From a charity event four years ago. It would be completely out of fashion by now. She didn’t exactly have the money to spend on expensive gowns. And for a party like this, nothing less than the best would do.
“I’m sure I can scrounge something up,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she was feeling.
“You’re sure?” he asked. “If it’s a strain on the budget right now—”
“It’s fine,” she snapped. That was the second time he’d made a reference to her diminishing funds. “It isn’t as though I’m destitute.”
He held his hands up defensively. “Relax. I wasn’t suggesting that.”
My God, listen to yourself. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe her self-esteem had taken a hit lately. Maybe her confidence was shot. Why else would she be so touchy?
Maybe she needed to get out with people. Reestablish her sense of self. Or something like that.
She softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“If you really don’t want to go to the party—”
“I’ll go,” she said firmly. “For the whole weekend.”
Who knows, maybe a short vacation would be good for her. A chance to forget about the shambles her life was currently in and just relax.
And who knew? She might even have fun.
Victoria unlocked her flat door at exactly seven-thirty the following evening. Early by her standards, yet it had felt like the longest day of her life.
Since she’d kissed Charles the other night, then accepted his offer to join him at his parents, the teasing and sexual innuendo hadn’t ceased. When they were alone, anyway. When anyone else was around he was nothing but professional. He treated her more like a peer than a subordinate. It was his way of showing that he did indeed respect her.
And maybe the teasing wasn’t as bad as it had been at first. Not so immoral. Not that she would allow it to progress to anything more than that.
She dropped her purse and keys on the hall table and headed straight for the wine rack, draping her suit jacket on the back of the couch along the way. She opened a bottle of cabernet, her favorite wine, poured herself a generous glass, kicked off her pumps, and collapsed on the couch.
Charles left work at the same time, making sure to let her know, in the elevator on the way down to the parking structure, that he had a dinner date. As if she cared one way or the other how or with whom he chose to spend his free time. Although she couldn’t help wondering who the unlucky girl could be. Amber from the club, perhaps? Or maybe Zoey from the fund-raiser last Friday? Or a dozen others who had called him in the past few days. Or maybe someone new.
Whoever she was, Victoria was just glad it wasn’t her.
Are you really? an impish little voice in her head asked. Aren’t you even a little curious to know what the big deal is? Why so many women fall at his feet? They can’t all be after his money and title.
It had to be the wine. It was going straight to her head. Probably because she’d skipped lunch. Again.
You’ll waste away to nothing, her father used to warn her, in regard to her spotty eating habits. And it would certainly explain her peculiar lack of energy. Not to mention the noisy rumble in her stomach. She sipped her wine and made a mental list of what was in her refrigerator.
Leftover Thai from three days ago that was probably spoiled by now. A few cups of fat-free yogurt, sour skim milk and a slightly shriveled, partial head of romaine lettuce. The contents of the freezer weren’t much more promising. A few frozen dinners long past their expiration date and a bag of desiccated, ice-encrusted peas.
She was weeks past due for a trip to the market, but lately there never seemed to be time. Besides, she’d never been much of a cook. There had never been time to learn. On late nights at the Houghton she ate dinner in her office, or their housekeeper doubled as a cook when the need arose. In fact, in her entire life Victoria had never cooked an entire meal by herself. She wasn’t even sure if she knew how.
Nor did she have the inclination to learn.
She sat up and grabbed the pile of carryout menus on the coffee table. The sushi place around the corner was right on top.
That would work.
She grabbed the cordless phone and was preparing to dial when the bell chimed for the door. Who could that be? She hoped it wasn’t her father. She hadn’t returned any of his calls, and he was probably getting impatient.
Maybe if she didn’t answer, whoever it was would go away.
She waited a moment, holding her breath, then the bell chimed again.
With a groan she set the phone and her nearly empty glass on the coffee table and dragged herself up from the couch, a touch dizzy from the wine, and picked her way to the door. She peered through the peephole, surprised to find not her father but Charles standing there.
What in heaven’s name did he want?
She considered not opening the door, but he’d probably seen her car parked out front and knew she was home. She just couldn’t force herself to be rude.
She unlatched the chain, pulled the door open and asked, “What do you want?”
Despite her sharp tone, he smiled. He was still wearing his work clothes. Well put together, but with just a hint of the end-of-the-day rumples. And he looked absolutely delicious.
Bite your tongue, Vic.
“I realized I still owe you dinner,” he said. In his hand he held a carryout bag from the very restaurant she had just been about to phone. As though he had somehow read her mind.
That was just too weird.
“I hope you like sushi,” he said, shouldering his way past her into her flat. Uninvited yet again.
So why wasn’t she doing anything to stop him?
“And if I don’t like sushi?” she asked, following him to the kitchen.
“Then you wouldn’t have a menu for a sushi restaurant conveniently by the phone.” He set the bag on the counter. “Would you?”
How did he…?
He must have seen it there that morning. The first time he barged in uninvited. “I thought you had a date.”
The idea that someone stood him up was satisfying somehow, although, what it really meant was she was his second choice. The veritable booby prize.
“I do.” He set the bag on the countertop and grinned. “With you.”
What was it she just felt? Relieved? Flattered?
Highly doubtful.
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t
