Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (99 page)

‘Mmm, I see.' Will looked troubled for a moment but then uncrinkled his forehead. ‘I'm sure you know what you're doing, darling. Any plans to see him again?'

‘Actually, yes. I have to stop by an
In Style
party tomorrow night, and he'll be working. He asked me to get coffee with him afterward.'

This seemed to satisfy Will. ‘Excellent. Do send him my best.' He folded his hands together and leaned forward like an eager girlfriend waiting for the latest update. ‘I command you to invite him to brunch next Sunday,' he said as Simon finally arrived.

‘Sammy? Ooh, great idea! It'll just be the four of us. Give us a chance to really meet this young man,' Simon chimed in. Clearly, my big secret relationship with Sammy was nothing of the sort.

‘As great as that sounds, guys, Sammy cooks brunch on Sundays at Gramercy Tavern, so he can't come to ours. Maybe another time,' I added when they looked crestfallen.

‘Well, perhaps we'll make our way over there,' Will said halfheartedly. ‘I hear it's a decent meal.'

Simon nodded unenthusiastically. ‘Yes, why don't we? That sounds quite nice. At some point …'

And finally, blessedly, the conversation shifted to their upcoming trip to the Caribbean, and I was left to sit silently, feigning interest while I dreamed about my romantic, late-night coffee date with my new boyfriend.

Monday was a blur. I was so excited to see Sammy after work that I floated through the day in a dream-like state. I recalled not one subject that we discussed during the morning meeting, and even though I'd sat through the entire thing, I had to ask one of the List Girls to make me a copy of the notes she took so I could familiarize myself with what had been covered. The office was in full mobilization mode now that the
Playboy
party was rapidly approaching, and even though I was officially in charge, I couldn't concentrate. I ducked out at lunch to get a manicure. At three, I announced I was grabbing coffee, but I actually bolted to the tailor to pick up the sexy cocktail dress I'd gotten over the weekend, which was now newly shortened. By the time six o'clock rolled around, I started mumbling lies and weaving unintelligible stories about my parents, Uncle Will, a sick friend – anything that would allow me to leave early and have a full couple of hours to get home, decompress, and groom myself to within an inch of sanity. I emailed Kelly and Elisa that I'd be able to check out the
In Style
party that night and report back the next day, and then I walked out of the office at exactly six-thirty.

The evening disappeared in a whirlwind of primping activity (including shaving, scrubbing, plucking, filing, brushing, painting, and moisturizing), and by the time the cab pulled up to Bungalow, I was nearly breathless with anticipation. Will had hustled me off to Bergdorf's after brunch the day before and insisted on buying me the gorgeous Chaiken dress. It had a magical empire waist that made my own midsection look nonexistent, a skirt that flowed gracefully down to my knees. I'd never before owned a single item quite that gorgeous or expensive; from the moment I'd zipped it on an hour earlier, I just knew that the night was going to be special.

Sammy's expression as I stepped out of the taxi didn't disappoint. I watched him as his eyes covered the distance from my sparkly silver heels to the super-glam chandelier earrings Penelope had bought me for my last birthday. His smile grew wider until he finally finished looking and said, ‘Wow.' It was followed by something that sounded like a low moan, and I thought I might die of happiness.

‘You like it?' I asked, resisting the urge to twirl around. By some miracle, we were alone on the sidewalk, the last of a group of smokers having just ducked back inside.

‘Bette, you look absolutely beautiful,' he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it.

‘Thanks! You look pretty good yourself.'
Breezy and light,
I kept reminding myself.
Keep it breezy and light, and leave him wanting more.

‘Are we still on for later?' he asked, giving a ‘one-second' gesture to two girls who'd just approached the velvet rope.

‘Sure. I'm up for it if you are. …' My words were casual, but it took tremendous control for me not to choke with hopefulness.

‘Definitely. If you don't mind waiting, I can probably be out of here by one. One-fifteen, latest. I know a good place nearby.'

I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't going to cancel. No matter that one
A.M.
was still a solid four hours away, or that I'd be a zombie at work the next day. None of it mattered one tiny bit because in a survivable period of time, I was going to be tucked into a corner booth with my head resting on Sammy's strong, solid shoulder, sipping my tiny espresso and laughing girlishly at the delicious things he'd be whispering in my ear – things like how it was time that each of us end whatever ‘situations' we had with Isabelle and Philip so we could be together, fully and with honesty; how he'd never met anyone who understood him as well as I did; and how it was so incredible that we'd known each other as kids back in Poughkeepsie. He'd tell me that it wouldn't be easy – us being together, what with the social and professional pressures we'd both face – but that we had something worth fighting for, and he was ready and willing. I would pretend to think this all over, nodding occasionally and cocking my head at certain words, as if to say, ‘Why, I can see what you mean,' and when I finally looked up at him and agreed that yes, this was all sounding like a good idea, he would pull me toward him and kiss me, at first softly and then with more urgency. From that moment on we'd be together in every sense of the word, best friends and lovers and soul mates, and while there'd surely be challenges, we'd get through it all side by side. I'd read the same story play itself out so many times in my novels that I could barely believe I finally had my own real-life version.

‘Sure, that sounds great.' And before he could change his mind or say another word, I gracefully (I hoped) sashayed past him, opened the door myself, and glided into the packed room.

One o'clock rolled around with surprising swiftness. I capitalized on my good mood by circulating around the room, chatting first with Elisa and then Davide and then a few guys I knew peripherally through Avery. Nothing could ruin my night, not even catching a glimpse of Abby, skulking in a darkened corner beside the bar. She caught me looking at her and before I realized what was happening, she was standing next to me, hugging me in greeting. I pulled myself away and took a step back, examined her face as though I were trying to place it, and then simply turned around and walked away. For a split second she called out my name and tried to follow me, but I stuck my right hand in the air as I walked in the opposite direction, and by the time I reached Kelly & Company's table, she had disappeared. I'd just calmly poured myself a glass of champagne when Sammy walked over and motioned that he could leave.

We walked for nearly ten blocks before reaching a tiny diner that still had Christmas candles in its windows. He held the door for me and then chose a small corner booth – just like I'd envisioned. I blew on my hands to warm them, and when I wrapped them around my mug of hot chocolate, Sammy placed his own over mine.

‘Bette, I have to ask you something,' he said, his eyes meeting mine directly.

I nearly gasped but was able to control my breath.
Ask me something? Ask me what? Ask me if I am dating anyone else because you think now would be a good time to stop? Ask me if I can actually see myself being your lifelong partner? The answer is yes, yes, of course, Sammy, but isn't it a tad early for that discussion?
I was considering all of these possibilities and more when he said, ‘I need to ask for your patience.'

That sort of brought things to a grinding halt.
My patience?
I didn't know for sure, but that didn't sound like the opening of a commitment conversation to me. At least not the way it happened in any self-respecting romance novel.

As usual, any previous command I had of the English language had vanished.

‘My patience?' I repeated.

‘Bette, I want to make this work – more than anything – but I need you to be patient with me. I got a phone call this morning that blew me away.'

‘What kind of phone call?' I asked. This was
definitely
not good news.

‘From a lawyer. Some partner at a huge firm in midtown. He said he represented some investors who might be interested in backing a new restaurant. Apparently, they have a stake in a bunch of different businesses, but no restaurants right now. They're looking to get behind a hot new chef – his words, not mine – and they're considering a few different options. He asked if it sounded appealing to me.'

Well, I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. Luckily, I remembered that I was expected to react. ‘Congratulations!' I said automatically. ‘That's just great news, don't you think?'

He looked relieved. ‘I do – of course I do. It's just that if I want to pursue this, I'm going to be crazy busy. They want me to write up a pitch covering all my ideas on possible spaces, themes, decor, even preferred prep and sous and pastry chefs. I'd have to give them all that – and three entirely different menu proposals – in the next month.'

I finally understood the ‘patient' part.

He continued, ‘I barely have any time as it is with work and class, but this is going to take every possible free second I can find. The good news is that it'll allow me to put the brakes on the whole Isabelle situation, which is a huge relief, but I'm going to be busier than ever. I wouldn't ever ask you to wait for me, but, well, if there's any way you could understand that—'

‘Don't say another word,' I said, leaning in toward him across the table. ‘I understand completely, and I couldn't be happier for you.' I forced myself to say what I knew was right, and when I was rehashing the conversation later on, back in my own apartment with Millington on my lap, I congratulated myself on getting the words out. It wasn't what I'd hoped to hear, that much was sure, but like every single heroine I'd ever read about, I would fight for what I wanted.

I managed to smile at Sammy even though he looked genuinely distraught. ‘You'll be great,' I said. We held hands across the table, and I squeezed his as I said this. We finished our drinks and I held back the tears until he put me in a cab. This was just another small obstacle to overcome, and I was willing to do it. Anything worth having was worth working for, and Sammy was worth having. If patience was what it took, then patience was what I had. Sammy and I were clearly meant to be together.

‘Okay, everyone, this is it. Quiet down now, and let's get started!' Kelly had just inhaled her fourth Diet Coke and ordered her fifth as we settled in for our final meeting before the
Playboy
party. We were at a secluded sectioned-off table at Balthazar, Kelly's favorite lunch place and her preferred venue for working meetings before big events. The food had just arrived; Kelly pushed aside her Niçoise salad and stood up from the table, shaking slightly with caffeine nerves.

‘As you all know, tomorrow is D-day. We'll run through the checklist together, but this is a mere formality. Why, you may ask, is this a mere formality? Because everything –
everything
– will be executed without a hitch. If there is
ever
a time for perfection, it's tomorrow night. And just in case there's any doubt in anyone's mind, it will be fucking
perfect,
because I won't have it any other way.'

We were all nodding, accustomed to Kelly's pre-event pep rallies, when there was a slight commotion at the door. Our table turned to look, along with everyone else in the restaurant. Leo spoke first.

‘Ashlee and Jessica Simpson with' – he strained his neck to assess the accompanying group – ‘that kid, what's his name? The one Ashlee was dating on and off? Ryan something? And the girls' father.'

‘Who's on it?' Kelly barked.

‘Got it,' Elisa snapped back.

She pulled her cell phone from her massive peacock blue Marc Jacobs Stella bag and began scrolling through numbers. She found the one she was looking for and pressed Send. Ten seconds later she was talking rapidly as we all listened.

‘Hi, this is Elisa from Kelly & Company. Yeah, exactly. Anyway, I just got word that the girls are in town, and we would love to host them at our
Playboy
party tomorrow.' It was assumed that the person on the other line knew all about the party. After all, who didn't?

Elisa smiled and gave Kelly a knowing look while pointing at her phone. ‘Yes, of course. No, I understand entirely. We'll be willing to provide a completely private fifteen-minute arrival window so they won't share the carpet with anyone else, and naturally they'll be escorted to their own table in the VIP section.'

She paused to listen and then said, ‘The girls will have a personal concierge all night, so anything they need can be arranged immediately. I can guarantee they'll be subjected to absolutely no interviews; however, if they'd be so kind as to pose for a few select photographers, it would be our pleasure to cover the cost of their hotel suites, hair and makeup, transportation, and, if required, wardrobe selection.'

Another pause, and then a frown. ‘Yes, of course they'll both be there. Mm-hmm, I'd be happy to set that up for you.' Her excitement had subsided and she was now clearly faking it. ‘Great! I'll be in touch first thing tomorrow morning so we can arrange all the details. I so look forward to seeing them tomorrow night. Fabulous! Ciao!'

‘Well done!' Kelly said as our group broke into light applause, reminding me again that Kelly was, as far as bosses go, pretty great. ‘What was their final request that you said we could accommodate?'