Page 39 of Brassy Bigwig

He moved across the country because he thought something between us could work.

Do I give him another chance?

I shouldn’t.

On the other hand, I’ve been whining like a baby—and aching for his touch—for weeks. I’ve dreamt about finding him. Now that I have, and he’s the polar opposite of the person I fell for in Greece, I realize my fantasies over the last month were solely based on only one facet of many that make up Dimitrios Andino.

Do I want to stick around to find out if any of his other facets are as bad as—or worse—than the one I saw today?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.

I’m scared he’s going to turn out to be a horrible person. I’m scared he’s going to break my heart. I’m scared to walk away, never knowing what could have been if I’d only given him another chance.

I’m scared of losing myself. I’m scared of finding myself.

But mostly, I’m scared of living day-to-day, never feeling the passion he ignited inside of me ever again.

* * *

Okay, I have to hand it to Shelby. She may have been right. I feel like a fucking queen tonight. Stella worked magic only she can perform. My hair and nails look incredible, and the dress Shelby had delivered—last minute from Bergdorf's—is stunning.

I don’t know how she pulls things together like this all the time, but she doesn’t get hounded by bars, clubs, restaurants, designers, celebrities, and the like, who pay her to show up at their events, for no reason. This girl knows every in and out of the New York City social scene.

After we finished primping and getting gussied up, the driver she hired picked us up. Then it was dinner at Vine, the biggest up-and-coming restaurant in the city. With a waitlist two-months long, I don’t even know what Shelby had to do or say to get us in there.

But I was totally okay with whatever it was.

We finish the bottle of Moët & Chandon Imperial just as our driver pulls the limo alongside the curb in front of SMR. I’ll admit, I’ve had more to drink than I usually do, but Shelby keeps pouring me more. She’s been right about every other aspect of this evening, so bottoms up.

Reed is waiting outside for us when we pull up, and Shelby runs to him. They’re lip-locked in no time, and a part of me thinks our fun night has reached its peak. I didn’t know he was coming out with us tonight. I thought it was just going to be the two of us.

I don’t let myself wallow in disappointment for long. As soon as they break their kiss, he awkwardly waves to me, and the bouncer lets us through. I secretly smile at the sound of groans from the crowd who have been waiting to get in for hours, I’m sure.

The hostess leads us to the VIP section as soon as she sees Shelby. She presses the button on the radio in her ear as she walks, speaking to whoever is on the other end. When we get to the VIP area, our cocktail waitress meets us at the sofa in the back where we’ll be sitting with a bottle of Absolut Pinstripe Black. I’ve never had it. I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference between that and regular Absolut, but apparently, this is ‘top notch’ according to Shelby.

About an hour in, we’re surrounded by a ton of other people Shelby invited, unbeknownst to me. Models, socialites, entourages… Our girls' night out is quickly being invaded by strangers. I know Shelby means well, and I’m trying not to be ungrateful, but the more people who join us, the less fun I’m having.

Watching Shelby making out with Reed, I start to think about Tr—I mean Dimitrios again. It might be the alcohol talking—okay, I’m sure it’s the alcohol talking—but I miss him. I think part of the reason I was so angry with him today is because deep down, even I know I’m going to show up to the office on Monday.

As I look out into the crowd, I swear I see him there. Watching me.

No fucking way.

I look through the crowd, trying to find his eyes again, but he’s nowhere to be found. I know it’s not the alcohol talking now. Right? Is he really here?

Ugh, I don’t know.

But I do know I can’t sit here and watch them make out any longer.

“Shelby, let’s go dance,” I request.

She detaches herself from Reed and turns to me.

“Yes! But first, tootskis!” Shelby reaches for the bottle of vodka and pours each of us one.

Yes, Shelby even has a nickname for “shots”.

We cheers to one another again before downing the smooth, clear liquid and making our way to the dance floor as Reed follows us. I try to keep an eye out without making it obvious I am looking around for him.

---