The Fortunate Ones

As he pulls away from the house, I fire off a quick text to Ellie.BROOKE: I’m in James Ashwood’s car at the moment. If you don’t hear from me by morning, don’t bother sending a search party. Wherever I am, I want to be there.CHAPTER EIGHTIt takes 10 minutes to get from the co-op to the party, and James takes two phone calls in that time. The first is from Beth, who calls with important news about a distribution center in East Asia. I only follow every other word, and that isn’t enough to clue me in on what’s going on. The second phone call is even more coded, though it doesn’t seem intentional. I consider myself a lover of language, but I don’t speak techie.

We pull up to a red light and I turn to meet his eyes.

Sorry, he mouths.

I offer him a small smile and a shrug. It’s not a big deal. I almost prefer this. With him on the phone, I don’t have to worry about making small talk. I can just sit here and think deeply about what to do with my hands. He turns back and focuses on the road. I do the same for a moment, but it’s not long before my gaze wanders back to him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I take in the details I’ll be too busy to notice later: the perfectly crisp edge of his tuxedo shirt, his tan hands as they grip the steering wheel, the fit of his pants against his hard thigh. I can’t go higher than his shoulder; he’ll know I’m watching him if I do. It’s too bad, because I’m desperate for a look at his profile—I know it will punch me in the gut—but instead, I turn my focus out through the front window and revel in the sound of his voice. It’s deep and low, and during his second call, it turns gruff. I’ve never been so intrigued by the way someone speaks, but then again, I’ve never been in a car with James.

He hangs up and apologizes again, but I assure him it’s fine.

“I’ve been trying to figure out where you’re taking me.”

He smiles. “It’s just around the corner.”

He’s not kidding. A moment later, he pulls over to the curb on 5th street, gets out, and rounds the front of the car. The valet opens my door and I step out just as James is handing off his keys, but before the eager-faced teenager can get behind the wheel, James holds up his finger for him to wait.

I glance to the valet and then back to James.

“Want to leave that in the car?” he says, pointing to my coat. “I doubt they’ll have a coat check inside.”

Of course not—why would they? It’s a million degrees out here.

I blush and reach for the top button. I’d forgotten I was even wearing it. It was slightly chilly in James’ car, but now the humidity and heat have set in and I’m almost thankful to get rid of the thick wool—that is, until I catch the valet’s eyes nearly bugging out when he gets a glimpse at my dress underneath.

I hate Beth.

I can’t even look at James. I know he’ll see how uncomfortable I am wearing this out in public. Maybe I should have rooted through my closet for another option, but now it’s too late. I’m here and I’m wearing the dress, so I might as well embrace it. I stand tall and push my shoulders back. My silky hair falls over my shoulder and down my back.

James steps forward and takes my hand, blocking my view of the valet. His grip is warm and strong as he leads me away from the curb.

“You look beautiful,” he says, low enough so I know the compliment is meant only for me to hear.

I love Beth.

The building we walk up to is simple: a one-story made of black brick with no name and no windows on the facade. Ahead of us there’s a single black door serving as the main entrance. It’s oversized and shiny, flanked by black pillars and two bouncers on either side.

A gray-haired man nods to the bouncer on the left and the hulking man steps back and opens the door. No one speaks or makes eye contact as we pass. It’s the weirdest experience of my life, and I’m half-convinced I’m about to step into some creepy illuminati meeting with Robert Langdon.

We step inside and James lets go of my hand so he can lead me down a long hallway with his palm pressed to the small of my back. I can feel the warmth of his touch through the thin material of my dress, and I’m glad I left my coat in the car.

Whoever designed the facade of the building clearly had a hand in the interior as well, and they subscribed to the notion that black is back to being the new black. The hallway is monochromatic: black marble floors, black walls, and black metal orb chandeliers. At first, my heels clacking against the marble is the only sound, but as we continue toward another door at the end of the hall, low, bluesy jazz music starts to spill out.