The way Alicia had looked at me, like I was some simple creature slithering all over the floor. How could I have not realized that Penn was the CEO of a company so explosive it had just broken onto the Forbes list?
Her haughty expression and the way her arm snaked around Penn burned away any last thoughts I had for a good night's sleep. I cracked open my laptop and typed Penn's name into the search engine.
I scrolled past the numerous website and articles about his meteoric rise to the top. Far down, the articles morphed into news of the uber-famous Xavier Templeton.
"So famous, even I knew who he was," I muttered.
Then, I was caught by one reporter's coverage of the Templeton estate. That Xavier was the benefactor of a mind-boggling family fortune was no joke. It was the stuff of legends.
So, naturally, it was big news when a journalist dug up his will and discovered that Penn was not named his heir. When pressed, Xavier had admitted to the press that his son wanted to get out from under his shadow and make his own way.
I felt a stir of pride in Penn that turned to a cringe. So, there was at least one thing he hadn't lied about.
The rest of the headlines extolled Penn as an amazing entrepreneur. He was called innovative and adventurous. He was the new breed of business and well on his way to making billions. And there were way too many hits that speculated at the extent of his worth.
No wonder Penn thought I was just a subtle gold-digger. How could I have missed all of that press?
"Because he's not my type," I admitted bitterly to my quiet room.
Penn looked nothing like the kind of billionaires I had wanted to meet. His hair was shaggy, his beard overgrown, and his tattoos almost as famous as his outdoor equipment company. I had judged him right away and on looks alone. After that, nothing swayed me until the truth was ripped open at the charity ball.
The charity ball. My stomach fizzled as I remembered all the photographers at the event. Was there a picture of me with Penn? I knew it was silly, the kind of sentimental thing that would torture me for days to come, but I wanted to see what we had looked like as a couple.
Ginny had said everyone could see how perfect we were for each other, and I wanted to see if that was true. No, I needed to see if it was true.
I sat back and let my hands fall into my lap. I needed it because I really loved him. The admission reverberated in my chest like a heavy bell. I loved Penn, no matter who he was.
I scrambled for my phone and finally punched the number I had been itching to dial for weeks. It started rigging and my nerves jumped. As I waited and wondered if he would pick up, I sat back down and scrolled through the charity ball photographs.
There was Xavier and Alice arm-in-arm. I couldn't resist and took a detour to read about their reconciliation. There were great stories about Alice's brave fight against cancer and Xavier's loving support. Then there were speculations about their upcoming wedding. And every picture showed the two of them smiling.
"Hello?"
My breath fled my body, then I realized that Penn probably did not recognize the number I was calling from. I struggled to say anything, to tell him who I was, but he seemed to guess.
"Corsica?"
My hand fluttered over the cursor and suddenly a whole new crop of photographs appeared. Penn with his arm wrapped around Alicia, posing for the cameras. It must have been taken just minutes after I had left to mingle on my own. Those minutes had been excruciating for me, and here he was with a bright smile and a beautiful, rich woman on his arm.
His equal, I thought and hung up the phone. How could I ever be with someone who didn't view me as an equal?
The problem, I thought as I dragged myself to bed, was that I didn't even know where I belonged.
#
I had never used the word “smarmy” before, but it was the only way I could describe the bartender. His smile never quite reached both sides while his eyes swept far too low every time he looked at me. Still, I thought, if I was going to find out where I belonged, maybe I needed to start at the bottom.
I shifted my weight and heard the gummy suction sound of my shoe pulling off the black-painted concrete floor. The little basement jazz club was dark with sticky floors and questionable clientele. But the music was good.
The next set started up and brought a wave of relief. When the music was playing, the attention was off me and my particularly out-of-place dress. The simple dress was straight off the rack at some big box store, but it fit so perfectly it could have been couture. I regretted every clinging curve of it as the bartender's eyes swept back to me.
"Another drink for the lady?" he oozed over to stand in front of me.
"Make it two." Ginny popped up next to me, and I wrapped her in a long hug. "Well," she giggled, "either you've gone to the next extreme or you really want him to think you play for the other team."
"I don't care. I'm just glad you came." I snapped up our drinks and headed for a little, round table in the corner. "I needed someone else's take on this place."
Ginny eyed her chair, shrugged, and sat down. "A little out of the way, a little dark, and a little, ah, sticky," she shifted in her seat, "but the music sounds good."