Junk Mail(14)

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch!” Gram squawks. “I’m comin’!”

I peer out the window to make sure the sleek black town car in our driveway hasn’t left without us. I was perfectly satisfied with driving ourselves or taking public transit to the event, but Josh insisted on sending a company car to drive us there. I was tempted to ask if he sends town cars to the homes of all their prospective business partners, but it seemed safer to just assume this is standard practice.

Moments later, Gram descends the stairs rocking a bright-red ankle-length dress speckled with gold sequins. Where the hell she got it, I haven’t a clue. I’m just glad she agreed to be my plus-one.

When Josh mentioned the invitation was for me and a guest, I entertained the idea of bringing either Sabrina or Libby, but I wasn’t entirely certain I could trust either of them to play it cool with what they know about Josh. One poorly timed joke about a certain account manager’s impressive third leg, and I might as well start writing a eulogy for my deal with his and Brody’s company. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a potential business deal, ruined by an inappropriate dick joke.

With Gram in tow, I head down the driveway and slide into the back of the town car. I may not know much about cars, but I know this one is leagues above anything I’ve ridden in before. Heated seats in the back? Does the Queen of England normally ride in this thing?

“Well, isn’t this swanky?” Gram clucks her tongue, running one age-spotted finger along the leather seats as we pull out of the drive. I guess the driver already knows the address of our destination. “You owe that Josh fellow a huge thank-you.”

I force a smile, trying not to react to Gram using Josh and huge in the same sentence.

“Yes . . . it was, um, very thoughtful of him,” I manage to say.

Luckily, she doesn’t bring him up again, too dazzled by the view of Central Park at night to make much conversation. Traffic is actually cooperating for once. How very unlike Manhattan. It’s like all the stars have aligned to make this a special night for Gram and me. We make impressive time on the drive to the hotel, and after a quick thank-you to our driver, we twirl through the revolving doors and into a whole different universe.

Holy bougie. Is this what it’s like to make it in corporate America? Deep breaths, Pey.

“What a place,” Gram says in an astonished voice.

I can’t help but agree, numbly nodding my head as I look around.

The lobby looks fit for a king—from the sleek, sparkly tile to the modern chandeliers, everything is gold. Even the bright red Wine O’Clock banner hanging over the hors d’oeuvres table boasts flashy gold lettering. A dance floor is set up with a handful of couples stepping along to a band playing a familiar jazz tune. Everyone else is flitting about the room like a bunch of windup dolls in suits and ball gowns, sipping from wineglasses with the company logo frosted on the side.

I scan the room for a familiar face, with a particular eye out for Josh, admittedly, but can’t seem to find anyone I know. My game face is slipping away, and the butterflies inside my belly are trying to make an escape.

I feel more than a little out of my league with so many business professionals all gathered in one place. Apparently, working from home for the past two years in my pajamas has taken its toll on my social skills. Maybe I should just tell Gram that I’m not feeling well and head out. Josh would understand, I’m sure . . .

“Free wine? Count me in!” Gram says, giving the air a fist pump. Then she takes off power walking toward the open bar, leaving me alone at the entrance to the ballroom.

I should have known I’d lose her to the social scene. She’s outgoing and personable when she’s at the senior center, but at this event, it’s like Gram’s at a frat party. I’m sure she’ll have made a few new friends before the night is through.

I weave through the crowd, following in her path until I find her, elbows propped up on the bar and chatting it up with a cute twenty-something bartender. He’s grinning at her as she fills him in on my big deal.

I give him an awkward wave. “Hi.”

Gram places one arm around my shoulder and pats it encouragingly. “This is her, my hotshot granddaughter. And she’s single.” She winks at the bartender, who is obviously a little horrified.

Welcome to the club, dude.

He’s close to ten years younger than me, and I’m operating under the assumption that he’s gay, unless my radar for that kind of thing is off, but this doesn’t stop Gram. She gives me a little shove in his direction.

“I’ll have a glass of cabernet,” I say, hoping to end this little matchup attempt ASAP.

“Green dress and red wine, huh?”

I turn, glass in hand, to greet the low voice behind me.

“Those are complementary colors, you know.”

It’s Josh. He’s dressed in a black tuxedo that’s tailored so perfectly to his broad body, it’s almost sinful. His hair is styled without a strand out of place, and he smells freaking divine. He obviously has to dress well for work, of course, but tonight he looks like someone plucked him straight from the red carpet. I don’t think he’s ever looked better.

Well, except maybe in the picture saved on my phone.

“Red and green. Christmas colors,” I say, taking a sip of wine. It’s warm and velvety, just like Josh’s voice.