sashayed past Blake and set herself down, returning his filthy look with her own killer stare. I loved that girl. ‘Angela, Jenny, this is my friend, Tessa.’
The new girl, clad in denim hot pants, big boots and a baggy white T-shirt held out her hand, but it was so tiny, I hardly dared to take it. I felt like Jabba the Hut shaking hands with Tinker Bell.
‘Hi,’ she said, shaking hands with Jenny. ‘Have we met?’
‘Yeah, it’s Tessa DiArmo, right?’ Jenny shook her hand smoothly. ‘We met at The Union last year.’
I watched Jenny schmooze Tessa like a pro, in complete awe. She really ought to be the one interviewing celebrities, no one fazed her. And no wonder I didn’t remember Tessa; everything about The Ivy was a bit of a blur, except for the toilet floor. Living in London with Mark, I’d barely been able to open a bottle of wine on my own, but since I’d moved out to New York, I could get a cork out with a pair of eyelash curlers in under a minute if needs be. The privileges and perils of being freelance.
‘Right, The Union. I don’t stay anywhere else in New York. Except The Grammercy. And maybe The Bowery. Or The Hotel on Rivington.’ Tessa nodded thoughtfully, clearly not registering that Jenny actually worked at The Union. ‘I should go back soon—it’s been like, weeks. Maybe the Soho Grand. We should hang out. I love your outfits. I so need a new stylist. Your dress is awesome.’
I realized Tessa’s wide-eyed stare was aimed at me.
‘Well, no one styles me except for Jenny,’ I joked, looking down at my black dress. Well, she had picked it. ‘She’s a miracle worker.’
‘Yeah? Maybe you could help me out. I have this awards thing tomorrow night,’ Tessa went on, oblivious. ‘And I don’t know, nothing anyone brings me is like, interesting?’
I started to laugh but a sharp elbow to the ribs from Jenny turned my giggle into a cough. Then a squeeze from James’s hand turned the cough into a squeak. And then a hiccup. I was getting more drunk by the second.
‘Well, why don’t we go shopping tomorrow?’ Jenny suggested carefully in her I’m-so-casual-about-this-it-hurts voice. ‘I could pull a few things together for you, I’m sure.’
‘Sure,’ Tessa beamed. Apparently she’d been to the same charm school as James. Her grin practically knocked me back against the chair. ‘Where?’
‘Melrose maybe? I would love to see you in some Betsey Johnson,’ Jenny started, grasping Tessa’s hands in hers. ‘Something short, flirty, maybe a puffball?’
‘Wow, that’s totally not me,’ Tessa looked at Jenny with a mixture of awe and fear. ‘You don’t think that’s going too far?’
‘Honey, I’m so over the Uggs.’ Jenny patted her hand. ‘Trust me. I never get it wrong. So, for shoes, I’m thinking maybe Choos? Something metallic?’
‘As fascinating as this is,’ James whispered into my ear, snapping my trance, ‘How about a dance?’
On the other side of the table, Blake and the former object of Jenny’s affections looked equally pissed off. It seemed that Jenny’s man was not amused at having lost his conquest to a discussion about designer shoes, and Blake was just burning up, watching James lead me across the room. I looked back at Jenny and Tessa, both waving their arms around, enthusiastically debating the merits of Giuseppe Zanotti heeled glads over Roger Vivier platform peep-toes. They wouldn’t miss me for a moment. And I really did want to dance, however bad a feeling I had about dancing with James. A distinctly inappropriate warm, tingly feeling. Sod it, I thought, letting myself be pulled along. One dance wouldn’t hurt anyone. Well, it might hurt Blake and, right now, that was actually a total plus.
The music seemed to get just a tiny bit louder, a tiny bit faster, as James pulled me in towards him and began moving with the beat. He pressed his hands palm to palm against mine for a second, then pushed his fingers through mine, entwining our hands and pulling me closer. Happily, he was a great dancer, moving with ease and taking me with him, constantly swaying, spinning, not giving me a second to think. My head rested against his chest at heart height, my warm cheek against his shirt. As we settled into our rhythm, James span me around, pressing my back up against him, and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. Which was just as well or I would have fallen over. Five-inch heels were not conducive to speedy dance moves or speedy getaways. He slid his hands down across my stomach, leaving a trail of butterflies in their wake, and then twirled me around, pulling my arms up above my head.
I’d been in LA for such a short time, but it felt like I’d already forgotten how to have fun. And wasn’t that what LA should be? Fun? I’d been so busy worrying about the interview, panicking about things Alex, freaking out over those stupid photos. I’d got so stressed so quickly. But I was fairly certain that this was what fun felt like. Being with people that weren’t judging me or kicking my arse for something that hadn’t even happened. This was what it felt like to be with someone who wanted to be with me. I stretched my hands high above my head, then let them run through my hair, tipping my head upwards to look back at James. His eyes were closed and he was singing along to the music. And good God he looked amazing.
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