Page 68 of A Searing Acquaintance
Darcy glared at his cousin. Sometimes Rich’s sense of comedic timing was off, and sometimes he was simply a prat. Before he could respond, Darcy’s desk phone buzzed. He pushed the speaker button.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, Sara?”
“Mr. Bingley called. He left you a message because he says you’re ignoring his texts.”
“Yes, Sara?” Darcy ignored his cousin’s guffaw.
“He says not to forget ‘the box’ on Saturday night. And be there by six o’clock.”
“Thank you. And please, head home. I’m finished here.”
Darcy sat back and looked at Rich. He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the expression of indignation on the other man’s face.
“You jackass! You’re already busy Saturday night, and you made me beg you for your assistance as a male escort?”
“‘Solitary man?’ Really, Rich?” Darcy scoffed. “You need to stop listening to your mother’s Neil Diamond records. And tell Jeter to stick to his models.”
Fashionably late was not in either Elizabeth Bennet’s or Fitzwilliam Darcy’s social vocabulary. Punctuality was, however, and both walked into the Empire State Building three minutes early. It took all of thirty seconds for them to lock eyes at the elevator banks.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
They flashed their special entry cards at the security guard and walked to the elevator set aside for private events. Half a dozen other people, members of the band and the catering staff carrying garment bags and guitar cases, joined them. Elizabeth and Darcy moved to the back of the elevator.
Darcy glanced over and saw that she was engrossed in a message on her phone. He sighed softly. He’d spent the day trying not to think about seeing her tonight. He hadn’t seen her since Memorial Day weekend. Six weeks, five days and too many hours remembering little nuances: the way she put an ice cube in her coffee, wrapped a Band-Aid on his finger, looked in her swimsuit. The latter was not a healthy thought to be having while she was standing inches away in a little black dress, and he could glimpse a silk bra strap. It was pink.Shite, man. Focus.
Why was all of this still so difficult? Hadn’t they talked, smiled, and laughed at Pemberley? He’d sat with her, listened to her fears, and driven her home. And now, all these weeks later, it was as though none of that had happened. Was it the book fiasco? That was fixed. He’d made sure of it—as much as he could. Still, it was a case of before and after that night at Netherfield. Any chance he’d ever had to know her, toreallyknow Elizabeth Bennet, had been destroyed by his unthinking ignorance, by his being smart and pushing her away because “he didn’t do this.” His stupidity and arrogance would never stop haunting him.
Darcy’s brow furrowed as he mulled over possible conversational gambits in a small box surrounded by strangers. “Would you eat them in a box?” flashed into his brain and he smiled.Green Eggs and Ham. Georgie had proudly, and very slowly, read it to him after he’d had his appendix out.
His smile did not go unnoticed. Elizabeth—relieved by the absence of a certain blonde despite Jane’s declarations that Darcy wasn’t seeing anyone—relied on meaningless text messages and e-mails to absorb her attention and keep her eyes off the man standing close beside her in his bespoke suit and perfectly trimmed sideburns. The subtle scent of his aftershave brought back unbidden memories of when he’d held her, shirtless, at Netherfield. But somebody had to say something.Here we are, both so very punctual and so very dateless. How politely inconvenient.No,she corrected herself,how nice an opportunity. Carpe diem.She took a breath.
“Come here much?” she asked, a small smile on her face. He looked so gorgeous in his gray suit that she couldn’t make eye contact. She had to avoid looking at that little curl of hair that needed tamping down. His tie, a muted swirl of blue and purple, held her attention.
Darcy ducked his head and laughed softly. “Um, no. Should I ask you what your sign is?”
Elizabeth laughed.“Did you remember ‘the box’?”
“Yes.” He then sheepishly admitted that he’d almost forgotten to bring along the all-important Tiffany’s box containing engraved his-and-hers key rings for the couple’s new apartment—Charles’s engagement gift to Jane.
Thoughts were canvassed on the lovely weather, the party venue, and the possibilities of tonal disaster from the collision of Charles’s bent for electronic music and Jane’s love of gentle love songs. A minute or two later, the elevator doors opened, and the pair followed the others out to the minimally decorated party room.
“Wow,” Elizabeth murmured as she scanned the walls of windows looking out upon Manhattan and beyond. “Who needs tissue garlands and flower pots when you have this view?”
“Brilliant views of the sunset,” Darcy agreed.
They spotted Charles and Jane huddled in the corner. He was pointing to the menu, and she was shaking her head. All they heard was the groom’s panicked complaint: “Caroline can’t eat scallops. She’s going to go ballistic if she thinks one even touched the other foods!”
Taking advantage of the amused look that fell across Darcy’s face, Elizabeth laughed. “Will she blow up like a puffer fish?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think her figure is threatened. I believe it’s her complexion.”
Elizabeth nodded knowingly. “Ah, and here I was hoping for a full-out Violet Beauregarde.”
Darcy laughed out loud, capturing the attention of Jane and Charles. He quickly stopped, and a guilty expression crossed his face.
