Lost in Us (8 page)

I flush so violently I think steam might come off my face any second. No one seems to share my embarrassment. Natalie rolls her eyes, and Thomas looks disappointed to have lost any chance of getting a steak tonight.

"Can we please go change?" Angela complains, her torso already half out of her suit.

The airport’s restroom is minuscule, like the rest of the building, and not particularly suited for freshening up. But once out of my suit, I hurry and splash water on my face and neck at one of the three sinks, wondering why I hadn’t thought of bringing anything more than a brush with me. At least I brought this with me, because my hair looks like I've been in a tornado. A few strokes later, I realize it will probably keep this look until I wash it. I sigh and stuff the brush back in my bag.

The door cracks open and a look in the mirror tells me Natalie has joined me. She doesn't acknowledge my presence and I follow suit, taking longer than necessary to search for the necklace in my bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her getting her entire makeup arsenal and carefully arranging everything on her sink.  She's so much more prepared for this than I am.

"Don't fall in love with him," she says and I freeze in the act of pulling my necklace from the pocket I knew it was in all along.

"I'm sorry?" I put on my necklace with trembling fingers.

"He can make you feel like you're the center of his world for one day and walk out on you the next."

My head snaps up. She's watching me in the mirror, a look of superiority obvious in every pore of her face.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say coldly.

"Oh, don't take it like that. I’ve known him for a long time. You barely met him. You’re not even one of
us
." She pauses, watching me with large, expectant eyes, no doubt hoping I'll start a scene. I'm determined not to give her that satisfaction. "You seem like such a lovely girl, one who doesn't deserve to get hurt," she adds with disappointment, applying her mascara.

"Thanks for the advice," I say, fighting to keep my voice even.

"Why don't you keep the advice to yourself, Natalie?" Christie says from the doorway. I can't tell how long she's been there, but obviously long enough. "I'm pretty sure Serena can take care of herself."

I seize this moment to leave. Christie follows me and I don't intend to stop before reaching Angela and the guys, who are on the other side of the entrance door, chatting animatedly, when she says, "Don't pay attention to Natalie, okay? No one can spread venom better than her." She shakes her head.

"Was she lying?" I ask, stopping in my tracks. Deep down I know she wasn't. Isn't that exactly how it happened? One night of unrequited attention to me, in which he completely ignored the party even though he was one of the hosts. And then one week of silence, which might have turned into forever had I not called.

Christie hesitates for a second before answering, "I wouldn't know from personal experience." She starts laughing at my sigh of relief, but resumes a serious demeanor when she adds, "From what I’ve heard, she wasn't lying. But this doesn't mean he can't change."

"Doesn't matter," I say quickly, wishing to cut this embarrassing conversation short. "It's just a bit of fun."

She raises an eyebrow.

"For both of us," I add and exit the small building, joining the group.

"I’m in the mood for a spontaneous trip to Malaysia," Ralph says. “Who’s in?” He looks hopefully at the others.

James shakes his head. "Leave me out. I don't have time to join you."

He smiles when he sees me, and as he puts his arm over my shoulder, I can't help wondering what it would take for Christie's words to come true and how many women have tried—and failed—to change James. A lot, probably. There's no reason to believe I could succeed. And then the nagging thought comes back: I am the first one he brought with him, after all.

"Neither will I," snaps Christie, jiggling her foot. "You could show some consideration for the others when planning such trips, Ralph. Not all of us are still living off our trust fund at twenty-eight."

Ah, yes. One of the things that will ensure I'll never be one of them. I finance my life at Stanford through scholarships and bookkeeping, not a trust fund. I take an involuntary look at Natalie, who just came out of the building. The look of superiority on her face hasn't faded one bit. 

"That's your own fault," Ralph says. "I plan to enjoy the good life while it lasts."

He grabs Angela and Natalie by the waist. "What do you two dolls say about Malaysia next week?"

"Thomas, you in?" Angela asks.

"Of course."

"Parker?" the lark asks. Her lack of surprise at Ralph's words makes me wonder how often they go on such spontaneous trips around the world.

"He's part of the
responsible
group," Ralph says mockingly.

Parker chooses to ignore him and answers courteously, "Some other time, Natalie."

"Ah, I'll give Dylan and Simon a call. It'll be like a college reunion," Ralph screeches, kissing both Angela and Natalie on the cheek.

"So you all met at Stanford?" I ask.

"Minus Parker," Thomas retorts, a dreamy look starting to contour on his face. "Four insane years."

"I’ve known James and Parker since boarding school," Natalie says proudly.

It's as if someone dropped an ice cube on James's spine. His arm on my shoulder turns rigid. No, his whole body stiffens and his gaze, fixed on her, has a glacial coldness to it. No one else reacts to her statement in any way, except Parker, who shoots Natalie a warning look.

"Serena and I will be going," James announces and after hurried goodbyes, in which Christie gives me a thumbs up, and Parker makes me promise that we'll meet up before he returns to London. Natalie ignores me as fully as I ignore her, listening to Ralph go on and on about Malaysia, and we head to the Porsche.

"
Y
ou didn't have to do that," I say when we're both in the car. "I wouldn't have minded going out with them."

"I thought you'd be more comfortable if it’s just the two of us," he says, driving out of the parking lot.

I stare at him, unsure what to make of this. Was the animosity between Natalie and me so obvious? Or did he anticipate all the trust fund and expensive trip talk would be awkward for me to listen to? Probably the latter. He, like Natalie, must be aware that I'm not one of them.

For a fraction of a second I think about asking him what the deal with the boarding school was, but a glance at his still rigid fingers clasping the wheel tells me it isn't the best topic for conversation.

"So what now?" I ask playfully.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nope. Jess stuffed me with her famous paella earlier."

"Pity," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting to form his trademark smile. His grasp on the wheel is less stiff. "I know a place in San Jose with the best chocolate fondue on the west coast."

"Chocolate fondue?" I squeak. "Really?" I blush as I realize he hasn't forgotten my little fondue story. Saturday night, he noticed a dark spot the size of a half dollar on my left thigh, a souvenir from a burn I got during one of my very few attempts at cooking: chocolate fondue. I read fourteen different recipes in preparation, and all I managed to come up with was a hard, grainy mess no one could look at, let alone eat. I kept to my truce with Jess ever since: she cooks, I clean.

Seeing what we were up to before and after this conversation, I'm amazed James remembered any of it.

He smirks. "Should I take that as a yes?"

"You'd better." I grin.

We take the highway to San Jose, leaving behind the ocean and the sunset. I peek out the window, to see if I recognize anyone from the group behind the wheel of the cars we pass, but his speeding makes my task impossible. It also shortens our journey from the normal twenty minutes to twelve.

"Speed limits aren’t your thing, huh?" I ask, clutching the edges of my seat, because he doesn't show any signs of slowing down even after we enter the city.

"Sorry," he says and hits the brakes so ferociously I'm positive I would've flown through the windshield if not for the seatbelt, which cuts deeply into my skin.

"Damn it, James," I cry.

He turns to me. "Are you all right?"

"Except for a near heart attack, yes."

"I got lost in thoughts, I—"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, startled by the desperation in his gaze and voice. "We should get going. There's a line behind us."

We start again, this time at an almost embarrassingly slow speed.

"We don't have to let the slugs overcome us," I say.

He smirks at me, but there's something forced about it. His hands have the same rigid clasp on the wheel they had when we started from the airport. Is he still thinking of Natalie's comment? The thought of asking him about it tempts me again, but I decide against it. I focus on the surroundings instead.

I was in San Jose once before with a group of enthusiastic, would-be entrepreneurs from my class, who wanted to attend a conference with the Valley's biggest venture capitalists—an inspiration in their entrepreneurial chase for the next big thing. I trailed along, because I rarely miss a free conference, and I must admit, between the speeches and the spectacular view from the top of the fifty-story building we were in, the positive atmosphere was catchy. But I had read too many statistics on how few entrepreneurs succeed, how few ventures survive, let alone become as successful as James's, to get too excited. Many of my classmates plan to open their own businesses, or join a new venture in the Valley. I’ve never seriously considered anything besides banking. Or, well, I have. But jobs in huge corporations that would get me the paycheck I need to keep me, and Mum and Dad, afloat. Silicon Valley is one too many notches of risky for me. 

We drive past the business district and its tall buildings, taking side street after side street, until we reach a park. James parks right next to the entrance.

"The restaurant is inside the park? Nice," I say as he turns off the engine.

I make a move to exit the car, but James interrupts, "Wait." He gets out of the car and comes over to my side, opening the door for me. Instead of saying thank you, I raise my eyebrows after I get out. He smiles widely, all traces of whatever thoughts he had gotten lost in seemingly gone. "I just thought I'd make a nice impression on our first official date."

A thousand butterflies flutter their wings simultaneously inside me, taking over my heart, leaving me breathless, unable to pronounce anything more than a surprised, "Oh."

He offers his arm and I take it clumsily, unsure what to make of the whole thing. As we enter the park, I rack my brain, trying to recall all the things Jess repeats to herself out loud in front of the mirror before every single one of her first dates, then I remember most of the things wouldn't fit in my case anyway, given last Saturday. 

I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm the wild drumming in my chest, hoping that my nervousness isn't visible in the dimly illuminated alley lined with palm trees. The drumming reaches a new height when the restaurant comes into view, an elegant two-story cottage, with terraces on both levels, buzzing with people enjoying the warm evening.

"Welcome to L'Etoile," a pretty blonde with a tight bun and a heavy French accent greets us at the doorway. Her eyes rest on my jeans for a few seconds, then shift over to James's casual shirt. One closer look at the guests reveals that we're one suit and a chiffon gown too underdressed for this place.

James seems completely unperturbed by this. He unleashes the full force of his smile's charm on the poor woman a second later, when he says in a low voice, "James Cohen, I called for a reservation about two hours ago."

The woman's look of contempt instantly melts, the most ridiculous eyelash batting taking its place as she murmurs a weak "Follow me," before swirling around in her pumps and proceeding inside. Amazing, the effect he can have on women. I exchange a quick glance with James and both of us burst into less-than-discrete laughter. The woman trips over her own feet as she starts climbing a narrow spiral staircase. We don't head, as I expected, toward the terrace once we're on the second floor. The blonde leads us in the opposite direction to another door that opens to a balcony. When I step outside, my first thought is that the balcony is completely empty. Then I see the small table with two chairs. And the red candles in the middle of the table.

"That's our table," James says and I realize I've stopped walking.

"James, I… this is so… you didn't have to…"

Thankfully, he stops my incoherent babbling with a kiss. Soft and sweet in the beginning, until I feel the cold wall against my back, and James pressing himself against me, deepening the kiss with an urgency that awakes the desperate longing I've been trying to keep under control since I first saw him this evening. I can't suppress a moan when his hands find their way under my top, and James breaks off the kiss, gasping.

"Why don't we have that dessert before I change my mind?" he says in a low, raspy voice and turns around, taking my hand and leading me to the small table.