Ready or Not (5 page)

Samantha shrugged. “Just wanted to check in. I know it’s gotta be a little strange for you—”

“Because you’re all in love now and I’m not? Nah. I’m good. I happen to adore all of you and will happily be your fifth wheel anytime.” She smiled her most breezy smile for emphasis.

Sam looked skyward. “Well, how could you not? Plus, someday you’re going to even out that number, I bet.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it. I’m kind of high maintenance if you hadn’t noticed.”

Sam slid onto one of the oak stools that surrounded the kitchen island. “What? You?!” Mallory had to throw a dishtowel at Sam because it was ordained by God.

“Trust me. Someone out there can totally handle you and your many complexities.”

“If that’s true, I’ve yet to meet her. Please let her be sexy.”

“Only the best for Mallory Spencer.”

Mallory sighed dreamily. “You get me. You really get me.”

“But seriously, you’re okay?”

She met Sam’s gaze. “I’m okay. I won’t lie. I look at you guys and wonder what it’s like. You know, to be young and in love. But it’s not my time yet. I’m mature enough about the whole thing to get that. And not everyone is meant to settle down. I happen to do really well on my own.”

“That you do.” Sincerity crossed Sam’s features and the mood seemed to shift. “You know I’ve looked up to you from the first moment I met you, right? And I’m still doing that to this day. This moment.”

It meant a lot, the candor of those words. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. Excited for tomorrow?”

Mallory felt a little flutter of anticipation at the mention of the gathering at the beach house the following evening. Nothing major, but a couple dozen or so friends for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Most of the guests would travel in from the city. Little parties and the details that went into them were her favorite. “Yep. The catering company should arrive at four thirty. They’re bringing everything, so all we have to do is open the doors, sit back, and relax. I told people to arrive anytime after six. That way they’ll be here to see the sunset over the water, which happens to be my most favorite visual in life.”

“See? You’re kind of a romantic under that very put-together Mallory persona.”

“Oh, you think so, huh?”

Samantha nodded. “I know it. And maybe you’ll fall in love at this very party.”

Mallory stared at her friend. “Doubtful. I made the guest list, remember?”

“Don’t count your chickens, Spencer. That’s all I’m saying.”

Mallory followed Sam back to the bonfire and took her seat, joining in the great debate on reality TV and its status as a guilty pleasure. Brooklyn held up a finger.

“I’m just saying that modern programming pales deeply in comparison to the great shows of the sixties. Give me
The Patty Duke Show
over
American Idol
any day.”

“Thank you!” Sam said in solidarity. “Exactly.”

Jessica sat a little taller. “That’s all well and good, but I’m still going to watch
Yard Crashers
every Saturday morning and love it. I refuse to feel guilty about that.”

Brooklyn stared at her. “You’re a mystery to me, you know that?”

Jessica leaned over and nuzzled Brooklyn’s cheek. “You love that I keep you guessing.”

Brooklyn surrendered into a dreamy smile. “I really, really do.”

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Mallory caught Sam whisper something in Hunter’s ear.
There they go again.
“I’ll be right back,” Hunter said, and just like that, she headed off in the direction of the house.

“Do you need something?” Mallory called after her, remembering to play hostess.

“No way. You guys enjoy. Just something I forgot to take care of.”

Content that she wasn’t needed, Mallory decided to dive back into the evening and enjoy herself. “S’more me,” she said to Brooklyn, who promptly tossed the marshmallows her way. “Now sit back and take notes, everyone.”

“I think we’re about to get S’more-schooled,” Sam announced.

Brooklyn tossed her a look. “You mean S’mooled.”

Mallory smiled widely. “That you are, grasshoppers. That you are.”

*

Showplace was crazy that Friday night.

Hope took a deep breath and looked down the bar where approximately ten different customers attempted to catch her eye and place a drink order. Refusing to give in to the ripple of frustration she felt from falling behind, she instead smiled calmly at the next customer, relying on her old skills. Be charming and they’ll forgive anything. “What can I get for you?” she said with a lazy smile.

“What do you recommend?” the girl asked, bringing the extra added eyelash flutter.

Hope slid her a card detailing the drink specials. “I make a pretty awesome Old Fashioned.”

“Sold,” the girl said, a blush dusting her cheeks.

Hope knew the best way to get out of a backup jam was to give the people what they wanted. Entertainment. So she put on a show as she made the drink, tossing the glass and twisting her wrist as she poured, raising each bottle high as the liquid cascaded down and into the glass with a flourish. When she finished, several of the patrons applauded right on cue. She smiled appreciatively and moved on to the next customer, lazy smile intact. Two hours later, Hope’s shoulders ached and her feet called out for mercy, but she was ahead and looking out over a room full of happy, paying customers.

And that’s how it’s done, she thought to herself.

The only fire she’d had to put out was that the new girl, Sophie, had spilled drinks on no fewer than three different customers and apologized about five thousand times.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Hope told her during a slower moment. “You’ve waited tables before. You probably just need to find your groove.”

That’s when Sophie had lost it, tears cascading down her face. “I’ve never waited tables before. I lied to get the job.”

“Oh,” Hope said, not exactly sure what to do with the crying. Not at all her forte.

“But if you let me keep the job, Miss Sanders, I promise that I will get better. I will practice carrying drinks night and day across my living room if I have to. Please don’t fire me.”

Hope mulled this plea over. Sophie didn’t exactly fit the typical cocktail-waitress mold. Mousy hair, glasses, and virtually no tray-handling skills. But times were desperate, and Hope needed a warm, dependable body. And then there was something to be said for passion. It’s what had gotten her where she was. She didn’t start mixing amazing drinks overnight. “So you’re saying you’ll work hard to get better.”

“Beyond hard.”

“And you’ll always show up when you’re scheduled unless you have a legitimate illness or emergency?”

“Always,” Sophie said, wiping the tears from her eyes furiously in an attempt to toughen up.

Hope took a deep breath. “Fine. Tell you what, shadow Becca for the rest of your shift, and Teddy and I will pick up the slack. You’re not scheduled for tomorrow night, but maybe you should come in anyway to see what you can take in from the more established wait staff. Brett’s one of my best waiters, and he’d be great to observe.”

“Oh my God, thank you,” Sophie said, and launched herself into Hope’s arms.

“Whoa. Okay. That’s good. That’s enough,” she said and offered up a single obligatory squeeze. “Don’t make me regret this down the line, okay?”

Sophie released her and grinned like a three-year-old with a new lollipop. She really did seem like a sweet kid. “I won’t,” Sophie said, pointing at Hope and backing away, right into the side of the desk. Ouch. That had to hurt. Not the most graceful, was she? After righting herself and straightening the glasses on her face, Sophie picked up her tray. “Thank you, Miss Sanders, for believing in me.”

“Call me Hope.”

“Hope.” Sophie nodded a few times too many and headed off into the bar. Alone, Hope sank into the comfort of her desk chair. God, she needed a day off. Right on cue, her phone buzzed and she glanced down at the readout. Hunter. The two had struck up a pretty awesome friendship once they’d discovered their joint love for the local music scene. Plus, she was just a really chill girl to hang out with.

“Can you take off tomorrow night?”

While she technically
could
, as Teddy was more than capable of filling in, a weekend probably wasn’t the best time to be out. “Doubtful,” she typed back. “Why?”

“Cocktail party in East Hampton. You need a break. Come play.”

“Love to. Can’t do it. Work.”

“Mallory’s party.”

She stared at the text with no idea why that name caused a tightening in her stomach, yet somehow it did. There was just something about Mallory Spencer. The way she tucked her long dark hair behind her ear when she talked. The way her eyes flashed happiness when one of her friends said something funny. And don’t even get Hope started on the business suits and heels she wore into the bar after work. Hating herself for her weakness, she typed her response. “Fine. Address?”

The address and reply came rapidly. “Thought so. 832 Lily Pond Lane.”

She could see Hunter’s smug grin in her head but pushed it aside. Hope wouldn’t classify herself as someone who fell victim to hot girls very often. In fact, she was quite the opposite—calm, cool, and focused on the daily. She took pride in these things, in fact. But maybe a little distraction wasn’t such a horrible thing. So she’d take a day off, stare at the beach for a while, sip a cocktail, and maybe even have a conversation with the alluring Mallory Spencer. There were worse things in the world.

The day could not have been more perfect for the party if Mallory had ordered it up herself. The sky was a brilliant blue that would soon be swirling into a mixture of purples and oranges as dusk fell. She shook her head in appreciation at the thought. She could never seem to get enough of those East Hampton sunsets. She’d slipped upstairs to shower and change after an afternoon of beach volleyball with her friends in which her team won every game they played, no matter who her partner happened to be at any given moment. The elite prep school she’d attended in upstate New York happened to have one of the best volleyball teams in the state, and she happened to have been their star player.

It felt good to win. Damn good.

Stepping out of the shower, she selected a simple white cocktail dress with three-quarter sleeves for the party. The neckline was a little lower than she usually sported, but they were at the beach after all, and she didn’t mind showing off the tan she’d just snagged. Subtle strappy black heels completed her look, which she could always take off and carry if she ventured off the deck and into the sand. “Well, how do I look?” she asked Elvis, who had followed her to her room. He whined quietly when she scratched his ears, which surely meant he approved. A little bit of fruit-punch lip gloss later and she descended the stairs to the crisscrossing movements of the wait staff readying the space for her guests.

“Anything I can do, Marcus?” she asked the chef, who was her father’s favorite.

Marcus kissed her cheek and placed a glass in her hand. “We have it all under control, my darling. Get ready to greet your guests.”

That she could do.

One of the many requirements of carrying the Spencer name was knowing how to play hostess, and Mallory happened to rock in that department. Promptly at six, she got to do just that as guests trickled in. Most of them were friends from the city who’d steal any chance to break free of the cement jungle when a Hamptons invitation presented itself. Mallory could identify. The city had a way of swallowing you up if you weren’t careful, as much as she loved it with all her heart.

She turned to greet her newest arrival. “Bentley!” Mallory said, kissing the cheek of Jessica’s assistant and accepting the bottle of wine he presented in token.

“This place is killer,” he said, taking in the house. “And meet Jolene.”

“A pleasure,” she said to the rather serious but gorgeous woman attached to Bentley’s arm. Mallory played nice but reminded herself not to get too attached to Jolene. Bentley was a good-looking guy of about six-two with chiseled features, but his stats also included a revolving door of women. She’d yet to see him with the same girl twice. “Please grab a cocktail and something to eat. I think Brooklyn and Jessica are just outside enjoying the weather.”

Thirty minutes later and the large deck was full of guests mingling and sipping, some standing and chatting, others lounging on the plush arrangement of outdoor couches. Mallory turned out to the water and her breath caught. Right on schedule the sky had put together a beautiful show for them.

“You’re right about the sunsets here,” Hunter said. She’d pulled her dark-as-night hair back on one side and outfitted herself in dark denim capris and a light denim halter top that showed off her flawless figure. Mallory had to hate her a little bit sometimes for looking the way she did.

“Told you. Never gets old.”

“Oh, and I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds, but I invited a friend to join us tonight,” Hunter said.

Mallory smiled. “Of course not. The more the merrier.”

“I thought you might say that,” Hunter said, her eyes settling somewhere behind Mallory. “Because she’s here. I’ll grab her.”

Mallory turned and followed Hunter’s progress to a stunning blonde in black skimmers and a royal-blue tank top, topped off with a long silver necklace. She had luminous, light-blue eyes and a body with slight curves to kill for. Layered blond hair fell to her shoulders and moved gently with the breeze off the water.

Wow. Okay.

Warmth gathered in Mallory’s chest and spread, and tingles prickled the back of her neck. Hunter’s friend was beyond striking. In fact, she—and that’s when the woman turned fully in Mallory’s direction and offered a smile.

Wait. Hold the phone.

She knew that smile and recognition took hold. She closed her eyes briefly to readjust and began systematically shoving the tingles back in their tingle-box. Of course, the bartender from Showplace—who also happened to be a friend of Hunter’s. Completely out of context, Mallory hadn’t recognized Hope, but there it was, that easy grin that got slightly under her skin for reasons she still couldn’t name. She sighed internally before smiling and moving to greet her new arrival.