Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(16)
I moved across the room and found my coworkers. As I approached them, they mumbled variations of “Hey” and “How are you?” They were too involved in their own conversation to ask me much else.
I tried saying “Oh really?” and “Yeah” every few seconds to seem like I was a part of their group, but it was no use. I was invisible to them.
Though none of them ever admitted it, they weren’t too fond of me. According to what Sophie had once overheard, they felt that even though I was good writer, I was too young to be such a lauded critic.
“Having trouble finding someone talented to talk to?” a deep voice said from behind.
“Clearly,” I turned around and was face to face with Matt Sterling.
He smiled his infectious smile and I nearly melted. The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, his hair was combed away from his face, and he was wearing a light stubble.
Definitely the “I would sleep with you in a heartbeat sexy” character…
“What brings you out tonight, Miss Carter?”
“I was forced,” I felt myself staring at him and looked away.
“Well, I’m glad you were forced. Can I get you a drink?”
Did he just say he was “glad” I was here?
“Cranberry juice.”
“Just cranberry juice? No wine?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I lied.
He nodded and walked away.
Okay, time to go!
I pushed my way through the crowd, stopping every ten seconds to wait for someone to have a picture taken, and headed for the exit.
“Melody?” Mr. Maxwell grabbed my shoulder. “Wow! You look beyond exceptional tonight! Don’t you feel better being out of the house?”
Ecstatic.
“Sure,” I forced a smile. “I’m having the time of my life.”
“Come, take a picture with the rest of your friends.” He led me over to a group of my coworkers, the same group that ignored me minutes ago.
I stood off to the side of the group, but he pushed me to the front.
“Everyone smile!” the photographer yelled.
I put on my best smile and held it for ten blinding snaps.
“I’m running to the ladies room, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be on the dance floor!” he shouted. “I’ll save you one!”
I continued to stroll towards the exit, becoming increasingly irritated at the tipsy celebrities who were moving at a glacial pace.
“Here’s your cranberry juice,” Matt Sterling stepped in front of me.
“Thank you,” I took a sip. “This isn’t cranberry juice, Mr. Sterling.”
“Call me Matt please. The waiter left to get more. I thought I saw you leaving so I figured I’d get you grape juice for now.”
“How kind of you…”
“Are you staying at the Trump SoHo?”
“Why? Do you have the urge to throw Skittles into my room?”
“Are you always this uptight?” he looked into my eyes.
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Annoying? How? By offering to get you a drink and making conversation?”
“By getting in my way of leaving.”
We stared at each other, just as we had earlier. I felt my heart skip a beat and couldn’t get my mouth to say another word. His smoldering eyes were burning into mine and I couldn’t look away.
“I’m sorry for the Skittles stunt the other day,” he suddenly looked sincere. “And the folders too.”
“It’s okay. Celebrities rule the world, I just live in it.”
“Can I make it up to you?”
“What?”
“Can I make it up to you? Like, can I take you out for cranberry juice sometime?”
Say yes! Say yes!
“No,” I looked down at the floor. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“My apologies. Are you seeing someone?”
“Even though that’s none of your business, you’re the one that’s engaged Matt. I don’t think Selena Ross would approve.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m just engaged. I’m not really married.”
Not really married? Not really married! Is that what Sean was thinking? Is that how he justified cheating on me? “Just engaged. Not really married.”
I handed him my glass. “Have a great evening, Mr. Sterling.”
I practically ran out of the ballroom, stifling sobs. Mr. Maxwell was right. I needed to get away.
On Sunday, the realtor showed me properties on the Upper West Side—large scale condos with walls of windows and high vaulted ceilings. Each one came with a fantastic view of the city and each one cost at least one million dollars, one million dollars that I didn’t have.
On Seventh Avenue, she led me to a top floor apartment and was kind enough to ignore my sporadic tears.
I could never afford any of this…unless I returned my engagement ring...
“Over here is the master bedroom,” she ushered me into an immense room with hardwood floors. “The French doors to the master bath were hand-carved, as were the bookshelves on the east wall.”
“Is that a balcony?” I walked over to the wall of windows.