Somewhere in Between (Madison Square #1) Read online

  Gwen stomped to her desk and grabbed her bag. “I’m off to get my hair done. Madeline said you can go.” She headed for the door, but stopped short, turning back to face me. She looked me over, her face twisting into a scowl. “You’ll need the extra time to get ready for tonight.”

  It took everything I had not to lunge at her and rip her trashy extensions from her head. She sauntered away. I could hear her stomping all the way out the front door. God, I hate that bitch!

  I grabbed my bag, keys, and my phone and flipped the office line to voicemail. I just hit the street when my phone made that familiar ping, ping noise.

  Drew: Got a car to pick us up. Meet at our place at 7.

  I typed back a quick okay and hurried home. I was determined to look so hot tonight the silicone stuffed hag’s head would explode.

  I spent the next two hours curling, brushing, primping, and painting every inch of my body. I broke out the heavy duty Spanx that held down the bad and pushed up all the good.

  I slipped into my nude four inch stilettos with the little crystals covering the heel. I double checked my face to make sure my makeup was perfect. I went with soft golds on my eyes with a thick cat eye liner and finished it off with ruby red lips.

  When everything seemed to be in place, I slipped into my dress. It felt incredible. This dress was amazing. The cream colored silk made my skin glow, and the lace felt so delicate against my shoulders. When I looked into the mirror, I saw a different woman looking back at me.

  I clasped an antique pearl and gold bracelet around my wrist and placed a small matching comb in my hair above my right ear. The set belonged to my grandmother. My mother had given it to me when I graduated from high school. I felt close to her every time I wore it.

  I had my ears double pierced, so I paired small diamond studs that were a Christmas gift from Drew with a pair of pearl and gold chandelier earrings. After one last check in the mirror, I grabbed my crystal clutch and stuffed in my keys, ID, and phone. Then I headed out to meet Drew.

  It was starting to cool off a bit as I walked toward our place at the center of the square. I thought about going back up to my apartment to get a wrap. Just as I started to turn back, I saw Drew heading toward me and I stopped in my tracks. I’ve seen Drew in a tux before, but this was different. My breath hitched as I took him in. He looked incredible in a classic black tuxedo. The slim cut jacket hugged his broad shoulders and highlighted his narrow waist. He was gorgeous, and I was completely mesmerized.

  I blinked, trying to clear my head. This wasn’t right. I wasn’t supposed to react to Drew that way. I mentally slapped myself, chanting get it together in my head as he approached. He stopped just in front of me and our eyes met. I couldn’t look away. I had no idea how much time passed, but it had to have been a while.

  He cleared his throat. “You look unbelievable, Red.”

  “So do you,” I said, stumbling on my words, desperately trying not to sound as breathless and shaky as I felt.

  He stepped closer and offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

  My cheeks heated as a shy smile stretched across my face. I took his arm and let him lead me toward the waiting car. As I slid into the plush leather seat, Drew shut my door behind me, walking around to get in the other side. I took the moment to take a deep breath.

  You’re being ridiculous Alex. You have been waiting for this night for years. Don’t ruin it by letting your sex-starved hormones take over. This is Drew, granted the hottest version, but still the crazy asshole who spent most of his senior year with a purple mohawk! You do not have feelings for him! Your body is just reacting to an attractive man! It’s not a big deal.

  I forced a smile as Drew slid in next to me, praying my pep talk would work and I could just enjoy the rest of the night.

  ***

  We pulled up outside the Museum of Art & Culture. The Museum was housed in an old stone building in the heart of downtown. The building itself was so big it took up almost a full city block. Out front, a red carpet spanned the entire width of the large stone steps that led up to the open doors. Colorful banners emblazoned with the words ‘Rags & Riches Gala’ draped each side of the entrance, lit from below, giving the entrance a grand, unearthly feel.

  Drew opened the car door and held out his hand to help me get out of the car. I slipped my hand into his, ignoring the way my body instantly warmed from the touch. As we ascended the stairs, Drew kept a hold on my hand, guiding me through the crowd.

  When we finally made it through the front doors, the room opened up to a cavernous space elegantly lit and decorated in rich jewel tones. Each table was set with a kaleidoscope of color, from the table cloths and lighting to the silk fabric draped across the ceiling. It was completely breathtaking.

  Votive candles in crystal holders flickered over every available surface. The room sparkled as the soft light bounced off the gold plates and flatware, artfully arranged at each table. Crystal goblets edged with gold leaf tossed fractured patterns of the delicate light across the tables. I had never seen such a beautiful room in my life.

  Drew and I were approached by an usher dressed in a deep red waist coat. We gave him our names and he nodded before leading us to our table, which was set with a dark gold table cloth. I couldn’t remember the name of the jewel the color represented—citrus something or other—but it was gorgeous. The center piece, set on a tall, narrow gold pillar, was amazing. Cream roses, sunflowers, and stalks of wheat burst from the center of the table. Wheat seemed like an odd choice for a floral arrangement, but it worked.

  Drew pulled out my chair and I took a seat, setting my clutch on the table next to me. There were a few people already seated, one of which was Drew’s boss, Gabe, and his wife. I met them the year before at the Christmas party his company threw. We chatted with them for a bit before Drew focused his attention on me.

  “Bar?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I smiled, grabbed my clutch, and pushed back my chair. Drew and I excused ourselves, nodding politely to Gabe and his wife. Drew took my hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow as he guided me through the crowded ballroom. The room was overwhelming and people were everywhere. Some I recognized, some I didn’t.

  When we reached the bar, Drew ordered me a glass of champagne and I turned to scan the crowd. I saw Madeline working her way toward us, her long, plum colored gown flaring out behind her. She threw her arms open, a smile spreading wide across her lips. Was she drunk?

  I smiled back at her as she finally reached me, grasping both my arms tightly before pulling me into an awkward hug. My boss is a very proper and elegant woman. She’s always strictly business, so I was completely floored when she embraced me.

  “Alexandra, you look stunning,” she gushed, leaning in to kiss my cheeks.

  “Uh,” I stammered, completely caught off guard. “As do you, Ms. Grant.”

  “Please, we are not in the office. Call me Madeline.” She waved a hand, dismissing the formality. Her eyes widened as Drew stepped beside me and handed me my glass. Madeline glanced between us, pursing her lips and nodding her approval.

  “Madeline, this is Andrew Collins,” I said.

  “Drew,” he clarified, shaking her extended hand.

  “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Drew,” Madeline said, her eyes roaming over him from top to bottom like he was a life-size chocolate sculpture. Yep, she was drunk.

  I took a sip of champagne to hide my giggle, eyeing the actual life-size chocolate sculpture that stood across the room. I would have to get a closer look at that later on. Damn, I should have brought a bigger purse.

  “Alexandra has told me so much about you.” Madeline placed a hand to her chest, toying with the insane diamond pendant nestled there. I was impressed she wasn’t hunched over from the sheer size of the thing. Madeline was hammered and flirting with Drew. It was quite the show.

  Drew retreated closer to my side, placing his hand on the small of my back. “Well, I’m sure only half of it is
true.”

  An awkward smile spread across his face. His eyes shifted to mine, begging me to save him from my inebriated boss. I bit my lip to suppress a giggle.

  Madeline giggled. “Oh nonsense.” She placed a hand on his arm. Totally sauced.

  “Can I get you a drink, Madeline?” Drew asked, clearly looking for an escape.

  “Champagne, please,” she said with a brilliant smile. As he turned back to the bar to get her drink, she leaned in to me. “He is delicious, darling. Well done. Best to hide him from Gwen.” She winked. Drunk Madeline was my new favorite person! I immediately started devising a plan to start slipping Kahlua into her morning coffee.

  I heard the telltale stomp before I saw her. The sound stopped just behind me and a chill ran up my spine.

  “Alex,” Gwen said. I could hear the irritation in her voice, and I could feel her cold glare on the back of my neck.

  I took a deep breath, slowly turning to face her. I was met with an eyeful of exposed breast. Holy shit! There was more boob out of her dress than there was in it. I swear it looked like the fabric was doing everything it could not to just rip open. I couldn’t look at her face if I wanted to. My eyes were locked on her boobs. She might as well have come topless.

  Gwen shifted, pushing her breasts even further up, causing me to take an involuntary step back. For a moment I thought they were going to attack. She must have noticed Drew and aimed her torpedoes in his direction.

  Gwen flipped her extensions over her shoulder as Drew approached. With a smile, he handed Madeline her glass and turned to address our new arrival. Poor bastard never had a chance. All he saw were breasts. It was a direct hit, with no chance of survival. I couldn’t blame him. Hell, I couldn’t look her in the face either.

  To his credit, he eventually snapped back to himself and looked up at her face. “Hi, I’m Drew,” he stammered, extending his hand to Gwen. She took it and stepped closer, almost pressing herself against him. She practically shoved me out of the way, pretending not to notice that I was standing right fucking there!

  Gwen’s eyes ran up and down Drew like a predator inspecting her prey. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” she said in her best breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. Oh come on, was she for real?

  Without breaking eye contact or even releasing Drew’s hand, she said, “Nice dress, Alex.”

  “You too, Gwen. Too bad there isn’t more of it.”

  Drew coughed, almost choking on his drink. Calling that a dress would be a serious exaggeration. It was more like strips of black fabric glued randomly to her body. Gwen glared at me and I met her evil eye head on, neither of us wanting to be the first to flinch.

  Madeline looked frantically between Gwen and me, searching for a way to defuse the tension. I was tired of Gwen and her bullshit. Everything with her was a competition. She made it her personal goal to ruin my life and my career. I was not going to let her ruin this night. I was done taking her shit. I knew, at the time, how childish I was acting, but all my sense of reason and maturity vanished when that glorified blow-up doll confronted me.

  Madeline smiled, spotting something over Gwen’s shoulder. “Ms. Stevens, come. I see your father. Let’s say a quick hello,” Madeline said, reaching for Gwen’s arm and pulling her away as quickly as possible. An evil grin spread wide across Gwen’s lips as her eyes shifted to Drew. She wiggled her fingers at him as Madeline dragged her off.

  Drew let out a long breath. “I have to admit, that was kind of hot. I couldn’t tell if you guys were going to fight or make out. Either would have worked for me.”

  I punched him in the arm. He rubbed it, pretending to be hurt.

  “Well, now you have met Bitchface in all of her surgically enhanced glory.”

  Look, there’s nothing wrong with plastic surgery. I have contemplated it myself many times, usually while wearing a bikini, but this girl was a walking disaster. She was like a sarcophagus, a hard, beautifully painted outer layer hiding the shriveled corpse underneath.

  Drew put one hand in his pocket, leaned toward me, and whispered, “Your boss is smashed.”

  “I know, right?”

  ***

  I was determined to enjoy the rest of my evening and clear all thoughts of Gwen from my mind.

  It was turning into such an incredible night. I met the most amazing artists and musicians and spent most of the time gazing at them in wonder and listening to their stories about botched art installations and obsessive symphony groupies. Who knew classical violinists had groupies? I was in heaven!

  I fell head over heels for a man named Charlie Peterson. His father played jazz trumpet for the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra when he was a kid. I mean, the man shook Sinatra’s hand!

  Drew stuck with me for bit, but I was so in awe, I was hanging on every word of anyone willing to talk to me. So, eventually, he left me to worship and kiss my temple. He smiled and told me he would find me later.

  After dinner was over, the band started to play some of my favorite old songs. I was a sucker for jazz classics. I accepted an offer to dance from a man named Chester who played Patrick Dennis in The West End production of Mame. I found my nerd Nirvana.

  As Chester whirled me around the floor, I caught Drew’s eye for a moment. He stood at the edge of the floor holding a glass of champagne, talking to an older gentleman and his young wife. He raised a hand in a brief wave, watching me for a moment before returning to his conversation.

  When the dance was over, I thanked Chester, who bowed graciously, and made my way to the bar. The bartender set a glass of champagne down in front of me while I swayed to “Isn’t It Romantic?”

  “Alex McCabe,” a slow, deep voice said from my right. I turned to see who it was and was captivated by a set of gorgeous gray eyes.

  “Peter Russell,” I said as he stepped forward, resting his arm on the bar in front of me.

  He raised two fingers to the bartender. “Scotch, neat.”

  As the bartender took off to get his drink, Peter turned to me with a sexy half smile.

  Peter and I dated briefly in college. He was charming, obviously good-looking, and a fan of sorority girls, which was one of the reasons why we dated briefly. He still had the good looks and charm. Hopefully his tastes in women had changed in the years since graduation.

  “You look incredible.” He took a step back, taking me in from head to toe.

  “So do you,” I replied with a smile, and damn did he. His light brown hair was clean-cut and had that Clark Gable quality, even if he did use a bit too much product. He had a nice smile and strong features. His broad shoulders filled out his tux nicely and the thin silver tie he wore highlighted his eyes. He definitely knew how to accent his best features, a sure sign that self-esteem was not a problem for him.

  “How are you?” I asked. “I heard you moved to London.”

  “I just moved back, actually. I was offered a position with Franklin & Burke.”

  Franklin & Burke was a prestigious publishing house downtown. Madeline redid their main lobby a few years ago.

  “Congratulations,” I said, taking a sip of champagne.

  “Thank you.” He eyed me with obvious interest. He had definitely gotten better looking over the years, or maybe it was just the lack of cargo shorts and Abercrombie t-shirts. I didn’t really care, I was enjoying the attention.

  “What have you been up to?” He took my elbow and gently steered me away from the bar.

  “I’m working for Madeline Grant Interiors.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or impressed. I went with impressed. It was better for my ego.

  “Maybe you could help me with something, then.” He took a small step closer and lowered his voice. “I just moved in to this amazing loft. It’s completely bare right now. I haven’t had a chance to do a thing with it. Maybe you can come by and give me some ideas.”

  He cocked his head to the side, a slow, sexy grin lighting his face, but all I was thinking ab
out were design concepts for an open floor plan.

  He had found my weak spot, a project. I love a project. It’s something I can get lost in. Interior design is my drug. My parents were realtors and, as a kid, one of my favorite things to do was to help them stage homes for sale. I was fascinated by how you could change not only how a room looks, but how it feels with some color and the right furniture placement.

  The moment I walked into a space, ideas would flood my head to the point where I would attempt to discreetly rearrange the furniture or hide unpleasant knickknacks. My parents put the kibosh on that one when they caught me taking down the drapes in my grandmother’s dining room during her wake. I couldn’t help it. The room needed more light.

  “I would love to!” I said as the excitement bubbled over. He looked pleased.

  The music slowed, and the band leader announced the final song of the evening. It was slow and sweet, the soft notes floating gently through the room.

  “Would you like to dance?” Peter asked, extending his hand to me. I smiled and let him lead me to the floor. He turned to face me, slipping his left hand to my back and pulling me in close. I placed my hand on his shoulder as we began to sway and twirl around the floor.

  Peter pulled me in closer, our faces only inches apart as he led me expertly across the floor. We talked a bit as we danced. It was easy—no frills, no pressure. He seemed great, if not a little pretentious, but I was enjoying myself.

  “I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

  “Me too.” I smiled.

  “Have dinner with me?” he whispered, leaning close to my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “We can catch up on old times and talk about ideas for my loft.”

  “Um…”

  I was a little conflicted. The idea of going out with him wasn’t really what had caught my attention. He was nice enough and good-looking, but the man oozed bullshit. I could tell from the way he looked at me and the not-so-subtle way he checked out other women around us that he was just the kind of guy who would tell you anything you wanted to hear just to get you into bed. Although it had been a while for me…