Cherry Pie Read online

  I can’t see myself in the tiny mirror, but I can feel how the dress clings to me like a second skin, flaring out after the waist to swirl prettily an inch or two above my knees.

  Maddy’s face is ecstatic. “You look like a princess, Crystal. I mean it. That dress is just perfect for you. It looks so much better on you than on that drunk woman! And bonus — you can walk straight.”

  “Not in these heels, I can’t!” I’m exaggerating, though not by much. The strappy shoes are gold and rhinestones and just a touch higher than any of mine. I can walk as long as I don’t need to go far.

  And she knows it. “You’ve got the bachelor of the year offering his arm to cling to, woman, stop complaining!”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Oh my God, I’m serious! He’s fantastic! And he’s all yours for tonight. You can do it! Make the most of it, champ. This could be your lucky night!” She tries for a fist bump, which I ignore.

  I’m stupidly nervous as I make my way back to the tables. Please, don’t let me stumble. He looks up from his phone as I walk up, and I’m half thinking he might just change his mind about this. His eyes widen, and his jaw drops a little bit.

  “Wow,” he says. His voice is a little rough like he’s been taken by surprise. There’s a fire in those green-brown eyes that makes me think he’s not entirely just being polite.

  I manage to cross the restaurant without tripping. Maybe I can actually pull this off? He stands up as I reach his table. I don’t quite trust myself to twirl. “Will I do?”

  “You will be the belle of the ball,” he says. “You look absolutely fantastic, Crystal.”

  I love the sound of my name in his rumbling voice.

  “Amazing what a designer dress will do.” I’m trying to be lighthearted, but my heart is pounding against my chest. I’m just a waitress, I want to tell him. Instead, what comes out is, “You didn’t even ask me if I had plans tonight.” Sure, those plans involved PJs, a pint of ice cream, and trashy TV until bedtime, but he doesn’t have to know that.

  “I didn’t want to take the chance that you’d say no.” He puts his finger on my chin and lifts my face to his. “You look absolutely stunning. I’ll be proud to have you on my arm tonight. I’m serious.”

  He looks at my lips, and I realize my mouth is a little bit open, as if I’m hoping for a kiss. I force it shut again. The scent of his cologne is making me dizzy. There’s something about this man that makes me feel like someone has stolen all of the oxygen out of the room.

  He glances at his watch. “And we’re late,” he says, breaking the spell. “Grab your things, we’ll leave them in the car so I can take you right home afterward.” I only have my purse; I have a spare uniform at home, and I don’t really want to walk out of here carrying my Lido’s Loco uniform. I do have some pride, actually, despite stumbling around in too-high heels with my boobs taped up.

  “Have a great time,” gushes Maddy.

  “Yes, have fun!” The customers are chiming in now, even though they have no idea what’s going on, although I guess me in sparkling gold chain mail and him in a tux is a bit of a giveaway.

  “My name is Knox, by the way,” he says as if I didn’t know. He holds out his arm. “Thank you for canceling your plans to help me out tonight.”

  The look on Crystal’s face is a picture as she spots the jet-black, open-topped Ferrari LaFerrari, my latest acquisition.

  Jazzmene complained about it all the way here, worried the wind would mess up her hair, but I have a feeling Crystal isn’t bothered about such things, although I took the precaution of borrowing the hairbrush from her redhead friend as we left.

  She claps with joy as she gets into the passenger side. “I can’t believe this is your car. I feel like I’ve landed in a James Bond film!”

  Her happiness in contagious, and I have a sudden impulse to kiss her across the center console. What’s gotten into me? I settle for a bad Sean Connery accent. “My dear girl, there are some things that just aren’t done. Such as drinking Dom Perignon ‘53 above the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s just as bad as listening to the Beatles without earmuffs.”

  She looks at me blankly.

  “Goldfinger.” I think about it for a moment. “I guess you are a bit young for Sean Connery.”

  She giggles at that and crosses her legs, derailing my thought process completely. Even without nylons, her long legs look stunning, and I have to resist the urge to put a hand on her thigh. I pull out of the parking lot before I do something stupid.

  The Ferrari whines down the road at high speed as I rush for Mrs. Scaravelli’s; we’re a black streak on the black highway. Once we are on the straight, I take it up to 200 miles per hour just to show off. Crystal’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates as her hair flows behind her. Her smile is so broad, it looks like Christmas. Again, I feel that throb in my chest at making her smile, like it means something special. This woman does something strange to me. I shift in my seat, willing away the hard-on that’s threatening to distract me, and slow down to a relatively sedate 100mph.

  I try to give Crystal a round-down of the people as we go, but she looks more frightened at the thought of the charity ball than at the race car. I can’t resist reaching over and squeezing her thigh. I tell myself it’s to reassure her, but my hard-on implies otherwise. She looks stunning, and I know she will have all eyes on her: her waitress friend has an eye for make-up and did a fantastic job of making her look the part. But Crystal’s not used to the jet-set scene, and I’m worried she’ll clam right up.

  I give up on training her in NYC society politics in thirty minutes and instead try to keep it simple. “Our goal tonight is to loosen up Mrs. Scaravelli and work out what she wants.”

  “What do you mean, what she wants? Is she’s asking you for something?”

  “No, and that’s the problem. Everyone wants something. Everyone. What I want is a sign-off on waterfront land for development. Right now, my board thinks Scaravelli is our biggest barrier. She stands nothing to gain by signing off on the deal. I need to work out what I can offer her that will get her on-board.”

  “You mean you want to bribe her?” Now Crystal is staring at me, horrified.

  “Not as such.” But she has a point. “Well, maybe. It’s all just grease to keep the wheels turning. I mean, I’ve bought one thousand dollars tickets to the ball, after all, just to support her shelter. Is that a bribe?”

  Her jaw drops open. “A thousand dollars?!”

  The idea of a bribe is already forgotten. It’s great to see someone to whom money actually means something. But she’s going to have to stop the jaw-dropping at the party in public.

  “It’s for a good cause,” I tell her. “Everyone there is paying one thousand dollars for the privilege of attending. It’s not a big deal.” I wave a dismissive hand at her, but she doesn’t look convinced. “So, don’t make a big deal of it.” It clearly is a big deal. “Or maybe don’t… just don’t talk about money.”

  She nods, but now I’m feeling nervous. I know nothing about this woman, and here I am, taking her to the most important event of the month. If Scaravelli isn’t softened up, she can pull down the entire development deal.

  “What if they can tell I’m just a waitress?”

  I laugh, but she’s looking pale and nervous. “No one can tell. You just need to smile. When you smile, you light up the room.”

  She gives me a funny look and stops asking questions.

  As we pull through the gates, her eyes go wide again as she takes in the gardener’s cottage and the staff block. “Is this a hotel, or something?”

  “Hah, no. It’s her private residence.” I point at the windmill as we drive past. “That’s a hundred years old and still works. It’s just had the sails refitted. She runs it on the weekends, maybe we can come see. It’s a fascinating project.” She gives me a sideline look, and I drop it. Some weekend? Like I’m going to keep taking her out? And like we would just drive around the countrys
ide even if I did? I have no idea what made me say such a stupid thing, other than I like the feeling of impressing her.

  We get to the front drive, but as I pull up, she reaches for the door handle. I make a warning sound, and she freezes just as the valet opens the door for her. She somehow spills out of the car as she tries to get out, and there’s a crowd of people rushing around her as she pulls herself out of the gravel. She looks mortified, and honestly, I’m a bit embarrassed, too. I could have brought Jazzmene if I wanted a woman who couldn’t walk! But I feel bad about the ungracious thought as I rush over to help her up. She’s shaking. I hold her close for a moment while she recovers.

  She clings to me, clearly thrown by the fall. I like the touch of her hands on my arms, but I throw the thought out of my head. If she’s going to make it through the door, she’s going to need some confidence. I drop my hands to her waist and pull her even closer. There’s a floral scent to her hair, lavender, maybe. I need to focus.

  “You are fine,” I whisper in her ear, inhaling her scent again. “You haven’t done anything wrong. The valet should have helped you out of the goddamn car. Just be confident. It’s not your fault.”

  As pep talks go, it’s pretty weak, but it seems to have an effect. “It’s not right to blame him,” she says. She loosens her grip on me and throws her shoulders back as she steps away.

  The valet is apologizing profusely and Crystal, bless her heart, throws him a broad smile. “That was totally my fault,” she says with a sidelong look in my direction. “Please don’t apologize. I’m fine.” She says it louder so everyone around us can hear her. “I’m fine.”

  And she is, although I can see her fingers are still shaking a little bit. Shock, or fear? I don’t know but I take her hand in mine so that no one else can see. Her hand grips mine, and I can’t help but give a little squeeze. “You are magnificent,” I whisper.

  “I forgot to warn you that I’m a total klutz,” she whispers back.

  I can’t help but laugh and a moment later, she does, too. As the doorman opens the doors to let us in, I’m feeling confident that it is all going to be fine. With Crystal on my arm, it’s easy to feel like we can do anything.

  As we walk into the house, a mansion, really, with an entryway bigger than my entire apartment, he takes my hand. I’m already taking deep breathes to keep myself calm, and I’m glad, because the feel of his hand — a little bit calloused, which I didn’t really expect from a real-estate mogul — does something funny to my stomach. Heads turn as we walk in, and I feel under scrutiny: just who is this strange woman walking in with the most eligible bachelor in New York? I don’t know what to make of it, really, other than to keep my head high and keep walking. If they knew I just got off shift at the Lido’s Loco, well, I don’t even know what they’d say. Probably hand me an apron and put me to work.

  I could totally do this job, too. I instinctively smile at the women in black-and-white outfits serving canapés from silver trays. A woman smiles oddly back at me, not sure what to make of me, and I remember that I’m not supposed to make friends with the staff. But the other people! Men in tuxedos and women in fantastic dresses, although none as revealing as mine. They all look too intimidating to even think about. Knox keeps my hand and leads me to a small, gilt edged chair with white cushions where I can sit down. He’s treating me like an invalid, but I have to admit, it’s safer if I’m sitting. I lean back, trying not to think about the fact that he’s clearly worried I’ll fall again, and paste a smile onto my face like I’m having the time of my life.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” he says. “Glass of champagne?”

  I don’t dare have a drink. “A glass of juice would be nice.” I want to beg him not to leave me alone, but that would be pitiful. The whole point is that he wants to do business here, right?

  He disappears, and one of the women in the black and white uniform glides past with a silver tray covered in meatballs, which reminds me that I haven’t had dinner.

  I stand up to take one. It’s delicious. I manage to catch up to the server and grab another two. I’m suddenly ravenous, but it probably wouldn’t do to follow her around everywhere. I’m just trying to work out what to do with the toothpicks when a beautiful brunette in an orange and violet dress taps me on the shoulder.

  “Hi! I’m Jeanette! I don’t think we’ve met?”

  I transfer the toothpicks to my left hand and hold out my right. “Crystal. Nice to meet you.”

  She looks at my outstretched hand without taking it. Clearly, shaking hands is not the thing to do here. “Crystal,” I say again, dropping my hand.

  “I’m Brent’s fiancée.” She points to a man at the other side of the room. “You’re with Knox?”

  “Yes?” I hate how insecure I sound.

  “He’s a dreamboat,” she says, watching his broad shoulders disappear towards the bar. “I didn’t know he was dating…” She looks at me with unabashed curiosity. “Have you known him long?”

  “No.” I feel like I should manage more than a one-word answer, but my brain has ground to a halt at the thought of having to make small talk.

  “That’s a fantastic dress. Is it Versace?”

  “I have no idea,” I admit. This is not going well.

  “Oh,” she says. She looks around, as if regretting ever having started this conversation with the strange woman who doesn’t know her own dress maker. “Where are you from?”

  “Here,” I say. Ugh, it sounds like I’m from the mansion. “New York, I mean.”

  I don’t get the question — is she checking my credentials? My parents are from a farming community in Iowa, but there’s no way I’m telling her that.

  “What’s your family name? I thought I knew all the East Coast families.”

  I’m in way over my head, and I really don’t want this woman checking my family tree. But what am I supposed to do, lie? Besides, the only name I can think of right now is Lockwood, as in ‘please come save me now, Mr. Lockwood.’ “Jennings.”

  “Jennings?” She raises an eyebrow. “Really. I thought I knew all the East coast elite.”

  Whatever the test is, I’ve clearly failed but, thank God, Knox is back at my side and pressing a wine glass into my hand.

  “Crystal’s family is new money,” Knox says without missing a beat. “Not a daughter of the revolution, if that’s what you are trying to find out.” He’s smiling, but I feel like maybe she’s been put into her place.

  “Just making conversation,” she says.

  I look dubiously at pale liquid in the wine glass before taking a sip and finding it is apple juice. I smile at him, and he winks back. I feel like we’re in a conspiracy now. If I think of myself as under cover, I can just about imagine pulling this off, although it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s a million tiny things giving me away. Am I holding the glass right? What’s the right way to introduce myself?

  Jeanette wanders off, telling us she needs to mingle, and I exhale deeply.

  “That was fine,” he says, a chuckle in that dark rumble of a voice.

  “Everyone is looking at me. I feel like I’m on display.”

  “They’re looking at how fabulous you are in that dress, Crystal. Every man here is wishing he were me.”

  That fluttering in my stomach is back, and I can’t think what to say.

  He leans towards me. His warm breath feels like a caress on my neck. “You smell nice,” he says, and his lips touch my skin, nibbling just below my ear. It’s like an electric circuit runs through me. My breathing goes ragged, and all I can think about is that I want him to touch me, to kiss me properly.

  He backs up as if startled at what he’s just done. Then, he changes the subject. “Come dance. It’s a ball, after all!”

  I’d heard the music, but it isn’t until we enter the next room that I can hear it’s a live band in there. “It’s a waltz,” he says, and he pulls me close. “Step-slide-step. Just follow my lead, it’s easy.”

  It’s a
popular love song, My Prince and My Heart, the kind of ballad that is so romantic it can cause diabetes just by listening to it. But Knox is already pulling me onto the dance floor, whispering step-slide-step in my ear with one hand on my hip to guide me. He’s clearly unaware that the feel of his breath on my skin is jolting through me so hard, it’s amazing I can stay upright, let alone follow his lead. But a moment later, I realize I am following his lead. With one hand on my hip and the other holding my hand to his chest, he’s using soft pressure to keep me in time and show me the direction.

  “You are fine. You’re dancing just fine.”

  My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m pretty sure he can hear it, but he’s right. I’m doing this. I’m dancing with Knox Lockwood.

  I half stumble at the thought and then recover again to look up at him. He’s looking down at me with a half-smile and smoky eyes. I lift my chin a bit before it comes home that I’m basically begging him to kiss me. And he must realize it in the same moment, because his face comes down a quarter inch closer to mine.

  I should be tired, having been on my feet all day, but dancing with him is magical. He moves slowly, carefully, leading me in circles so all I have to do is keep myself pressed against him, which I’m happy to do. His fingers brush under the hem of my dress, a soft touch on my ass, and I have to take care not to stumble. My chest is tight, and my pulse is racing.

  Once he sees that I have the rhythm, he bends his face towards me until his lips meet mine. I feel like the room has melted away. There’s only me and him and the desperate desire for the soft touch of his lips against my skin. He brushes his mouth against mine, stealing a tiny lick of my lips.

  “You taste sweet,” he says. “I wonder if you taste that sweet all over.”

  “It’s the apple juice,” I say, because I’m an idiot who has never learned when to just shut up. But also, I can’t believe this is happening to me, that this man who could literally be with any woman that he wanted to, is holding me close, dancing with me and teasing me about wanting to kiss me. I’m not sure my heart can take it.