Page 9 of Insta-Hubby
“Let me clarify,” he says, his chin tipped down as he looks at me. “Have a drink with me tonight at Raines. I’ll pick you up with my driver. I have an important question I want to ask you.”
When he speaks, I feel a spear of heat between my legs.
“Why can’t you just ask me now?” I say.
“I want to take you out first,” he says.
Liam takes a card holder out of his pocket and slips out a business card, handing it to me as he begins to back up and walk away from me.
Liam Harmon, the card reads.Harmon Media Group.
“Just so you have my information,” he says. “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up tonight at eight.”
He starts to jog away down the sidewalk, and the group of women follows him. Just as he ran up to me, he runs away.
This man was hot. And it was definitely strange that he asked me out. And what was the question he wanted to ask me?
I look down at the card and take a bite of one of the pretzels, growing cold in its wax paper. Still tastes good, though.
Harmon Media Group.
Oh...that’show I know who he is.
He isn’t just on social media. His family is inallmedia.
Which means I just came face to face with one of the most elite, sought-after men in Manhattan.
And the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
* * *
Ididn’t tellMaggie about my date. I didn’t know how. I wouldn’t know what I’d even say.
When I got back inside the dress shop, the bride’s tears were dry. Her stomach was rumbling. We ate our pretzels with enthusiasm. Maggie didn’t want to share mine with me - she’s too concerned with remaining thin for that - though she did have a few things to say about the prospect of me getting bright yellow mustard on the dresses, even if they are samples.
Maggie pushed the original dress, and the bride happily purchased it. In two sizes bigger than she thought it should be.
I went home in a daze, and I think Maggie knew I was distracted for the rest of the day. I don’t know how she didn’t see the cacophony outside the shop, between the Vespa and Liam and the girls, but I guess she was just too busy doing a good job calming down her client.
As she should have been.
As soon as I got out of work and walked the four blocks to the subway, I texted Liam my address. I got a response back from him quickly.
West Village,it reads.You’re an artist on the side in addition to being a model?
No,I reply.Not a starving artist. Just poor.
I do make a decent salary, but between the insanely high rent in the city and my student loans, it’s hard not to feel poor. It might not be for everyone, but for me, it’s worth it to live in the best city in the world and have a job that’s mostly very fun.
And now I have a date. It’s just a date. It’s not a big deal.
Except that he has a question to ask me.
I get ready quickly when I get home from work, choosing a slinky, curve-skimming black dress that I save for special occasions like this. I don’t wear it often, but I think this qualifies.
It’s just a date, though. It’s not that big a deal.
Sure.
