The Allure of Dean Harper (The Allure #2)(2)

“Hello? Can you hear me?” I answered as I held the phone to my ear.

The city noise made it nearly impossible to hear the woman on the other end of the line. I squatted down, wedged my finger into my free ear, and pressed the phone against the other as hard as possible. If I’d shoved it any closer, I’d probably have radiated my brain.

“Hello—can you hear me?” I asked again.

“Yes. Hey. Is this Lily Black?”

I covered my ear and ducked back against the building, hoping it would help block the noise.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Zoe. From Provisions.”

My heart leapt at the name of the restaurant I’d been waiting to hear back from.

“Listen, I know this is kind of insane of me to ask, but we’re really short staffed tonight.” Her voice cut off and then I heard muffled yells from her end of the phone. A second later, she spoke back through the receiver. “Lily, you still there?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Is there any way you could get here like…” She paused again. “Now?”

I stared at the street signs around me like that would help. Ha. I’d spent twelve hours in New York. The only street names I knew were Broadway, 5th, and Wall Street—none of which would help me in this situation, but I didn’t want to let Zoe know that. You can get anywhere in the city fairly quickly right? It’s an island; how big can it possibly be?

“Uh, I think I can be there in like ten minutes, but I haven’t had an interview or anything.”

She laughed into the phone like I’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“I…uhh…”

“God, that was a joke. Get here.”

The line went dead and I stared down at the black screen in shock. I had ten minutes. Well, now nine minutes and fifty seconds. SHIT. I typed Provisions into Google Maps and then cringed as the route popped up. By car, I could get there in eight minutes. Walking, I’d need at least twenty. I didn’t have cash to spare on a cab, and I wasn’t brave enough to try the subway system. That left me with one option. I tied my long hair up in a ponytail, threw my purse over my shoulder, and took off in a dead sprint toward Provisions.

By the time I arrived outside, sweat dripped from my brow, I’d skinned a knee after tripping over a curb, and I was pretty sure I had about five different pieces of gum stuck to the bottom of my heels. All in all, it wasn’t my best look.

Clumps of people crowded outside the restaurant, waiting to be seated. I edged my way through them, trying to catch my breath as I went. Finally, I arrived in front of a massive black door flanked by two round topiaries. Right above the door, shining under a spotlight, “Provisions” was spelled out in thin metal letters.

I reached for the door handle, still breathing like a wild woman as I stepped into the dim light of the restaurant’s foyer. Untreated marble floors sat below crisp grey walls. Black-and-white photos were positioned at eye level around the small room. They were snapshots of everyday objects: an apple, an iris, stacked bricks; it was the scale and simplicity of the photos that turned them into something intriguing.

“Uhh, can I help you with something?”

I turned toward the hostess positioned behind a black podium. A gold desk lamp shined down on her list of chosen people who’d get to dine in the restaurant that night. Her sour expression told me I clearly wasn’t one of them.

“I’m here to see Zoe,” I explained, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.

The woman arched a brow at me, scanning down my body once before returning her sharp stare to my eyes. I knew without the aid of a mirror that I looked frazzled. Most of my blonde hair had fallen out of my ponytail and there was definitely blood running down my shin. Still, her sourpuss stare didn’t affect me. I could see right through her fake tan and eyelash extensions. Her smoky eye shadow was caked on so thick I was surprised she could even manage to lift her eyelids. Women like her didn’t faze me. Why? Because they were predictable, almost like they were playing a part they’d seen on daytime TV.

I held my ground and crossed my arms. The message was clear: your move.

I would have stayed like that until she went to retrieve Zoe, but luck was on my side. A moment later, a brunette woman with a short pixie cut rounded the corner into the foyer like she was on a mission. She glanced from the hostess to me, and then back again.

“Crystal, what the hell are you doing? We don’t pay you to stand there with resting bitch face.”

I resisted the urge to laugh.

Crystal rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. I watched her grab a clipboard off the podium and huff away in a cloud of perfume and glitter.

When she was out of earshot, the pixie-cut woman turned her attention to me.

“Please tell me you aren’t Lily.”

My confidence faltered.

“Zoe?” I asked, wiping my sweaty palm on the side of my dress.

She ran her hand down her cheek.

“No. No. This won’t work out,” she said, shaking her head.

“What? Why?” She hadn’t even given me five minutes to prove myself.

She glared at me, waving her hand out in front of her. “Because the last thing we need in this restaurant is another f*cking Barbie doll.”