Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (77 page)

Love. All-consuming and overwhelming love. It was all I could do not to grab his face and kiss him full on the mouth … he looked so horrified.

‘Seriously, don't say another word,' I said. I moved my hand to touch his reassuringly, but I lost my nerve at the last minute and my fingers ended up awkwardly suspended above the table. Lucinda from
Magnate
would've been cool enough to pull off that move, but I, apparently, was not. ‘I think it's really great what you're doing. I can't imagine some of the things you must see every night. Ridiculous stuff, right?'

It was all he needed to hear. ‘Christ, it's incredible. All those people – they have so much money and so much time and don't seem to want to do anything but beg me to let them into these clubs every night,' he said. His eyes met mine.

‘It's got to be kind of fun, though, isn't it? I mean, people fall all over themselves trying to be nice to you,' I managed, too distracted by his gaze to think straight.

‘Oh, come on, Bette, we both know it's hardly like that. They kiss my ass because they need me, not because they know anything about me or like me as a person. I have a very short shelf life for respect and likability – namely, the few minutes between the time they arrive and the time they walk inside. They wouldn't remember my name if they saw me anywhere away from that velvet rope.'

The look of distress returned to his face, and I noticed how his forehead wrinkled when he frowned, and it only made him cuter. He sighed and I had a bizarre desire to hug him. ‘I have such a big mouth. Forget everything I just said. I really don't take the job all that seriously, so I shouldn't make it sound like it's a bigger deal than it really is. It's just a means to an end, and I can put up with anything if it'll get me closer to my restaurant one day.'

I was desperate for him to keep talking, saying anything about anyone just so I could continue to watch his perfect face and examine the way his mouth moved and his hands gestured, but he was finished. When I opened my mouth to tell him that I understood exactly what he meant and had never really thought of it from that perspective, he gently cut me off. ‘I guess you're just easy to talk to,' he said and smiled so sweetly that I had to remind myself to breathe. ‘I'd appreciate if you didn't mention any of this stuff to anyone at your office. It's just easier for me to do what I need to do without everyone, well, uh, you know.'

I sure did know. Without everyone knowing where you came from and where you were going, trying to decide at every moment if you fell into their own personal ‘worth knowing' or ‘safe not to acknowledge' categories. Without everyone angling for position or trying to manipulate the situation to their own benefit or slowly but surely chipping away at your confidence because it made them feel better about themselves. Uncle Will was joking when he always said, ‘If you can't have, discredit,' but most of this crowd weren't. Yes, I got it, loud and clear.

‘Of course. Totally. I understand completely. I, uh, I think it's really cool what you're doing,' I said.

Another blinding smile. Ah! I tried to think of something, anything, I could say that would elicit another smile, but one of us finally remembered that we were there on business.

He seemed completely recovered from any moment of vulnerability when he said, ‘I'm getting a coffee, and then we can figure out the event details. Can I get you something?'

I shook my head and pointed to my coffee cup.

‘No grande sugar-free vanilla extra-hot no-whip skim latte?'

I laughed and shook my head again.

‘What? You think I'm kidding? I actually order that fucking drink every time I come here.'

‘You do not.'

‘I do, I swear I do. I made it through twenty-some years of life being perfectly fine with a cup of regular coffee. Sometimes I had it light and sweet, and sometimes late at night I asked for it decaf, but it was definitely just coffee. Then a friend mentioned how good lattes were. Soon after that a girl from school announced that adding flavoring made it even better. The rest of it just followed, and it's gotten totally out of hand. I wish, just once, they'd refuse to make the damn thing, just say, “Get ahold of yourself, Sammy. Be a man and drink a goddamn cup of regular coffee.” But they never do and, alas, neither do I.' And with that, he was off.

I watched as the barista flashed him an undeniable I'm-yours-for-the-taking smile. I don't think I blinked the entire time he was gone, and I audibly exhaled when he reclaimed his seat next to me.

‘Okay, enough confessional for one day. Should we get this party worked out?' He brushed the back of his head, and I couldn't help thinking that I'd seen him do that a million times before.

‘Sure. What first?' I sipped my coffee and concentrated on looking cool and professional.

‘How many did you say the event is for?'

‘I'm not exactly sure, since I haven't put together a finalized list yet' – or any list, for that matter, but he didn't need to know that – 'but I'm thinking it'll be in the area of a couple hundred.'

‘And will Kelly & Company be bringing in its own people for everything or using ours?'

Again, not something I'd considered yet, but I tried to think back to past meetings and cobble together a semi-reasonable answer. ‘Well, I'll definitely be securing some sponsors, so I think we'll do alcohol but use your bartenders. I'm assuming we'll be using your, uh, your …'

‘Security?' he provided helpfully, somehow sensing my discomfort at using the word
bouncers.

‘Yes, exactly, although I'll have to check on that.'

‘Sounds good to me. As of now, only Lot 61 is free that night, but Amy may want to consider rearranging the schedule. Who will be hosting?'

‘Oh, uh, a guy named Philip Weston. He, uh, he's—'

‘I know who he is. Your boyfriend, right? I've seen you guys together a lot lately. Yeah, I'm sure Amy will be thrilled to hear that, so I wouldn't worry about Bungalow being free that night.'

‘No, no, he's certainly not my boyfriend,' I said as quickly as possible. ‘It's not like that at all. Actually, he's just this weird guy I sort of know who—'

‘None of my business, that's for sure. Guy always seemed like kind of an asshole to me, but what do I know, right?' Was that bitterness I detected? Or wanted to detect?

‘Yes, I suppose it's not any of your business, is it?' I said with such prissiness that he actually physically recoiled.

We stared at each other briefly before he looked away.

He took another sip of his coffee and began to gather his stuff. ‘Well, then, this has been fun. I'll check with Amy and get back to you about the venue. Assume it's fine. Like I said, who wouldn't jump at the chance to have Mr British Royalty himself throw a party, right? He's going to have to start tanning now if he has any hope of being dark enough in time.'

‘Thanks for your concern, I'll be sure to pass that along. In the meantime, you enjoy making your little puff pastries. I'll work out the details of the event on my own or directly with Amy, since as much as I enjoy being verbally attacked by you, I don't really have the time right now.' I stood up with as much steadiness as I could manage and began to lurch toward the door, already wondering how things had managed to go so terribly wrong in so little time.

‘Bette!' he called just as I was about to pull open the door.
He's so sorry. He just had a really long day and is under a lot of stress lately and hasn't been getting enough sleep and he didn't mean to take it out on me. Either that, or he's so wildly, insanely jealous of the fact that Philip and I are dating that he simply couldn't refrain from saying something nasty. Or perhaps a combination of the two,
I thought. Either way, I would of course forgive him when he begged for me to understand and apologized profusely.

I turned around, hoping all the time that he would rush toward me with a plea for forgiveness, but instead he was holding up something and waving it. My cell phone. Which naturally began ringing before I'd reached the table.

He glanced down and I spotted the tightness in his face before he forced a smile. ‘What a coincidence, it's the man of the hour. Shall I take a message for you? Don't worry, I promise to tell him we're on a jet on our way back from Cannes and not sitting at a downtown Starbucks.'

‘Give that to me,' I snapped, wanting to kick myself for programming Philip's number into my phone while yanking it from Sammy's fingers and noticing only briefly how nice it was to touch his skin. I silenced the ringer and tossed it in my bag.

‘Don't not answer on my account.'

‘I'm not doing anything on your account,' I announced. I looked back only once as I stormed out, only to see him watching me and shaking his head.
Not exactly how the same scene would've played out in
The Magnate's Tender Touch, I thought with not a little remorse. But I cheered myself up slightly with the rationalization that all new relationships – even the fictional ones – have obstacles to overcome in the beginning. I would not give up hope on this one. Not yet.

The rest of the day after the Starbucks encounter passed in a blur as I alternately obsessed over my bizarre fight with Sammy and Penelope's news that she was moving. Both of these, combined with the reality that I was entirely responsible for planning an event that was to take place in two and a half weeks, made me want to curl up with Millington and watch back-to-back showings of
When Harry Met Sally
on TNT. By the time I arrived at home, my small-talk quotient was rapidly approaching zero, and I still had to traverse the entire lobby to reach the elevator, where I would surely be accosted by Seamus. I'd managed to press the button and was silently rejoicing in my victory when he materialized, as always, out of nowhere.

‘Good day?' he asked with a huge smile.

‘Um, yeah, it was fine, I guess. And you?'

‘Fine sounds very different from good, Bette!' he was practically singing. What sort of vibe did I give off that said ‘Talk to me'?

‘I suppose it is different, but I think “good” would be an overstatement. It was definitively fine,' I explained, wondering if it'd be worth it to climb thirteen flights of stairs rather than wait for the elevator and endure the interim conversation.

‘Well, let's just say I have a really good feeling it's going to get better,' he replied with what was, unmistakably, a wink.

‘Mmm, really?' I said, desperately staring at the elevator doors and willing them to open. ‘That'd be nice.'

‘Yep, you heard it here first. I officially predict that your day is going to improve significantly within the next couple of minutes.' He said this with such certainty – and in that particularly rankling I-know-something-you-don't-know tone – that I actually looked up at him.

‘Is there something I should know? Is someone here?' I asked, both horrified and curious as to who might be staking out my apartment, waiting for me to get home.

‘Okay, well, I've said enough, that much is for sure!' he sang. ‘It's none of my business, of course. Time for me to get back to the door.' He tipped his hat and turned on his heels and I wondered if there was any possible way to ask him nicely never to speak to me again.

I knew exactly what he'd meant when I stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner to lucky number 1313. Resting against the door were the most gorgeous flowers I'd ever seen. My first thought was that they'd been mistakenly left in front of my door and were actually for someone else, but as I got closer, I could see my name written in black marker on the outside of the envelope that was nestled behind the cellophane wrapping. After accepting that it wasn't a delivery glitch, a second thought popped into my head immediately: they were from Sammy, who'd thought over everything that had happened earlier and wanted to apologize for his behavior. Yes! I knew he wasn't such a bad guy, and flowers were such a sweet, gentlemanly way of getting in touch to say he's sorry.
I'm sorry, too,
I mentally directed toward the flowers.
I don't know why I was so bitchy and nasty, especially since I haven't stopped thinking about you for one second since then. Yes, I'd love to meet you for dinner and put that whole stupid conversation behind us. And if you must know, I'm already beginning to envision you as the father of my future children, so we'd best be getting to know each other. How much our kids will love hearing that our lifelong love affair began with a fight and makeup flowers! It's almost so romantic I can't bear it. Yes, darling, yes, I forgive you and I apologize a hundred times myself and I know this will make us stronger.

I heaved the arrangement upward and unlocked the door, so delighted with this surprise that I barely even noticed Millington wrapping herself around my leg. Flowers always featured prominently in romance novels, which made receiving such a first-rate bouquet even more wonderful. There were actually three dozen roses in shades of bright purple and hot pink and white, all clustered tightly together in a short, round bowl that appeared to be filled with some sort of sparkling glass marbles. Completely absent was any sort of adornment – no ribbons, bows, filler greenery, or ugly baby's breath; it screamed simple and elegant and very, very expensive. The card wasn't the ordinary sort, either. It was a heavy cream vellum and I couldn't tear it from the purple-lined envelope fast enough. But it took only a split second for my eyes to find the signature, and when they did, I thought I might pass out.

Doll, I'll absobloodylutely host the BlackBerry event! We'll make it the poshest party of the year. You're brilliant. Big kiss! Philip

What?! I reread it a few dozen times to make sure my brain was correctly processing the words, and then I read it again because I still couldn't believe it. How did he know where I lived? How on earth did he know anything about the event when I hadn't even mentioned it yet? But more to the point, where was Sammy, with his declaration of undying love? I flung the card across the room, left the flowers on the kitchen counter, and flopped quite dramatically onto the couch. Within seconds, my cell phone and land line began ringing simultaneously, and a cursory check of each yielded even more disappointing results: Elisa on the cell and Uncle Will on the home phone. No Sammy.