“God knows I needed this, Dana. Thanksh.”
She pointed her finger at my nose and snorted. “You’re shlurring.”
“Did you just snort? You snorted!”
“I did not.”
“Yes you did.”
We guffawed and leaned our heads in close. The Rock paid keen attention. I whispered into Dana’s ear. “How mush do you think Daddy tipped him?”
“Who?”
I gestured with my thumb. “The Roshck.”
She giggled, hiccuped, then pulled herself together and sat upright. “We’re grown women, Ellie. Adults don’t behave like this.” She tried to keep a straight face, but her mouth twitched.
We collapsed into giggles again. Then I said, “Does one ever really grow up?”
She reached for her purse on the counter. “Supposedly.”
“No, I mean it. Sometimes I still feel like a kid inside. It’s like my nine-year-old self is the real me, just living in this older body.”
She stilled and her face turned serious. She hesitated. “My gran said something similar right before she died. She said she was always the little girl inside, but people treated her like this stupid old woman who was too slow for their fast, young world.”
“And I revert to my inner kid every time I see my father. It’s like he pulls a trigger.”
“Don’t fight it, Ellie. Just do your own thing. Don’t worry about him.”
I nodded again and scrabbled in my purse for a tissue. I blew my nose. The woman seated on the other side of Dana at the bar caught my eye. She was busy on her phone and sitting a bit too close. She appeared to be eavesdropping on our conversation. There was a vacant stool on her other side—she could have moved over a bit. Something inside me grew quiet. Was she the same woman who’d been seated behind me during dinner? My brain felt thick. I couldn’t be certain. Her gaze met mine briefly, and she looked away. Her elegant bob brushed her shoulders. Designer jacket and skirt. Slender in an athletic way. A businesswoman. Probably here for the AGORA con. A soft hunger filled me. To be more. To be like that sophisticated businesswoman, or more like Dana. My father was right. I could be that woman. I could be anyone. I just had to choose.
“You know, Ellie, I think you should do it.”
I shifted my attention back to Dana. “What?”
“Take his money.”
I looked at her.
“No, I’m serious. Like how much cash are we talking here?”
I gave a dry laugh. “You know how much he’s worth. Forbes magazine listings and all. I could probably have as much as I wanted.”
“Like . . . several million?” Dana looked suddenly sober.
I nodded.
“Well, what do you want?”
I glanced at myself in the mirror behind the bar. What did I want?
I wanted Chloe back. I wanted what I’d had with Doug. To be that little family. I wanted someone to be proud of me. Just human things. I wanted to keep doing my art. My needs were not extravagant. “Hartley Heiress is a title wasted on someone like me,” I said softly. “A waste of a lot of money.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Privilege sucks.”
I snorted.
“Seriously, Ellie, think about it.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, crap. I need to get home. I’ve got an early thing tomorrow. You going to get home okay?” she asked me as she slid off her stool.
“Just a cab ride over the bridge away. You?”
“I’ll walk. I’m just a block away. I’ll be fine. That’s the nice thing about living right in the city—close to everything. You’ll love it.”
I nodded.
She gave me a kiss on the cheek and we hugged.
“Oh . . . oh, wait, wait.” She rummaged in her purse, took out her phone. “Gotta commemorate this.” She called The Rock over. “Could you?”
He smiled, took Dana’s phone.
Arms around each other, we beamed drunkenly for a photo, the lounge behind us.
“Mine, too.” I handed the bald barman my own phone.
He shot, zoomed, shot. We grinned like silly Cheshire cats.
Dana paused, looking strangely sober again. “Don’t be a stranger, ’kay?”
“I won’t. Promise.”
And I meant it. Letting loose had been the right thing. We hadn’t done this in far too long. I watched Dana weave through the tables toward the lounge exit. The place was getting empty. There was a shift in the tenor of the patrons. I felt another sharp sense of being observed. I glanced at the bar. The Rock’s dark eyes were on me as he spoke on a cell phone. Was he talking about me? To whom? I shook the sinister notion and went to retrieve my coat. I carried it as I headed tipsily through the lobby toward the washroom.
As I neared the bathroom, my heel snagged on a raised section in the flagstone tiles and I stumbled forward. A man lunged forward and caught my elbow, steadying me.
My face heated with a rush of embarrassment.
“I . . .” I made a face and gestured to the floor. “Paving is uneven. Caught my heel.” His eyes were a startling blue against olive-toned skin. His gaze intense, direct. His hair was thick and Scandinavian blond. “I haven’t worn such high heels in a while—guess I need practice.” A bubble of laughter burbled up from my chest. I tamped it down, trying to appear serious.
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Why have you not worn heels?”
I regarded him and felt a quickening in my heart. There was something about him—an intensity, an aura of warmth and quiet strength.
“Never mind, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be forward,” he said, removing his touch from my elbow. “I just meant . . . they suit you. Heels. I mean.” He ran his fingers awkwardly through his hair. He looked embarrassed. His fringe flopped back over his brow. He stood taller than I was in my heels. Well built. Perhaps more girth than he needed, but I’ve always liked a bit of a bulk in a man. I especially liked thick thighs, and his swelled under his business pants. He wore the kind of clothes Doug might wear—the Doug I’d fallen for. And whatever my feelings were now about Doug, they remained conflicted and horribly confusing, and I found myself attracted to this man.
I hooked my purse strap higher over my shoulder and cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
“What?”
“The . . . uh . . . the heels. The compliment.”
He laughed. I liked the way his eyes crinkled and dimples appeared in his cheeks. And I laughed nervously in return.
“Look, could I . . . can I buy you a drink?” He gestured to the dark and intimate little pub entrance to his right.
“I was just on my way out.”
“Of course. No worries.”
“And . . . I’ve had a couple already.”
“Something to eat, then?” His smile deepened. “To help soak it all up.”
I realized his accent was Australian. With maybe a hint of British. Underscored by Canadian, or was it American? And there was no judgment in the way he said “soak it all up.” The moment—his manner—was curiously intimate, casual, easy. Simple. I hesitated as some vestigial thing reawakened deep inside me. I glanced back in the direction Dana had gone. I thought of my cold North Shore house across the bridge. All packed and boxed up and hollow. Chloe’s empty room. How long had it been since a man had noticed me in this way? I’d put on so much weight after Chloe, and it was not all off yet, but he didn’t seem to care. What I saw in his eyes was approval. It felt good.