It’s Ella, which is good, because I’ve been trying to reach her since Saturday morning.
“Hey,” I say, balancing the phone on my shoulder while I pour. “Where the hell have you been? I thought for sure you’d be blowing up my phone and demanding to know what happened the other night.”
“I’ve got my own issues,” she says wryly. “I needed time to process.”
“Process what?” I demand, reaching for the sugar.
“I met someone at Bemelmans. Right after you and I spoke. We bonded over your birthday cake.”
“That was my cake,” I say, trying to tamp down most of my horrified delight. Ella is no more prone to wild and impromptu sexual adventures that I am. “So who was he? What’s he like?”
There’s a long and pregnant pause that really spikes my curiosity.
“You tell me,” she finally says. “It was Ryker Black. Your beloved’s brother.”
I blink, my brain blanking out for a second or two. Then it sinks in.
“What?” I cry in a scandalized whisper as I dart to the furthest corner of the kitchen and huddle there to make sure I’m not overheard. “Are you telling me you hooked up with Ryker Black?”
“Hooking up is such a tacky term.”
We burst out laughing.
“How was it?” I ask.
“About like your night was, I’m guessing.”
“Is that right?” I say, trying to keep the smirk out of my voice as I take a moment to enjoy the sweetly lingering ache between my thighs. If her night was anything like my night, the two of us need to spend about a thousand dollars on joint lotto tickets, because fortune is definitely smiling on us. “Are you seeing each other again?”
“Of course not.”
I frown. “Why do you say it like that? Did he escort you from the premises when it was over?”
“No. I left, actually. I stayed until, I don’t know, midnight or so. Then he fell asleep, I wrote him a little note and I left.”
“Yeah, but it went well, right? What if he wanted to see you again?”
“It doesn’t matter if he did,” she says. “You know my policy on dating right now. Especially dating wealthy men who are likely to look down their noses at me.”
Ella’s coming off a long-term relationship with a rich guy who wound up telling her that he didn’t know if he’d ever get married. Jackass. Plus, she’s got issues with her late father, who was also rich.
“What, you mean going out with some guy you met online twice a month or so? Your policy is stupid,” I say. “How about just making it a policy not to date jerks?”
“Since men rarely show up displaying scarlet Js on their foreheads, I choose to eliminate entire categories of high-risk individuals. That’s a nice, safe policy. And in keeping with that policy, I left in the middle of the night. Which served the double purpose of preventing any awkward scenes in the morning and stopping me from getting too attached to the wrong guy.”
“There’s a lot of that going around,” I say in glum remembrance of waking up to a cold and lonely bed at dawn on Saturday morning. “Leaving in the middle of the night.”
“I mean, that’s what you do with one-night stands when you meet a guy at a bar, right?”
“You’re asking me?” I ask.
“Good point. So how’d your night go?”
“It was amazing,” I say. “Like I knew it would be.”
“Well worth it?”
“So well worth it,” I say, unable to stop an embarrassingly dreamy smile and blush from overtaking my face.
“Have you seen him yet? I have a tough time imagining you’re going to sweep all this under some rug and keep working together without any issues.”
“I get a little reprieve today,” I say. “He’s not due for another forty-five minutes or so. Time enough for me to work on my acting skills and pretend I’m Nicole Kidman.”
“You can do it.”
“But get this. He paid for the room. I found out the next morning when I went to check out. He had the charges on my credit card reversed.”
“Nice,” she says. “Classy gesture.”
“I sure appreciated it as a struggling singleton trying to make her way in the big city. And there’s more. He took my wrap.”
“He what?”
“My expensive silk and cashmere shawl that I got myself from Nordstrom. He took it.”
“You sure it was him?” she says, sounding startled.
“We dropped it on the floor at the beginning of the night. No one else was ever in the room.”
“That’s an interesting development,” she says. “Maybe he’s sleeping with it under his pillow. Getting high off your perfume.”
“As if,” I say, scoffing.
But there’s a tiny part of me—a tiny and stupid part of me—that wants to attach significance to his thievery. Because now he’s got a trophy from our night together. A memento. Don’t people take mementos because they want to remember something?
“I’d better go,” I say when my girlish hopes and dreams threaten to overwhelm me. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Go with God, then. I know you’ve got plenty to keep you busy.”
“So do you. Go bake those pastries. Don’t let the assholes bring you down. Oh, and don’t forget I’ll be in touch later about the desserts for the Hamptons event this weekend. We can finalize things.”
“You got it,” she says. “Dinner soon?”
“You got it. Love you.”
I put my phone away and decide that my cup of coffee needs a warmup. I’ve just put it into the microwave and hit the button when I hear a familiar male voice behind me.
“Bellamy. Hey. Good morning.”
My heart freaks out, but I quickly rein it back in. The voice is close to Griffin’s, but it’s not quite right.
Sure enough, I discover Ryker Black when I turn. The youngest and mellowest of the Black brothers, he’s got all the outstanding family looks you’d expect.
“Hey, Ryker,” I say, surprised to see him because he doesn’t normally turn up until eight or so. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I, ah, want to make some calls and get through my emails before the day starts. Thought I’d grab some coffee first.”
“I saved you some,” I say, watching him with bemusement as I try to picture him and my best friend together. He’s not as handsome as Griffin, obviously, but few men are. His brown hair is cut short and severe, and his eyes are hazel rather than Griffin’s striking blue. He’s got a great smile, though, and no one would ever nickname him the Beast.
“Appreciate that,” he says.
We eyeball each other warily as I retrieve my coffee from the microwave and add cream while he pours his. I feel like I should say something, but, notwithstanding last Friday night’s events, I’m usually smart enough to stay out of my superiors’ personal lives.
“Have a good day,” I say with a cheery wave as I head for the door.
“I met your, ah, friend, Ella, at Bemelmans Friday night,” he quickly says behind me. “After you left.”