Authors: Jillian Leeson
I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t have Rose to come with me. I’m not close to the very few female friends I have, who are either from bike circles or The 99, and none of whom I can imagine shopping with me. My sister, however, went frantic when I asked her. Since nine this morning, she’s been dragging me around Midtown from one store to another, trying on dress after dress, but until now I haven’t come across anything remotely to my taste.
I decide to buy the dress, which will prevent me from more hours of shopping torture. But when I find the price tag, my heart stops. The price of this dress is enough to pay my rent for months.
“Whoa. I don’t think I should get this. Look at how much it costs,” I hiss.
Rose gives the tag a quick glance. “What’s the big deal? All the dresses here cost just as much, didn’t you notice? Anyway, just use the credit card.”
The day after Ryder and I had dinner at the shelter, I received a special delivery: an envelope containing the official invitation to the charity event, a platinum credit card, and a handwritten note.
Beautiful,
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re not going to accept the credit card. You’re going to say I’m buying you off. You’re going to say you’re not for sale.
I know you.
But do
you
know that I truly hate going to these events? The only reason why this one is going to be bearable, is that you will be by my side.
Please use the credit card to buy a dress, shoes—whatever you like. Afterwards, feel free to sell the clothes or give them away if that makes you feel better.
Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful.
R
I had to admit he was right. My immediate thought was not to accept the credit card; it would feel like payment for services rendered. But if I didn’t take it, I’d be doing exactly what he had predicted in that damn note. And if there’s anything that I pride myself on, it’s not being predictable. I decided right then to use the credit card, certain I could control my spending.
“Come on, Elle, you also need shoes. Let’s go.”
Rose pulls me away from the dress racks and leads me to the shoe department. It doesn’t take me long to find the perfect shoes: red-soled, five-inch-high black Louboutins, covered with small silver spikes. Again, the price tag makes me blink a few times, and at the cash register I swallow hard when the sales girl swipes the card for a four-figure sum. Who was I kidding, thinking I could curb my spending when shopping with my brand-conscious sister? My chest tightens and fills with guilt over wasting so much money on a dress and shoes. I really should try to sell them afterwards and donate the proceeds to charity.
After walking out of the store carrying our black-and-white shopping bags, Rose and I spend the next few hours having our nails and make-up done in some high-end beauty salon, and head to my place to get my hair done. Rose insists on doing it herself, once harboring the dream of becoming a hairdresser if it weren’t for our mother, smashing it to pieces.
While Rose is styling my hair, she starts asking me questions about tonight’s event, and I know she wants to wrest all the juicy details from me about Ryder. When I first asked her to go shopping with me, I had no choice but to tell her who I was going with. Her initial shock soon turned into excitement when she realized that my date was
the
Ryder she heard so much about from her friend.
“So…how serious are you two?” she asks, separating my hair into sections with clips.
“We’re just friends.”
Rose wraps a section of hair around the curling iron. “If you’re just friends, then why did he ask you out on a date?”
“It’s not a date. I’m doing him a favor because he helped me out.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s just not the type of guy I thought you’d fall for.” She loosens the curl and starts on a new section.
“I’m not—I’m not falling for him. I told you, we’re friends.”
I’m glad Rose is standing behind me, busy with the curling iron; at least she won’t notice the blush covering my cheeks. I wish it were true—that Ryder’s just a friend. It would make my life a lot easier.
“Sure you are. But I’ve never seen you get dressed up like this for a guy. I say, you’re in deep, sis.” She puts the curling iron on the table.
“No, I—I…”
“But you know what? I like seeing you like this, to see the change in you. This Ryder must be the right guy for you.”
Rose takes my hand and squeezes it, and although I feel like arguing with her, telling her she’s wrong, I keep silent, basking in the warmth radiating from her.
A text message alert on my phone breaks the silence.
There in 10.
“He’s almost here. We have to hurry.”
Trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, I shrug off my clothes, and Rose helps me into the dress and the ridiculously high shoes. After a last-minute make-up and hair check, she stands in front of me, wide-eyed.
“Wow, you look absolutely amazing. It’s like you’re a different person.”
A car horn beeps from outside the window, so I don’t have time to look at myself in the mirror. Holding onto my sister’s arm, I rush downstairs as fast as humanly possible with my impossible heels.
When we step out of the building, I spot the dark luxury car right away. Leaning against it is Ryder, looking utterly gorgeous in a tuxedo, complete with bow tie and white pocket square. I can’t look away and he can’t either, for his gaze travels up and down my body until his eyes lock with mine. He opens the car door and motions me to get in.
I am one step from getting into the car when my sister calls out, “Have fun!”
“Um, Ryder? That’s my sister, Rose.”
Ryder lifts his hand. “Good to meet you. Do you need a ride?”
Smiling, Rose waves at us. “No, I’ll be fine. You two have a great time.”
I wave back at her. “Thanks, sis.”
Carefully, I fold myself into the warm car—a Mercedes, I discover from the three-pointed star on the steering wheel—and sink into the soft leather seat. The door closes and a moment later, the car’s interior is filled with Ryder, with his cologne and the irresistible scent that is all him.
His dark eyes are on me, but I can’t read the expression within them.
“I don’t know how you do it, but you keep on surprising me.”
My brows draw together in a frown. What does he mean? Surely he is not disappointed in what I look like, especially after getting approval from my picky sister.
He lowers his voice. “You look stunning in that dress. I’m thinking of canceling tonight. No other man should see you in it, only me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, I hide my blush behind a curly strand that has fallen over my face. “Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating. It’s only a dress.”
Ryder tucks away the wayward hair behind my ear. “You’re right, that’s all it is—a dress. What it makes it look so beautiful is you.”
“Wait till you see the credit card bill.”
His lips curl into a smile. “You can spend it all. Anything for you, beautiful.”
Ryder guns the engine and we speed away, out of the city and onto the I-95 north. We don’t talk much, listening to some relaxing jazz music on the stereo, but I don’t mind—I am completely focused on what is in the confines of the car. Ryder’s deep, even breaths, his long fingers tapping on the steering wheel, the heat of his hand on my knee, the deep, sexy timbre of his voice when he’s humming along to Michael Bublé’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”.
I can’t remember how I managed to resist him in the first place—he has totally and utterly captivated me. I don’t notice the road, the traffic, not even crossing the state border to Connecticut. Only when he starts slowing down and I spot a sign for “Greenwich”, I know we’ve reached our destination.
Palatial mansions secured by hedges and ornate gates appear on each side of the wide leafy streets. We turn into an open wrought iron gate, and a uniformed attendant stops us before we can enter the driveway. Ryder opens the window and lifts his hand to the attendant, who greets him politely by name and waves us through. The long driveway is designed in such a way to dazzle visitors with the impressive sight of the enormous Georgian-style stone mansion with its opulent fountain in the middle of the courtyard.
When the car comes to a stop, a valet opens my door and while I try to step out without losing my balance, Ryder is next to me, offering me his arm. Cameras flashing all around us, we walk up the plush, red-carpeted steps to the white-pillared entrance. Without the death grip I’m exerting on his arm, I’m sure my legs would have given away underneath me. My heart is pounding in my ears as I blink at the looming foyer in front of me.
What the hell am I doing?
Brushing his hand over mine, Ryder leans over and whispers in my ear, “I’ll be with you all the way. I’m not leaving you out of my sight. Just take a deep breath.”
Putting on a forced smile, I do as he says and feel a little bit better. He nudges me forward into the high-ceilinged foyer lit by a sparkling crystal chandelier, and hands me a flute of champagne from one of the many trays floating around. A few sips of the chilled, crisp bubbly help calm my nerves, and I start paying attention to my surroundings.
We’re walking into a cavernous ballroom, filled with groups of impeccably dressed men in tuxedoes and women in long, glittery gowns, their polite conversation in tune with the classical music played by the string quartet beside the carved marble fireplace. At the far end of the room, three sets of French doors open up to a patio overlooking the lit pool area. Every few steps we advance further into the room, waistcoated waiters stop us to offer more champagne and an assortment of hors d’oevres from their trays.
Ryder shakes hands left and right with other tuxedoed men, who I assume are business associates, although none of them look half as handsome as he does. Perfect-looking women wearing revealing, figure-hugging dresses flash him seductive smiles, flutter their fake-lashed eyes at him, touch him intimately on the arm. I clench my jaw, trying to crush the burning in my chest. They look so right for him; shouldn’t he be dating one of them instead of someone like me, who clearly doesn’t belong here?
As if he can read my mind, Ryder slides his arm around my back, his hand settling around my waist, and turns away from the platinum blond who tries to peck him on the cheek. Gazing at me, he curves his lips into a devastating half-smile that turns me inside out, instantly quelling all my insecurities.
“Ryder! I thought you’d left me in the lurch.”
A short, bald man in his sixties holds out his hand to Ryder. It takes me a second, but then his face registers: it’s Rosenberg from the breakfast meeting. My stomach drops, and I look down at the floor. I hope to God he doesn’t recognize me.
“You know I wouldn’t miss tonight. There’s too much at stake.”
“We’ll have plenty of time of discuss business tonight. Aren’t you going to introduce me to that lovely lady of yours? This must be the first time I’ve ever seen you in female company.”
Ryder pulls me closer to his side. “This is my girlfriend. Elle, meet Martin Rosenberg.”
Blinking, I lift my head. He didn’t say what I think he did, did he?
Rosenberg shakes my hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I don’t know, you look sort of familiar. Have we met before?
Dazed, I ignore his question and look up to Ryder, who answers for me with a straight face, not giving anything away.
“That’s unlikely, unless you’ve been doing volunteer work in a homeless shelter recently.”
“Who, me?” Rosenberg holds his protruding belly while he lets out a cackling laugh.
An imposing, familiar-looking black woman in a navy power suit approaches us, and Rosenberg immediately straightens up.
“Congratulations on your appointment, ma’am. I just wanted you to know, I voted for you. Martin Rosenberg.” He stretches out his hand to her.
And then it hits me—she is Bernadette Williams, recently appointed mayor of New York City. Having won in a landslide victory, she promises to narrow the big gap between rich and poor.
“Why, thank you. I’m planning to make a difference, create opportunities for the people who need it the most. I heard you are working on a project that may be a good fit.”
“I am indeed. Let me introduce you to Ryder De Luca, who is the main sponsor of the project, and his girlfriend, who is an expert on homelessness. Ryder, please meet our wonderful new mayor.”
What the hell? Girlfriend, expert? At this point, I feel so overwhelmed that I can’t do anything but nod and shake hands. Ryder lets go of my waist, and I realize the mayor is one of the people he needed to meet tonight.
He clears his throat. “Mayor Williams, I’m honored to meet you. Our project is an important one for New York City. As you know, homelessness is one of our biggest problems. Sadly, the latest figures show that of the fifty-odd thousand homeless people in the city, more than twenty-thousand are children.
“Our project, once completed, will offer two hundred apartments for homeless children and their families, who are now relying on the city’s soup kitchens and shelters to get by. It is our vision not only to provide shelter, but also a new start in life. We will have employment agencies, banking facilities, counseling services, activity centers, and childcare facilities on site. We’re also looking to collaborate with schools to ensure the children have access to quality education. Each child or family will be assigned an adviser, who will offer personalized plans and support. This will be the first time child homelessness in our city is tackled at this scale.”
I’m completely blown away. Ryder has never mentioned this project to me, which is going to make a great impact on the kids I know from the soup kitchen. I can’t help but grin from ear to ear—I am so proud of him.