Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(52)

Audrey gave Claire a look over their wineglasses. “You’ve seen him.”

“I have. Which is why I can’t believe there hasn’t been something. A drunken fling? Secret crush? Give me something. He’s too hot for there not to be a story there.”

“No story,” Audrey said firmly. “Your turn.”

“My turn what?”

“You know what. Oliver Cunningham.”

“Well, as you ladies now know, Oliver was not my childhood hero. Quite the opposite. He makes that bitch who stole your locket sound like a sweetie pie,” she said to Audrey. “End of story.”

“Um, not end of story. You’re neighbors with some seriously delicious animosity. Have you told him who you are yet?”

Naomi shook her head.

“Naomi. You’ve got to tell him,” Claire said.

“What good would that do?”

“Well, the woman he’s seriously crushing on wouldn’t be lying to him, for starters.”

“He’s not crushing.”

Claire and Audrey exchanged a look.

“He’s not! He’s just . . . intrigued.”

Like she was by him.

“Trust me, I am not Oliver Cunningham’s type.”

“What’s his type?”

“You two,” she said, pointing between them.

“Well, obviously you have something in common with us. Brayden certainly liked all three of us,” Claire said, her tone just a bit caustic.

“He married you,” Naomi retorted. “And he at least let Audrey think he was going to marry her someday. He never made any such promises to me. Brayden saw me for what I am. The real me. Just like Dylan sees me.”

“What’s that mean? The real you?”

“You know.” She waved her hand dismissively. “A little brash. Fun. The one you do tequila shots with on Friday night, not the one you take home to Mom.”

“Well, you lucked out there. Brayden’s mother was a nightmare,” Claire said.

“Still. You know what I mean.”

“Actually, not at all,” Audrey protested. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re . . .”

“Trash?” Naomi said for her.

“Stop it,” Claire said sharply. “You want to know who really sees you, it’s me and Audrey. And like it or not, it’s Oliver, too, if you could see past your childhood grudge to give him a chance.”

“Hey!” Naomi said, a little stung. “For the record, we had dinner together.”

Audrey clapped. “That is so cute.”

“Cuter than Clarke playing hopscotch with you? And it was just dinner.”

“What kind of dinner?” Claire demanded.

“Foie gras and caviar, what else? We had spaghetti, Claire. What does it matter? I fed him really bad pasta.”

“You fed him? Oh my gosh. You like him.”

“I don’t.” Naomi was increasingly feeling wildly out of her depth. “Or I don’t know if I do. What I do know is that I’ve had dinner with a guy in the past week, and you haven’t. We’ve already established that Clarke doesn’t count,” Naomi said, lifting a finger in warning to Audrey, who was about to protest. “I may be confused, but at least I’m trying.”

“Hmm, I need more wine,” Audrey mused, starting to stand.

“You get more wine after you agree to go on a date. Any date,” Naomi said.

“I haven’t met anyone I want to go on a date with,” Audrey said primly.

“Me neither,” Clare said, more emphatically.

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Naomi said. “We agreed to help each other avoid Manhattan’s crappy men, not avoid all men.”

“Is there such a thing as a man who’s not crappy?” Claire tapped her chin.

“Oh, stop. I’m not saying you need to commit to an entree. Just sample the buffet,” Naomi said. “It’s only going to get harder the longer you wait.”

Audrey slumped back against the couch. “I hate that she’s right. I swear, every day, I wake up with another bitterness wrinkle.”

“A what?”

“Here,” Audrey said, pointing to the corner of her eyes. “Bitterness.”

“She could be onto something,” Naomi said. “My mom fed on bitterness, and she had whopper crow’s-feet.”

Claire’s hand lifted to her face. “So what are you suggesting?”

“Just that we all agree to go on a date. Just one. Painless.”

“Says the woman who has two men panting after her.”

Naomi didn’t dignify that with a response.

“All right,” Audrey said after a moment. “I’m in. I’ll even let you guys pick the guy, since I confess it was lame of me to bring Clarke to the dinner party when I insisted you guys bring an actual date.”

“And I’ll let you pick someone for me, too,” Claire said. “Since the date I brought was actually for Naomi.”

“Whom Naomi didn’t want.”

“You sure about that?” Audrey waggled her eyebrows. “Who are you going on a date with?”

“Dylan. Obviously.”