The First Taste(47)

I sigh and run my tongue over my front teeth, a habit from wearing lipstick so much. “We should go.”

Andrew looks into my open purse and picks out my business card. He flips it over, checks my information, and puts it in his pocket—with my underwear.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Me, asking for your phone number.”

I don’t know where to start with that. He didn’t ask, and if he had, I would’ve said no. “Don’t use it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He fixes a strand of my hair, smoothing it into place. “Come on.”

As we exit into the hall, he says, “We barely made it past the doorway.”

I shake my head. “Waste of money.”

“I have to vehemently disagree. Besides, we’re not nearly done with the room. We’ll come back later.”

My stomach tightens. I don’t fight the fact that I want to. I’ve already had a bite of cake—I might as well have a whole slice.

“I noticed you didn’t finish your dinner,” he says.

“Oh, God,” I moan, my euphoria dispelling. “Don’t start with this again.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, maybe you should. You’ll need the energy tonight.”

I arch one eyebrow, reading him perfectly. If there’s any reason to eat carbs, that might be the best one. “You make a convincing argument.”

Inside the elevator, he corners me like he did the first night we were together, but this time, it doesn’t feel predatory. He lifts my face by my chin and pecks me as if it’s the most natural thing. “I’m looking forward to later.”

“Me too,” I say, glancing at the digital numbers over his head. Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen . . . “But I haven’t changed my mind about—”

“Spending the night,” he finishes.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have gotten the room.”

“It’s okay. We’ll make the most of it.” He brushes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Congratulations on tonight.”

I tilt my head, surprised by the change in topic. “It’s not a big deal,” I say.

“Why not?” he asks earnestly.

Why not? It just isn’t, I want to say. It’s not, because I’ve been telling myself it isn’t since I received the nomination. “The women I’m up against are older, more connected, and have donated enough money to the benefitting charity to make a statement. I deserve to win, but I won’t, because it’s all politics. I couldn’t not show up, though. It would’ve been rude, and these things are really about the networking.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Being nominated is an accomplishment, Amelia. Don’t downplay it.”

“But I’ll lose.”

“So what? How many people ever get recognized for what they do?”

“What do I do?” I ask. “I’m a cog in an industry that makes women feel badly about themselves so I can sell them products to make them feel better. It’s a bullshit award in a bullshit business.”

Andrew furrows his eyebrows, and I think I must be mirroring his expression. Lately, I’ve had brief moments where I stopped to ask myself if I’m proud of what I do. But I’ve never spoken that way before. It makes me wonder if it has to do with what Reggie said earlier about work being my priority for the rest of my life.

“I thought you loved your job?”

“I do.” The elevator dings. “God, I need a smoke. Let’s go get this over with.”

“Right behind you,” he says. “But I’ll give you some space to walk in alone.”

I nod and now that my sex-induced haze has cleared, a sudden sense of urgency hits me. I trot to the ballroom. As I near the double doors, the echo of the microphone gets louder. The voice is familiar, like an old friend. I open a door and duck inside, hoping nobody will notice me.

When my eyes adjust to the dark, I see Sadie on stage. “ . . . grateful for this recognition,” she says, squinting out at the crowd.

I pinch my eyebrows together, confused. Why is she up there? She wasn’t nominated.

“Amelia had to step out—”

My name is projected onto the wall under Exceptional Women in PR—Fashion. I gasp silently, covering my mouth. I won the award—and I missed the announcement. I should be up there, but instead, I’m here, disheveled from Andrew’s mouth and hands, frozen to the spot.

“—I know she’d like to thank, um . . .” Sadie clears her throat, darting her eyes around the crowd. “She’d like to thank us, her team, and everyone in this room who’s ever . . . supported or believed in avec. Which is many of you, I’m sure.”

I take a step forward and then another and soon, I’m hurrying toward the stage as Sadie holds up the award.

“Th-thank you. Again.” She pauses. “And again, I apologize for Amelia’s absence. I know she’ll be thrilled.”

The room applauds. I don’t make it to the stage, so instead I stop at our table and steady myself against my chair. Any attempt to get on the stage now would look desperate. Maybe it is a bullshit award, but now it’s my bullshit award, and my first one at that. The only recognition I’ve received, in fact—proof that I’m actually decent at what I do. As much as I played it down, I admit to myself that I wanted to win—I just assumed I wouldn’t. Everyone at my table looks back, their eyes turning to me in synchronization. “Congratulations,” says Howie. “Did you get to see any of it?”