced. You’re on Hudson’s team, right?”

  We shake hands as I nod and smile. “I work primarily with Sophie, but yes, technically, I’m under Hudson’s umbrella.”

  It’s like every time we say his name, we’re casting a spell. I check to see if he’s aware we’re talking about him, but he’s still caught up in conversation with the man on his right.

  “Whoa!” someone shouts from behind me. “How’d you do that?! Babe, he took my watch right off my wrist!”

  The commotion draws Hudson’s gaze. He looks up, only instead of finding the person who shouted, that piercing brown gaze lands on me. I go rigid as my stomach squeezes tight. There are a dozen people separating us, and yet the heated friction feels like it’s eating away at me. He doesn’t look away. He should…and he doesn’t.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the men around me. “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  I turn and run like I’m actually running from something when really what I’m fleeing from at top speed is that feeling in the pit of my stomach, that curling need I’ve never felt before, not from my current boyfriend, not from any ex-boyfriend. I feel shamed by it and yet I can’t make it stop. Every day, it grows worse.

  I misjudge my route and end up curving near the group of other first-years by mistake. Ugh. A few of them catch sight of me and laugh. I feel their judgment like a bad sunburn, but honestly, what’s funny, Danny? I’m in costume and you’re wearing a wrinkled button-down with jeans you bought in high school, so who’s really winning?

  “Dorothy?” One of them barks out a loud laugh.

  But Kendra, noticeably, stays quiet for once. She’s in costume too—barely. The cat ears and whiskers are a total copout. She watches me pass the group, and I duck my head and keep it moving.

  When I leave the bathroom—after I’ve touched up my makeup and stalled (literally in the stall) as long as possible—I know I can’t go back to Nyles and Barrett if they’re still in that group with Hudson, which leaves me to wander aimlessly in search of my parents. I should have known they’d be the center of attention. A magician is performing a trick for my dad while everyone huddles close.

  “A cocktail?” a passing waiter asks me, but I smile and shake my head. If I have another, I’ll be teetering haphazardly on these heels, making a fool of myself. As it is, I’m just slightly buzzed, tingly, happy.

  I walk around the edge of the party, behind one of the big top circus tents so I’m mostly shielded from the other partygoers. I don’t want my coworkers to see me standing over here by myself.

  I reach for my phone and check to see if Jasper has called or texted. The last we talked about it—two days ago—he begrudgingly said he’d try to be here, but now that it’s past 10:00 p.m., I highly doubt he’s going to show. He went to dinner with his parents at 6:00; there’s no way they’re still at the restaurant. He’s had plenty of time to change into his costume and head over, if he even has a costume. I called the shop yesterday to ask if the lion costume had been picked up.

  “It’s still here, and unfortunately, your hold expires after lunch. Sorry, store policy around Halloween.”

  I couldn’t argue with the clerk, and I wasn’t about to pay the outrageous rental fee for a costume Jasper probably wasn’t even going to wear anyway. I thanked them for putting it on hold in the first place and hung up.

  Now, I call Jasper, holding the phone up to my ear as I look out over the railing. This rooftop has one of the best views of anywhere in the city, almost better than our office, especially with how close we are to the harbor and riverwalk. People are boozin’ and cruisin’ out on the blue water. All the big yachts are out along the river.

  Jasper’s phone rings and rings, and I feel silly hanging on to hope until the last moment, when it cuts to voicemail.

  “You’ve reached Jasper Beringer. Leave a message.”

  I don’t. I hang up and slip my phone back into my Toto purse just as someone comes to join me at the balcony railing. I want it to be Hudson so bad that when I look and find it really is him, I almost don’t believe it at first.

  His scent lingers between us. I hate that I know it’s his scent. Subtle, citrusy, it binds me like an ever-tightening rope.

  I could talk first, but this feels like a challenge. He came to me, but he didn’t strike up a conversation. It’s confusing. He’s close enough that it doesn’t feel totally accidental, but at the same time…I’m not absolutely certain he realizes I’m standing here.

  We’ve been circling each other all night. At certain moments I’ve felt his gaze on me, though every time I turn to find him, he’s focused on his own conversation, circulating through guests, surprisingly social for a man who seems to want nothing to do with people most of the time.

  I take on his same posture, leaning on the railing. I get the impression he could hold out all night, could stand here for hours without saying a single word. The thought alone drives me insane.

  I break first.

  “You dressed up.”

  That’s when I realize something. My head whips around quickly, finding Lucy talking to my mom. I didn’t realize it before, but they’re matching! Lucy’s also in a Top Gun flight suit.

  “Was it Lucy’s idea?”

  His gaze cuts to me, almost regretfully, as he nods. “She ordered them.”

  I smile. “Cute. I love it.”

  He shrugs, indifferent. “I swear I catch her watching that beach scene from Top Gun: Maverick at least once a week on YouTube.”

  Can’t say I blame her…though why she’s bothering with Miles Teller when Hudson is right there, flesh and blood is beyond me. He’s much sexier.

  I flush like my thoughts were just shouted out loud, and then I busy myself looking for another waiter. I was planning to cut myself off, but…

  “Dorothy, huh?” Hudson asks.

  I tap my heels together in reply, eliciting a dimpled smile from him.

  He takes in my legs, and I feel compelled to explain, “The dress was longer when I tried it on in the shop.”

  “Hmm.” He doesn’t sound bothered. “People are wearing less.”

  His gaze rises to the circus performers behind me, the ones who are all but naked in their cages.

  “That’s not comforting.”

  He looks back at me, and a sort of relief settles over his expression. I get the sense that he’s been dying to do this all night—just stand here with me, having a simple conversation. “You have long legs. That’s the problem.”

  I look down at my legs. They’re covered in white stockings up to my knees. He’s assessing those too.

  “Should we be talking about my legs?” I ask, working up the courage to peer up at him.

  He looks away and narrows his eyes out on the river. “Probably not.” Then he takes another sip of his beer.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking at all.”

  “Okay.” The suggestion doesn’t bother him in the least.

  He really is the worst opponent to go up against because he isn’t bluffing; he truly doesn’t care about any of this. I wonder what makes him tick, if there’s anything for him outside of work.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered these same things. I’m inexhaustibly curious about this man, and the more silent he is, the more indifferent he acts—the more I want to peel him apart layer by layer. Where does he live? What does he do when he gets home from work? Does he watch TV? Does he even own a TV?

  Am I as mysterious as he is?

  The thought makes me choke back a laugh.

  Dorothy, you already know the answer to that.

  “Looks like you’re missing your lion… You’ve only managed to wrangle the scarecrow and the tin man.”

  Ha. If only he knew the full story.

  “The lion canceled last minute.”

  He shakes his head sympathetically. “How very cowardly.”

  I try to hide my smile by looking down. He turns his body so his hip leans against the rail, and his full attention rests on me in an unnerving way. Everything about him is so intense, from the sharp angles of his jaw to the smolder in his gaze.

  I’m left trying to keep things light between us, bringing up subjects that feel safe—though I’m not sure why. We’re not alone; we’re at a party surrounded by hundreds of people.

  “It’s sweet that you dressed up with Lucy.”

  He balks. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “So she wears the pants in your relationship?” I tease.

  “One hundred percent.”

  He watches the smile spread across my lips, staring a beat too long.

  “Where’s Jasper?”

  I rear back at his question. “Jasper?”

  “Your boyfriend,” he says with a pointed flare of annoyance.

  I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe he a) knows I have a boyfriend and b) happens to know his name. I suppose he gleaned all of this a few weeks back when Jasper came to collect me from his office, but I didn’t think it’d stick with him or anything.