Ready or Not (12 page)

“I didn’t even know you liked cats,” Sam said.

“I mean, I probably do,” Mallory answered weakly. “But that’s not the point. Hope’s incredibly good-looking and, as it turns out, not a bad conversationalist, but the practicality of she and I ever working out in the real scheme of things is in the negative zone. Not even on the chart, and you know how important charts are to me.”

“You’re not going to make a chart right now, are you?” Brooklyn asked. Mallory shot her a look and took a seat in her desk chair.

“But here’s the question,” Hunter said quite seriously. “What are the chances of future make-out sessions?”

Mallory felt the blush touch her cheeks before she could control it, and that seemed to be all the answer her friends needed to clap and cheer. She shouted over them. “Hey! Wait. I don’t know! I didn’t say there would be.”

“You don’t have to,” Brooklyn said, chair dancing as she went to work. “But I have a feeling there’s a good, strong whiskey sour in your near future.”

“Well, have you seen the bartender?” Mallory asked, facing her computer screen. Okay, so maybe this was a little fun.

“And we have liftoff,” Hunter said and popped a piece of banana bread into her mouth. After the laughter subsided, everyone fell into their respective morning routines and the office slipped into quiet. Was it possible that a steamy thought or two crossed Mallory’s mind as she organized her email?

Well,
anything
was possible.

“Mom?” Mallory said into her phone to no avail. Her mother continued chattering on about the plans for her parents’ thirty-seventh anniversary party the following week. Honestly, who throws a party for their
thirty-seventh
anniversary? Only her parents, who were intent on one-upping anyone and everyone who hadn’t managed to stay together as long as they had. The Spencers knew how to play societal hardball with the Manhattan elite.

Mallory took a breath and attempted to wait her mother out, but she was a runaway train of party details. “So the guests will begin arriving at seven, so you and your brothers and sister should be here no later than six thirty. Oh, and don’t wear anything blue. I plan to wear blue, and the last time Chelsea and I looked like we’d coordinated and it was horrifically embarrassing.” Mallory smiled, as she was pretty sure her older sister had done that on purpose. Score one for Chels.

“No blue. Got it. But six thirty is going to be pushing it for me to make it across town already dressed.”

“And if you see Margaret Van Cleave, smile, make nice, but don’t tell her anything about my appointment at the
dentist
,” she said, emphasizing the word, which Mallory knew was code for the face-lift her father had purchased her mother six months ago.

“I understand. Mom, are you listening to me though? I’ll be at the party, but I might be late. I have client meetings booked through the afternoon, and traveling across town in rush hour will add time.”

“You’ll figure it out,” her mother said dismissively. “This is
our anniversary
we’re talking about.”

“Right,” Mallory said, rounding the corner onto Spring Street. She had a mountain of paperwork at the office to plow through. “Of course.” Her mother was a strong-willed woman and had passed on those traits to Mallory, who planned to use them for more noteworthy causes than societal gatherings and keeping the “wrong” people out of their building. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Remember to smile more at the party. We talked about this.”

“Of course, Mom. I’ll practice in the mirror.”

“Oh! That’s a wonderful idea, Mallory. Such a good head on your shoulders. Will you be bringing a date to the party? I need a catering headcount.”

“No. Just me.”

“Well, that’s okay too. Successful women do just fine all alone. Remember that.”

She closed her eyes at the backhanded compliment.
All alone
. That was her, all right. Seemed to be a popular theme lately. “I will remember that. Thanks, Mom.”

They said their good-byes, and Mallory clicked off just in time to see a familiar face a few yards ahead on the sidewalk. She’d never encountered Hope in broad daylight, and it was a little surreal running into her on the street now, even if they both lived in the neighborhood. Hope wore ripped denim and a baggy gray sweatshirt. Not how she was used to seeing Hope, but maybe this was her off-the-clock look. She was talking to a couple of guys in front of an electronics store and looking rather serious.

Mallory caught Hope’s eye and smiled as she approached. Hope, however, raised a pair of questioning eyebrows at her and paused the conversation. “Something I can help you with?” she asked in seeming annoyance. It caught Mallory off guard, that tone. She’d never witnessed Hope be anything but friendly.

“No. Sorry. Just passing by, thought I’d say hello.”

“Great.” Hope’s eyes followed Mallory’s progress, clearly waiting for her to be out of the way so she could resume the conversation with the two rather severe-looking guys. One with enormous muscles. She glanced back at his exposed bicep. Was that a tattoo of Jesus with a baseball bat? An interesting artistic choice.

As she walked the rest of the way back to the office, the encounter left her feeling a bit low. So she and Hope didn’t have a million things in common, but after the other night, she, at the very least, thought of Hope as someone she’d say hello to on the street, exchange pleasantries with. Another example, however, of how different the two of them were.

Why the hell did she care so much anyway?

The answer to that question simmered there quietly, making her wildly uncomfortable. She shook her head and glanced up at the blue sky on what otherwise would have been a perfect day. She never should have allowed Hope to kiss her, and she certainly shouldn’t have kissed her back. Because now a woman who barely acknowledged her existence on the street was firmly underneath her skin. A woman she had no business getting mixed up with.

Damn it.

She should have known better.

New game plan.

Operation: Take Back Control was going into full effect.

*

It was only six that Friday night, but Hope noticed the traffic at Showplace already picking up. But then the weekends had a way of doing that. She’d booked a band, as she was still experimenting with the band vs. DJ concept and what seemed to jive best with her clientele. As she mixed a handful of drink orders, she kept one eye on the band’s set-up process in case they needed assistance. Honestly, this was one of those times when she should leave the bar to one of her hired bartenders, but it really was her favorite spot, where she could lose herself in what she did best. There was a fine art to the creation of a good cocktail. That’s what a lot of people didn’t realize, and she relished her craft.

“She’s getting good,” Teddy said as he deposited a tray of bussed glasses on the bar. “And the girl at table twenty-six has the hots for me. At last, a straight girl. The universe might love me after all.”

“Who?” Hope asked absently, as she mixed a Tom Collins for a guy in a sweater vest, an
actual
sweater vest.

Teddy pointed slyly. “The cute one on the right. She’s been giving me the up-and-down every time I walk by. She’s in love with Teddy. She wants Teddy’s clothes off. She caught the Teddy bug and needs an antidote of Teddy. I might give her my number.”

“Fantastic, but I meant who’s getting good?”

“Oh. Sophie. That new girl. She’s only spilled one drink thus far and pays close attention when I offer her advice. She might work out after all. Though I think she’s developed a little crush of her own,” he said, inclining his head in the direction of a table near the door. Sophie had paused at Katia’s table, that French girl who set up shop in that same spot nearly every night and brooded. She was an excellent brooder, in fact, and the girls took notice of her as she sipped her brandy and regarded the world. She had the introspective European thing down pat and seemed to do pretty well with it.

“Bad plan. Katia’s a total heartbreaker,” Hope said. “She wraps these women around her finger and then drops them cold.”

“Maybe you should warn her. Do the big-sister thing.”

Hope shot Teddy a look. “So not my style, Ted. Plus, I’m her boss. What can I get you?” she asked a woman who leaned across the bar. Now that was a lot of cleavage on display. As in all of it. Hope killed the urge to wince and focused on the woman’s face instead.

“Moscow Mule with two limes.”

“Coming up.”

“You are her boss,” Teddy said, picking up where they left off. “But you’re a decent human being, and that works well enough for this kind of girl-to-girl conversation.”

“Fine. If the opportunity presents itself, but no promises.”

“That’s what I like to hear. And because of your generosity of spirit, I believe the universe has just rewarded you.” He stepped out of the way to reveal Brooklyn and Mallory snagging seats at their usual table. Teddy raised his eyebrows a couple of times playfully and departed with a fresh tray of drinks.

It had been only twenty-four hours since she’d seen Mallory, but Hope still got a little uptick in energy laying eyes on her now. She was casual tonight. Jeans, a white T-shirt with a turquoise scarf. The kind you wore for fashion and not weather, translation: classy and sexy combined. Everything about her was. Hope didn’t know where things were headed, or even if they should head anywhere, as she wasn’t much of a dater. She simply wasn’t interested in dating many people, but Mallory Spencer, despite the fact that she was out of Hope’s league, firmly had her attention.

She just wasn’t sure what to do about it.

But Hope did have another angle to explore on that front, and it involved Showplace. She’d been mulling over a new idea for the bar and, in the back of her mind, wondered if Mallory and her friends might be able to help. Showplace was doing well, and for that Hope was thrilled, but the numbers she had coming in weren’t always consistent, and that left her feeling a little nervous financially. Sure, she could squirrel away some cash for the slower weeks, or she could continue her quest to take this bar to the next level. She signaled one of the waiters who doubled as a bartender to take her spot and made her way to a table across the room.

“Hey,” she said, meeting first Brooklyn’s and then Mallory’s eyes. “How is everyone?”

“Fantastic,” Brooklyn said. “It’s Friday and thereby blessed by unicorns and Lady Gaga.” Hope quirked an eyebrow and Brooklyn tried again. “Translation: we’re thrilled the killer work week is behind us. Bring on the weekend. We want alcohol to celebrate.”

“Got it,” Hope said, smiling. It hadn’t eluded her that Mallory kept her gaze on Brooklyn and hadn’t yet cracked a smile. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sophie stole the moment.

“Drinks for you ladies?”

“A cucumber martini and a whiskey sour,” Hope said on their behalf.

“Make that two cucumber martinis,” Mallory said in what was clearly a challenge. Brooklyn nodded at Sophie and glanced curiously to Mallory.

“So you all work in advertising,” Hope said.

“Aha.” Brooklyn rested her chin in her hand. “You’ve heard the wild rumors.”

She was funny, this Brooklyn. Likable. “I have. And here’s the thing. Showplace is doing a decent business, but I’d like to work on making the decent business into a fantastic business. Is that something your company might be able to help with?”

“So now you want my help?” Mallory asked in an almost accusing tone.

“Well, I’d hire you. I’m not asking for a handout.” The insinuation stung.

Mallory shrugged. “It’s just interesting how vastly different your demeanor is now.”

Hope felt behind. What was she missing? “From when we said good night in the hallway? Yeah, I’d say this exchange is a little less personal.”

Brooklyn’s cheeks colored at the back-and-forth. “You know what? I’m gonna check on those drinks. Let you two nice people talk alone.”

Mallory’s hard-edged stare turned back to her. “I was actually referencing earlier today.”

Still not following. “For what purpose? You’re gonna have to spell this one out for me.”

“You were…I don’t know. Rude. Brusque. And now you’re asking for help with your business. I just find it odd timing.”

“First of all, this is the first time I’ve seen you today. And second of all, I’m not asking for help. I already told you. I’m a paying customer.”

Mallory stared at her as if she’d said it was Dress Like a Starfish Night. She opened her mouth and then closed it again before seeming to backtrack and settle on a sentence. “Wait. So you’re telling me we didn’t run into each other on the street today?”

And then Hope understood, as similar misunderstandings from her youth sparked what must have happened.

“You saw Kara.”

Mallory shook her head once. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“You saw my sister today. On the street. About yay-high,” she said, holding up a hand next to her own head. “Looks like me, only a little tougher?”

“Yeah.” Mallory eyed her skeptically. “But it was
you
. I saw you. Just not as put together as you are right now.”

Hope raised a pointed eyebrow. “You thought she was me because we’re twins. We’ve been mistaken for each other our whole lives. Just happens a lot less now, as we haven’t run in the same circles in a long time. I’m out of practice.”

“You have a twin,” Mallory stated, more to herself than to Hope. “At the Seaport you just said sister.”

“Right, well, I wasn’t aware it’d be such a pressing detail. Plus, it was a first date.”

“Non-date.”

“It was a first
non-date
.” Hope corrected herself. “It wasn’t like we were exchanging complete life stories. But, yes, I have a twin sister named Kara, and if you want the truth, she’s kind of a mess.” Realizing she’d now lost interest in the reason she’d originally come over, Hope decided to abandon the plan altogether. “I’ll let you get back to your night.”

Mallory watched Hope make her way back to the bar and set about slicing lemon wedges, which she could apparently do really fast. Impressive. She felt bad for the mix-up, for giving Hope a hard time. But how was she to have known there was a twin out there? A not-very-nice twin, she thought, remembering the irritated stare leveled on her earlier that afternoon.