Hard Sell (Page 49)

I’m not in panic over my love for her. On the contrary, loving Sabrina might just be the most sane, smartest thing I’ve ever done.

I love her. I love her more than anything.

My panic? Fear that I might be too late—that she might no longer love me.

32

SABRINA

Saturday Evening, October 21

Dressing up’s a regular part of my job—jeans are a luxury, sweatpants almost unheard of.

Black-tie, however, is a whole other ball game and one I secretly enjoy.

The Wolfe Gala is one of maybe a half dozen annual events I attend, and I’ve got a handful of dresses that meet the black-tie criteria. A sleek, classic black. A low-cut red ball gown when I need to own the room. A demure light-purple dress with lace overlay to play up the ingénue effect. A borderline dowdy emerald-green dress for when I need to fly under the radar.

When I thought I’d be attending with Matt, none of my usual dresses felt quite right. So before the weekend in the Hamptons, before everything imploded, I went out and splurged on something new.

I picked out a dress with zero agenda beyond my wanting to feel pretty. I settled on one that’s strapless and fitted up top, with a flowing A-line skirt.

The cut is simple. The color is not.

The dress is several shades of shimmering, silvery blue that create an almost ombré effect. The saleswoman had compared it to a moonbeam, and as whimsical as I thought the comparison was at the time, she’s exactly right.

I’ve let my hair down and styled it straighter than usual to mimic the sleek lines of the bodice, a small discreet set of diamond studs my only accessory.

The entire finished look is everything I hoped for.

All for the wrong man.

“More champagne?” Jarod says, touching a hand to my back and nodding at my nearly empty glass.

I smile. “Please.”

He exchanges our glasses for new ones from a passing waiter, then hands me one. “I’ve been to my fair share of fancy parties, but I’ll admit I’m impressed.”

I take a sip of champagne and survey the room. The Wolfe Gala’s been at the same museum on the West Side for the past couple of years, but they changed it up this year. It’s at a stunning mansion on Park Avenue, one only recently converted to an event space, and I’d have to agree with Jarod’s assessment.

The combination of bright-white walls, black marble floors, and chandeliers gives the room a timeless elegance, with the dark-red accents scattered around the room adding a bit of richness.

“I haven’t seen your Boy Wonder around,” Jarod says, scanning the crowd.

I take a sip of champagne to swallow back a retort that though Matt’s brilliant, he’s hardly a boy. He’s not mine to defend.

He’s not mine at all.

“I wasn’t surprised to learn he agreed to my terms, but I’ll confess I’m glad he did,” Jarod says, his gaze returning to me, drifting briefly over my dress. “I appreciate your coming with me tonight. And if I haven’t said it already, you look lovely.”

I’m relieved that the compliment seems more matter-of-fact than anything, the way one might compliment a sibling or platonic friend. In this regard, Jarod’s been a perfect gentleman all night.

I’m still not entirely sure what his agenda is, but I’m not even sure I care. Jarod Lanham is the least of my worries these days.

“How did Cannon handle the news?” Jarod asks, furthering my suspicion that his game has more to do with Matt than it does with me.

“You don’t know?” I ask, tilting my head.

Jarod’s tuxedoed shoulders shrug. “Honestly? I haven’t heard from him. I wasn’t even sure he got the news until you called to tell me you’d go with me tonight.”

I carefully hide my puzzlement. Ian called me two nights ago to let me know he’d filled Matt in on Jarod’s terms. Yesterday, I’d gotten a revised contract from Matt, terminating our agreement. There’d also been a check for the precise amount we’d agreed to.

Getting the contract and the money had been both gut-wrenching and relieving. It’s the relief I’ve been clinging to. Relief that the sooner Matt and I end this thing, the sooner I can move on.

As for the check, I’d promptly given it to Ian as a donation for his charity for underprivileged high school students. They need it more than I do, and I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach the thought of keeping a single penny from my time with Matt.

Our time together was worth a hell of a lot more to me, even if it ended badly.

A middle-aged couple I don’t recognize stops to socialize with Jarod, and after he makes the introductions, I allow my mind to wander, studying Jarod as he talks, trying to figure him out.

He really is attractive, in a commanding-presence sort of way, and he wears a tux like he was born in one. He’s also considerate, smart, and has a subtle, dry sense of humor.

The whole billionaire thing doesn’t hurt, either.

And yet, no matter how hard I try, I can’t see myself with him. I can’t see myself with anyone except the one guy who’s either too scared to take a risk or too disinterested to even consider it.

Still, knowing that, I can’t help but scan the room for Matt. Even when we were at our most antagonistic, he’d always been a beacon for my attention, so though there are dozens of tuxedos in the room, I know almost immediately that he’s not one of them.

Which is odd. Attendance at this thing is pretty much mandatory for all Wolfe employees.

I’ve already seen Lara and Ian, though every time I get a free moment, they’re in conversation, or vice versa.

Jarod and I walked in with Kennedy and a tall, boring blonde whose name I’ve already forgotten.

And Kate’s not here yet, courtesy of a last-minute zipper emergency on the dress she’d planned to wear. She asked if I could set her up with a tailor who could fix the zipper and the resulting tear, but I’d done her one better: I’d hooked her up with my girl at Saks, with instructions to send the bill to Kennedy, mostly because it amused me to do so.

Distractedly, I scan the room again. Still no Matt.

Maybe he’s picking up his date.

My stomach lurches. Is he bringing a date? It didn’t occur to me to ask Ian, and I wish I would have. Though I don’t know that anything could prepare me for that. Just the thought of it makes me queasy.

Someone touches my arm, and I turn to see Lara, looking gorgeous in a long purple gown. She’s forgone her usual glasses for the evening, but her hair’s in a fancier version of her trademark ponytail, and the combination of elegant evening gown and sleek blonde ponytail is stunning.

“You look beautiful,” I say, giving her a quick hug, and then spinning my finger so she’ll show me the back of the dress. “Oh, well done,” I say approvingly, taking in the low cut that leaves her back almost entirely bare. “Poor Ian must be dying.”

“He’s suggested no fewer than ten times that we make it an early night, but I’ve told him we have to stay at least as long as it took me to find the dress and get ready tonight, so he’s stuck here for another hour or two.”

“Well, well, don’t you two clean up nice.”

Lara and I turn, letting out twin gasps when we see Kate.

She’s always pretty, but she seems somehow transformed tonight. Her usually straight, thick hair’s been pulled into an elegant chignon to show off her petite features, and the dress is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.