Rebound (Boomerang #2)(39)

“Where are you off to tonight?” I ask.

“An art auction in support of the Children’s Hospital,” she says. “We already have early bids totaling a half-million dollars. I’m quite proud of some of the wallets I pried open this time around.”

“That’s wonderful, Mom.”

In this way, we’re all alike, we Quicks. When we want something, we’re dogged.

“I’m frankly surprised I got your father to come along,” she says, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt. “He hates Venice Beach, especially anything on Abbot-Kinney. He thinks he’ll be infected by hippies.”

I laugh. “He’s not that bad, mom.”

She frowns, and it’s like a tiny spell’s been broken. I don’t know what she’s looking for from me. Just sitting here with her makes me feel guilty and angry at them both. If they’re so unhappy, why stay together? I know that family is everything, but is family only about the papers you sign and the promises you make?

“Anyway,” I say, trying to move us into different territory. “I don’t think Venice Beach is overrun by hippies.”

“I’m sure not,” she murmurs. Then she gives me a smile that makes her eyes look even sadder. “You have such beautiful hair, Alison. Why don’t you wear it down tonight?”

I’m surprised. Usually, she wants me to tidy it up into a chignon or at least a ponytail. But I guess that’s when we’re going to more formal events—not a fake date with a guy who’s going to be looking around at every other guy in the room.

“It just takes so much work,” I tell her. “And I never know how I want to style it.”

“What are you going to wear?”

I gesture to the bed where Philippe has laid out a silvery-blue dress with an asymmetrical neckline and a chunky leather belt. Over that, he’s left me a choice of a thigh-length leather duster or a camel cashmere throw.

“Depends on how much of a bad ass you want to be,” he told me and laid the leather duster closer to the dress with a wink.

“That’s a beautiful color for you,” my mother says. “Brings out your eyes.” She rises and comes to stand behind me. Lifting my still-wet hair, she brushes it over one shoulder, smoothing it with her hands. “Why don’t you curl it just a bit, and wear it over one shoulder, like this? The one left bare by the dress. I’ve seen girls doing it.”

I nod, and we both stare at my reflection for a second.

I feel a childlike impulse to ask her to brush my hair for me. But as I open my mouth, she says, “Well, I’ll leave you alone,” and I keep the words trapped inside me.

Instead, I nod, and for a moment we both stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“You’re a lovely girl,” she says, and bends down to kiss my head. “Have some fun tonight,” she adds. “It doesn’t have to be all work, every minute.”

“I’ll have fun. I promise.”

“Good,” she replies. And I want to tell her to do the same, that she should find something that makes her happy—even if it’s not my dad.

She leaves, shutting the door silently behind her. I stare back at the mirror and pick up my hair dryer. I think I’ll style my hair like she told me—keeping it in loose waves over one shoulder. Who knows? Maybe I’ll like it.





Chapter 22



Adam


When I get to The Ivy just after eight o’clock, I see Brooks, Julia, and Carla already seated at a table on the outside patio.

I’m here to meet them. My best friend, Brooks. My ex and occasional sex buddy, Julia. Her cousin, Carla. But as the hostess leads me to the table, my eyes scan for Alison. The Boomerang dates are always the subject of office gossip. Just took a little judicious eavesdropping—something I don’t usually bother with—to find out she’d be here.

I see her right away. She’s sitting at a table just past mine, laughing, her long curls shifting over her exposed shoulder, her hand resting on the stem of a martini glass.

I’ve almost reached my table, but I stop and allow myself a moment to look at her. She looks amazing in a blue dress, her skin smooth and flawless. The patio is dim, lit by string lights and candles, but she has a brightness that’s undeniable. I’m drawn to her like she’s the sun. Like she has some gravitational pull over me.

I want her. I can’t kid myself anymore. I want her like I haven’t wanted anyone since Chloe. But I can’t go after her without blowing up my plans for Blackwood Films.

I still wanted to see her tonight, though.

Even if she is on a date with another guy.

Her date smiles at her from across the table. A slender guy in a sharp navy jacket with a trim five-o’clock shadow, he’s a dead ringer for Jake Gyllenhaal. Alison laughs again, tilting her head to the side. She looks relaxed, like she’s having fun, and like she might even like Jake.

“Adam!” Julia stands and moves right in for a kiss on the lips. “Hi, gorgie-gorge!”

“Hi, Jules,” I say, and wonder if it would be rude to draw the back of my hand over my mouth. I feel a slick coating of her lipstick on me—which is red like her hair. Not Chloe red. Julia’s hair is almost fire-truck red. I have the odd feeling that she’s just branded me.