Page 93 of Love Lessons
Be well. Have fun this weekend. I miss you already.
I.
There’s a photo printed below the note—and it’s a thirst trap! Sure, the shirt and tie are in the photo. Barely. Ian is leaning against his bed with the shirt unbuttoned. The tie is strung around his shoulders, as if he’s too sexy to actually put it on. And his eyes look out at me, full of sexy heat.
Damn that man. Damn his hurtful attitude on our last night in Italy.
Damn his sweet thank-you note.
I fold the letter again so I don’t have to look at it and shove it to the bottom of my stack of mail.
I can’t let him get into my head. Tomorrow night is the gala, and in a short while, I’m meeting Danforth in Manhattan to deliver his new tuxedo shirt. Not that it’s convenient. But Danforth asked nicely. He also told me to bring him a short stack of business cards, so that he’d have them at his office in case anyone might need a stylist.
It’s promising enough to get me on the subway even at the end of a busy week. After putting on a very carefully selected outfit, I hustle onto the train for a two o’clock coffee meeting at Danforth’s Park Avenue office tower.
When I reach the marble lobby, I hand over my ID. They give me a visitor’s pass and direct me to the 14th floor.
In the elevator, I check my makeup in the shiny steel doors. My daytime smoky eye is in full force. I’m wearing a plain black Burberry dress that I bought with my employee discount right before I quit the department store. And a pair of bright red patent-leather heels that my grandmother would have loved. My lipstick matches my shoes, and my hair is swept up into an elegant twist.
I’m strangely nervous, though. As if I were marching off to an important audition.
When the elevator doors part, I step out. My heart leaps to find Danforth waiting there beside the reception desk. Then it leaps again when he gives me a big smile.
I used to do anything for that smile.
Please,my inner voice chirps.Like you wouldn’t now?
“V! You look beautiful today.” He kisses my cheek hello, like the debonaire man that he is.
“Thank you.” I return his smile. “It’s been a busy day running around, trying to make all my clients happy.” I hand over the garment bag I’ve brought.
“Oh, I bet. Thank you for this.” He crosses the reception area to a coat closet and deposits the shirt inside. “Now let’s get some coffee. There’s a cafeteria down on the tenth floor.”
Well, it’s not exactly the cozy sit-down I’d envisioned. But he’s probably very busy.
In the cafeteria, Danforth uses his corporate ID to pay for two cups of coffee before leading me to a table by the window.
We sit down on opposite sides of the table. When he lifts his coffee cup, I marvel at how familiar his hands are to me, with their long, elegant fingers. We used to hold hands on all our many dates across the city.
Danforth is objectively handsome. His skin is a warm, coppery brown, and he has thick black hair and a model’s bright smile. He’s a lovely blend of his Pakistani mother and his Italian father.
“How’s your nonna?” I ask. He has one of those, too.
“Good, good,” he says. “How’s yours?”
I blink. “Shedied, Danny. A year after you left. You sent me a card.”
“Oh God!” His eyes widen. “Of course she did. I’m sorry, V.” He sounds genuinely horrified to have forgotten.
But yikes. I guess he didn’t spend nearly as much time thinking about me as I did him after he left.
And you’re surprised about this?
Well, no.
“How’s business?” he asks now. “Do you like making your own hours?”
“I do, except I think I’m working twice as hard. Oh! The cards.” I pull my stack of business cards from my bag and set them in front of him.
