Page 42 of When Glitter Meets Gold

“Wait, what? You will? Oh, thank God!” she says in the most relieved voice. “Are you sure?”

I sigh. “Yeah, I told you, the fake hike was the start of the new me.”

Amber makes a squealing noise that makes the speaker crackle, before clearing her throat. “I just watched Raj send you the invite, and I’m not taking any chances that you pass it on to someone else. It’s not like Kandi will offer up a place for me.”

I slide down on the sofa, feeling my sweater wrinkle up my back as a prolonged groan hums from my throat. “Ugh, of course she got an invite.”

“Actually, Drew got the invite and Kandi talked him into taking her,” Amber says his name carefully. “Anyway, I just wanted to ask if I can borrow that dress with the low-cut front? The black one? I’m in the mood to attract a nice investment banker for the weekend.”

I laugh because Amber says this every time we go out together, yet when it actually comes down to the dating part, she bails due to the fact that most of them turn out to be jerks.

“You know, there might be other guys apart from investment bankers. Perhaps a nice baker, or a dog groomer. There are no terrible dog groomers.” I bite my bottom lip as I realize I’ve dipped the sleeve of my sweater into a half-consumed bowl of granola.

Only it’s notmysweater. It’s the one Jack gave me. I threw it on because it’s made of an insanely comfortable material, and it has the perfect oversized fit for ultimate lounging. I should take it off, or at least run the thing through a wash cycle, but there’s something about it, something more than just the material that brings me comfort. Perhaps it’s the victory of surviving a night in the wilderness.

Amber barks out a laugh. “Sara. Midas is part of theVandenbergGroup. Which means it’s overpriced and disgustingly ostentatious. The clientele will reek ofonlyinvestment bankers. Maybe even some real estate types too, come to mention it.” She pauses to scoff, “Midas. I bet the toilet seats are made from gold. I’ll bet that Vandenberg dude named the place after his deluded perception of himself.”

Vandenberg.The name’s all over the city, mostly due to the corporation’s speedy ability to storm the restaurant and real estate scene over the last few years. They swallow up property in the most elite neighborhoods, turning them into multimillion dollar establishments almost overnight. The city’s crawling with their investments. Midas will just be another swish bar to add to their already impressive portfolio.

“Definitely,” I say as I kick off the sofa and head toward my bedroom to change out of the sweater.

“Obviously.” Amber exhales before adding, “But we’ll totally take his free drinks and lavish entrees in the name of work, right?”

“Right,” I agree before clicking theI acceptlink in the email. “Golden toilet seats, here we come.”

18

SARA

Atall blonde with a sleek blowout, red clear-framed glasses, and a crisp white pants suit checks off our names on her tablet before signaling to a broad-shouldered man to unhook a rope from golden pillars.

Photographers line the barriers, awaiting the next celebrity, while we shuffle in too-high heels across the crimson carpet that leads to the glowing world of Midas. A man cradling a lens longer than my forearm makes a quick assessment of my outfit before deciding I’m worth a couple of tired clicks.

Amber pinches my arm while I stifle the grin that’s itching to roar onto my face, because yes, I’m taking that as a very big compliment.

My dress is silver, decorated with tiny sparkling embellishments that glitter like snowflakes. It hugs my figure all the way down to the floor, only flaring out at the train that kicks out behind me.

The inside of the club is a sea of high cheekbones and eight-hundred-dollar haircuts, and I realize the deeper wedelve, the harder it becomes to spot someone who isn’t either famous or high on a list of New York socialites.

The lights are dimmed to low, the space predominantly illuminated by one continuous ribbon of warm LED lighting that swirls and overlaps on the high ceiling.

The place is all sharp edges and polished surfaces, with long stretches of black countertops with golden detail bled into the marble. Furniture has been arranged with precision that borders on neurotic, all with low backs and monochromatic accents.

The art is modern, tasteful. Greek statues and powerful paintings of gods and goddesses. Fierce, yet beautifully elegant.

When we reach the center of the room, a waiter approaches, bearing a tray of drinks in tall-stemmed martini glasses.

“Midas martini?” he calls above the thrum of music accompanied by a deep bass.

Amber and I immediately reach for a glass.

“What makes it a Midas martini?” I ask.

“The gold, of course.” The waiter winks, his dark eyes flashing to our drinks before he disappears into the growing crowd.

I cast my glass under the downlight of the nearest painting, and sure enough I spot minute shavings, twirling and glimmering like tiny gold bullions inside my glass.

“Not the first bar on the Upper East Side to pull this.” Amber shrugs as she clinks her glass against mine before she samples the drink. A moment later she’s running her tongue across her top lip, eyes swelling with delight. “But undeniably the best. These are delicious.”

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