I gathered my purse with a self-conscious flush as James slipped a large bill into the man’s hand and sent him on his way. Without another word, he pushed gracefully to his feet, circled around to my side of the table, and offered his arm. I took it with a shy smile, and together, the two of us made our way to the door.
It wasn’t until he’d already pushed it open that James paused suddenly and glanced back, his dark eyes sweeping the room as if immortalizing it in his memory. “Thank you,” he said suddenly. When I looked up curiously, his eyes warmed with a quiet smile. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight and for telling me all those things. Truly. Thank you.”
A hint of blushing warmed my cheeks, and I bowed my head quickly, spilling my hair casually between us so he couldn’t see my face. “I’m actually a bit embarrassed. I mean, we’ve been here for hours, and I did all the talking. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so—”
Two fingers lifted my chin, interrupting me, and I found myself staring into a pair of sparkling, luminous eyes. “You have no idea how much I wanted that,” James said softly, “how much I needed it.” He caught himself quickly, then flashed a quick smile. “It’s always me.”
We didn’t say another word as we headed downstairs and made our way back through the lavish ballroom. It was like getting a peek backstage, a behind-the-scenes glimpse of some brilliant production. The illustrious clientele was no more, and the tables were cluttered and messy, but I found that I loved The Dorchester more that way. The lingering staff stopped what they were doing and stood respectfully as we passed, but even they seemed more relaxed. One or two of them actually grinned at James or gave him parting waves as we headed by.
“You know them too?” I commented as the front door finally shut behind us and we were out on the street once more.
At that point, I shouldn’t have been surprised. James seemed to lack the social boundaries that kept the rest of us cloistered. Class mattered nothing to him, nor did wealth, privilege, or education. It was ironic, since he was obviously at the top of the game on every level.
He glanced back at the towering monolith as we wandered down the sidewalk. “Of course I know them,” he said “I eat here often. As a matter of fact, Dad used to bring Rob and me every Sunday when we were kids. Our table was always there, right at the top.”
A rush of surprise stopped me in my tracks, and I glanced back at the darkened windows where we’d been sitting. “When did that stop, your Sunday dinners?” I asked curiously.
There was a hitch in his breath, and I was instantly terrified I’d gone too far, but he really didn’t seem to mind the question. He shrugged, wore a wistful smile, and answered, “When we went off to school, I suppose. We kept up the tradition for a while and met up with Dad when we came home for holidays, but eventually, we stopped doing that too.” There was a strange longing in his voice, a quiet kind of regret; that seemed like an oxymoron, coming from a man who obviously wasn’t prone to such things. The fact that his father was no longer well enough to lea
ve the house obviously weighed rather heavily on his mind.
“I’m really sorry,” I said quietly. When he glanced over with a silent question, I lowered my eyes. “About your dad, I mean. I never met him, obviously, but I’ve studied him for as long as I can remember. He inspired me to apply to business school in the first place, a truly great man.”
A deep pride seemed to warm James from the inside out, and I could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that no compliment could have ever meant more.
“Thanks,” he said softly, still smiling thoughtfully at the ground. A second later, he lifted his eyes and turned that smile on me, full force. “He’d certainly like you. You have what he’d affectionately call an ‘abundance of pluck.’”
“Pluck?” I repeated with a laugh.
“It was one of Dad’s favorite words to describe women,” he answered with a fond smile, not seeming to realize that when he was talking about his father, he was already subconsciously slipping into the past tense. “He said women are worlds better than all the rest of us.”
“See? I told you he’s wise.” I laughed again, winding my arm through his and bracing myself against the chilly wind. “What makes you think I possess this magical pluck?”
A look of mischief danced across James’s face as he lifted his shoulders in an innocent shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just that you once egged the car of a lecherous professor. Pluck is inherent in certain girls who may or may not have taken off all their clothes to swim in the town pond.”
His twinkly laughter rang out in the starry night as I let go of him and covered my face with both hands. “What the hell possibly possessed me to tell you all those things? Did you spike my champagne or something?”
“No need.” A lock of dark hair blew past his eyes as he gazed down at me. “You are quite the talker when properly motivated.”
I looked down with a grin, and we continued walking in silence for a moment, until I looked back up, my face now caught in a thoughtful frown. “I’m usually not, like I said.”
James glanced down at me but didn’t say a word to that. He merely took off his jacket when the wind made me shiver and slipped it automatically around my bare shoulders. The great night of stories and conversation had finally come to an end, and it wasn’t until we stopped at a sudden fork in the road that either of us dared to break the silence.
“This is me,” I said quietly, cocking my head toward the bridge.
James followed my gaze before tilting his head the opposite direction. “And this is me.”
A sudden surge of sadness caught me by surprise, paired with an equally strong surge of longing. The night doesn’t have to end already, does it?
James seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his eyes fixed on my face, dilating with sudden intensity as he prepared to ask the question. Then, his gaze suddenly dropped a few inches lower, to a particular ruby pendant hanging around my neck. His lips parted in surprise before closing just as suddenly; he was rendered silent as a peculiar sort of transformation came over his face. One second, he was staring at me lustfully in the dark, and in the next, he was lifting his hand to snap his fingers in the air.
Just like that, a sleek black limousine pulled out of nowhere. I had no idea we were being followed until it pulled discreetly out of the shadows to idle along the curb.
“Frank,” James called quietly as the window rolled down, “will you please take Miss Jones home?”
“Certainly, sir.”
The driver circled around to the back of the car, pulled the door open, and waited, never losing the professionalism etched on his face. “Madam,” he said, “may I?”