The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

Inside the elevator, he corners me like he did the first night we were together, but this time, it doesn’t feel predatory. He lifts my face by my chin and pecks me as if it’s the most natural thing. “I’m looking forward to lat

er.”

“Me too,” I say, glancing at the digital numbers over his head. Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen . . . “But I haven’t changed my mind about—”

“Spending the night,” he finishes.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have gotten the room.”

“It’s okay. We’ll make the most of it.” He brushes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Congratulations on tonight.”

I tilt my head, surprised by the change in topic. “It’s not a big deal,” I say.

“Why not?” he asks earnestly.

Why not? It just isn’t, I want to say. It’s not, because I’ve been telling myself it isn’t since I received the nomination. “The women I’m up against are older, more connected, and have donated enough money to the benefitting charity to make a statement. I deserve to win, but I won’t, because it’s all politics. I couldn’t not show up, though. It would’ve been rude, and these things are really about the networking.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Being nominated is an accomplishment, Amelia. Don’t downplay it.”

“But I’ll lose.”

“So what? How many people ever get recognized for what they do?”

“What do I do?” I ask. “I’m a cog in an industry that makes women feel badly about themselves so I can sell them products to make them feel better. It’s a bullshit award in a bullshit business.”

Andrew furrows his eyebrows, and I think I must be mirroring his expression. Lately, I’ve had brief moments where I stopped to ask myself if I’m proud of what I do. But I’ve never spoken that way before. It makes me wonder if it has to do with what Reggie said earlier about work being my priority for the rest of my life.

“I thought you loved your job?”

“I do.” The elevator dings. “God, I need a smoke. Let’s go get this over with.”

“Right behind you,” he says. “But I’ll give you some space to walk in alone.”

I nod and now that my sex-induced haze has cleared, a sudden sense of urgency hits me. I trot to the ballroom. As I near the double doors, the echo of the microphone gets louder. The voice is familiar, like an old friend. I open a door and duck inside, hoping nobody will notice me.

When my eyes adjust to the dark, I see Sadie on stage. “ . . . grateful for this recognition,” she says, squinting out at the crowd.

I pinch my eyebrows together, confused. Why is she up there? She wasn’t nominated.

“Amelia had to step out—”

My name is projected onto the wall under Exceptional Women in PR—Fashion. I gasp silently, covering my mouth. I won the award—and I missed the announcement. I should be up there, but instead, I’m here, disheveled from Andrew’s mouth and hands, frozen to the spot.

“—I know she’d like to thank, um . . .” Sadie clears her throat, darting her eyes around the crowd. “She’d like to thank us, her team, and everyone in this room who’s ever . . . supported or believed in avec. Which is many of you, I’m sure.”

I take a step forward and then another and soon, I’m hurrying toward the stage as Sadie holds up the award.

“Th-thank you. Again.” She pauses. “And again, I apologize for Amelia’s absence. I know she’ll be thrilled.”

The room applauds. I don’t make it to the stage, so instead I stop at our table and steady myself against my chair. Any attempt to get on the stage now would look desperate. Maybe it is a bullshit award, but now it’s my bullshit award, and my first one at that. The only recognition I’ve received, in fact—proof that I’m actually decent at what I do. As much as I played it down, I admit to myself that I wanted to win—I just assumed I wouldn’t. Everyone at my table looks back, their eyes turning to me in synchronization. “Congratulations,” says Howie. “Did you get to see any of it?”

“I—”

“You won,” Mindy says cheerfully.

I feel a hand at the small of my back. “You won?” Andrew asks.

I move away from him. I don’t want him touching me when all eyes are on me.

“Amelia,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

I turn away and spot Sadie coming back to the table. “It’s fine.”

Sadie holds out the small, crystal award and grins. “Where were you?” she asks, nearly bouncing with excitement. She rarely gets giddy, and seeing her happy for me, guilt tugs at my heart. “Can you believe it? You won.”

She gives me the award. It’s heavier than I expect, and I almost need two hands to hold it. I study it. Exceptional Women in PR—Fashion. Other women have babies—I have avec. Even if I’ve doubted it lately, it’s never let me down. I’ve built my world around it. This should’ve been a big moment for me, but I let a man distract me. It’s a classic example of something that would’ve happened when I was with Reggie.

“Amelia?” Sadie asks. “Do you feel all right?”

I blink a few times. I’m being selfish. This isn’t my award—it’s all of ours. My team is looking to me, and I’ve already let them down once tonight. I’m not sure if it’s because I missed the announcement, or if I’m in shock, but the pride I would’ve expected to feel isn’t there.

I force a smile. “We won,” I correct her. “I’d still be working out of a shoebox apartment if it weren’t for my team.”

“That’s not true,” Sadie says seriously, and she’s probably right.

“Really?” Howie asks, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

We laugh, and Sadie seems to notice Andrew then. She looks over my head. “Feeling better?”

“Not really,” he responds.

“Where were you guys?” Sadie cocks her head at me. “Nathan tried calling.”

“We weren’t together,” I say. I don’t want to lie to her, but it doesn’t feel like the right moment to announce her brother had me bent over a desk upstairs.

“I know.” Sadie squints at me. “I didn’t mean you were.”

I touch my stomach. “I think I have food poisoning.”

“Geez,” Sadie says. “You and Andrew?”

Nathan snorts, and I glance at him quickly. “Must’ve been the chicken,” he says wryly.

“Or the Glenlivet,” Sadie jokes. “Do you feel well enough to stay?”

Food poisoning or not, my stomach aches. I should’ve been here. I should not have let my love life, if I can call it that, get in the way of what’s important. I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“No reason to stay if you don’t feel well,” Sadie says, and her kindness only makes me feel worse.

“I’ll walk you out,” Andrew volunteers. “I should take off too.”

“No,” Sadie says, any sympathy in her voice gone. She nods discreetly at the other side of the table. “What about Mindy?”

“Shit,” Andrew says. “I forgot.”

“You’ve barely spoken to her all night,” Sadie says.

“Well . . .” Andrew lays a hand on her shoulder. “That’s because my mind is on someone else, sis.”

I open my mouth to interject before he can out us, but Sadie beats me to it. “For the last time, Bell . . . doesn’t . . . count.”

“Oh. Got it.” Andrew winks, his dimples deepening with a grin that’s just for me, and my heart skips. Fuck—I’m in trouble. I don’t want a skipping heart. Missing tonight is a wake-up call. I’ve let myself get too wrapped up in a man I barely know—but it doesn’t even matter how well I know him. I can’t get wrapped up in anyone—period. “No need to walk me out,” I say, tucking my clutch under my arm. “I’m a big girl.”

“I know you are,” Andrew says slowly, “but I’m leaving anyway.”

“I’ll get Mindy,” Sadie says. “You can share a cab.”

“Won’t that look bad?” he asks. “If everyone from the firm gets up and leaves right after you win the award?”

“Yes, it will,” I say. “You guys stay. Otherwise, I will.”

“No, no. Go, Amelia,” Sadie says. She bites her thumbnail and looks at Andrew. “If you really don’t feel well?

??”

“I don’t.” He kisses her on the cheek and looks to me. “Wait there. Let me say goodnight to Mandy.”

“Mindy,” Sadie and I say in unison.

“Right.” Andrew shakes Nathan’s hand, then leans over to Mindy to tell her something. They look good together. His olive skin matches her golden tan better than my nearly translucent white skin. Our differences are stark, but as much as I want to deny it, we look good together too. So good that I want to smile, and that’s a bad sign.

I don’t wait for Andrew. I pick up the award and slip out when his back is turned. As I cross the lobby toward the exit, I hear the quick, solid footsteps behind me. I’m at a disadvantage in my sky-high heels.

“Amelia, wait,” Andrew says.

I turn around. “I wasn’t lying before—”

He holds two plates of cheesecake. “Swiped these from the dessert cart.”

I eye the cheesecake topped with raspberry sauce. “I really don’t feel well,” I say. “I’m sorry about the room. I’ll pay my half.”

He reads me like a book. “Bullshit,” he says. “Twenty minutes ago, I was fucking your brains out. You feel fine.”

I flush, touching my hair. The back of my neck is clammy. “I’m still leaving.”

“What’s this about?” he asks. “Mindy? I told you, I was tricked into bringing her. I’m not interested.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are,” I say, drawing back. The edges of the award cut into my palm. “Even if I were jealous, I wouldn’t have any right to be.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and his concerned expression eases into a slow smile. He takes a step closer to me. I want to step back. I need to. But I don’t. “Are you?” he asks, his voice low, “jealous?”

I square my shoulders. “No.”

“You’re sure? Because I wouldn’t mind if you were. If you’d shown up with a date tonight, I would’ve been.”

He only says it to get me to go upstairs with him, yet it still makes me want to smile. “If that’s true, then I really do need to go home.”

“Nah. We’ve been intimate. It’s only natural we’d feel that way. It doesn’t mean it’s anything more.”

His masculine scent is strong—musky with a hint of sweat. Being near him, I can’t forget for very long how intimate we just were. I can see in his eyes, he believes what he’s saying. He wants me to be jealous. “It’s not about Mindy,” I say with a sigh. “I should’ve been here for the announcement. I don’t want to get distracted.”