Vendetta Nation (Enigma Black Trilogy #2) (19 page)

I hadn’t worn a formal dress since Carol forced me to go to prom during my junior year of high school with Mark, a sweet but ultra-quirky boy in my neighborhood, whose mother happened to be a good friend of hers. Ever since donning the cotton candy pink, iron maiden-like dress that Carol had picked out for me that night, I vowed ‘never again’ and had stayed true to that vow ever since. Now, as I readied myself for my first bonafide ball, I couldn’t help but think of Carol looking down upon me from some heavenly shoe store, laughing her ass off.

Further inspection of the suitcase revealed even more feminine garments, including a teddy-like number consisting of hot pink chiffon.
What does she have against sweatpants
? I thought. And then the realization hit me, ‘
Let go’
. Kara knew about Ian’s and my sleeping arrangement as of late. Perhaps this was her way of ensuring that something less than platonic transpired between us, that we truly would ‘let go’ tonight. “Joke’s on you, Kara,” I said, looking down at my less-than-sexy tank top and shorts, “I came equipped with my own wardrobe.” Letting out a sigh, I settled on the red bra and “underwear”, swearing retribution against Kara. Unhooking the garment bag from where it remained hanging on a hook affixed just inside the foyer, I went into the bathroom to change.

A patch of deep red fabric, in the same shade as the undergarments I’d pulled from the suitcase, greeted me. Leave it to Kara to coordinate literally
everything
. I chuckled, removing the dress from the bag. It was strapless, just as I expected, and although I also fully expected to hate it, in reality, the dress I held in my hands was absolutely gorgeous. Light and airy, the duchess silk satin gown was as simple and as understatedly elegant as an expensive dress could get. No frills, no gimmicks, all me. Maybe Kara would be spared, after all.

Carefully, I slid my tank top over my perfectly coiffed head, taking care not to disturb Maurice’s creation. I then slid the gown on from the ground upwards, until the top of the dress was securely nestled around my bust, a downright perfect fit. My eyes traveled to the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The woman in the mirror was regal without being overbearing; sophisticated without being too presumptuous, and…late for the ball, if she didn’t hurry it up. After doing some last minute primping, I grabbed the crystal-encrusted dress shoes that Kara had also picked out and rushed to the door that connected my suite with Ian’s.

When I reached Ian’s door, I knocked on its wooden exterior and waited for him to answer. Soon, when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to answer me, I tried turning the doorknob, only to be met by resistance. Locked. Apparently, he was already enjoying the party without me.

“Hello, Miss,” a voice from behind me beckoned as I stepped into the hall outside my suite. I turned around to see a man of middle age, sharply dressed in a tuxedo, approaching me. “You must be Celaine?”

“Yes,” I answered, extending my hand out to his. His eyes scanned my body from head to toe. If his goal was to make me feel uncomfortable, he was doing a fine job of it.

“I must say, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, revealing teeth too white to be natural. “I’m Chad; I was sent up to bring you down to the ball.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Chad,” I responded. “If you would just tell me how to get there, I’m sure I can find it for myself.”

“No, no, both President Brooks and I insist.” He bent his arm, and motioned for me to lock my arm around his.

Play nice, Celaine
. “Thank you,” I sighed, “that would be delightful.”

“My pleasure. Mr. Grant has already been escorted downstairs and is waiting for you.”

“Well, that explains why he didn’t answer his door.” Arm in arm with Chad, we walked to the set of public elevators at the opposite end of the building from whence Ian and I had arrived earlier. Chad swiped his badge through the elevator’s card reader and pressed the button to call the car to take us downstairs.

“So, how long have you been an employee of President Brooks?” he asked while we waited.

“Pardon me?” I asked.

“You work for Carver Brooks, right? I’m sorry if I was mistaken, that’s what I was told downstairs.”

“Um…yeah…I guess I do, in a way. For about a year now, I suppose.”

Chad nodded, seemingly satisfied by that answer. The elevator beeped, and its car door opened. Still uncomfortably arm-in-arm, Chad and I entered the car, where he pressed the button to take us down to the first floor. “Have you ever been to The Park View before?” he asked, resuming our small talk.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to visit, ever since I was a child and saw a photo spread in
Modern Society
magazine.”

“It’s a beautiful building,” he mused. “I have the privilege of being here every night.”

“Do they make you wear tuxedos every night?”

“No,” he answered. “Only when we host special guests.”

“Ah, like presidents, kings, queens, and dignitaries.” This seemed to be the longest elevator ride in history.

“Actually,” he stated, “we were advised to wear them in honor of both yourself and Mr. Grant.”

My eyes widened and my mouth fell agape just as the elevator door opened to reveal the grand lobby on the first floor. Chad walked forward, taking me with him into the grand lobby. In awe, I looked up at its cathedral ceiling and the intricate Michelangelo-esque artwork that adorned it. From one end of the lobby to the other, cherubs soared through the clouds across a sky blue backdrop, and I found myself mesmerized by them.

“This is where we part ways, Miss Stevens,” he announced, emphasizing the ‘Miss’ part. He held out his hand toward a set of stairs that led down into a crowded ballroom where violins and a piano joined forces to create a hauntingly beautiful melody. “I’ll be here all night, if you need any assistance,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks…Chet,” I replied, purposefully misstating his name, suppressing my urge to knee him where the sun doesn’t shine.

I balanced precariously in the stiletto heels, which forced me to grab tightly onto the banister to avoid the embarrassment of tumbling down the stairs. If Kara hadn’t already been on my shit list, these stilts masquerading as shoes most certainly would have put her there. Taking each step slowly, I couldn’t help but stare in amazement at the beauty that surrounded me. The cathedral ceilings of the lobby extended above the dance floor, accommodating massive crystal chandeliers. Orchids, the color of a late evening sky, adorned the ballroom, romanticizing its overall ambiance. Then as I descended the stairs, taking it all in, I spotted him.

Ian stood just a couple of feet away from the base of the stairs, obviously uncomfortable, but trying his best to put on a confident front. His chestnut hair—a shade lighter than my own—was slicked back, aging his otherwise boyish appearance. Donning a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his red bow tie matched my dress perfectly—Kara’s doing, surely—adding to his debonair façade. Women, both with and without a date, glanced unabashedly in his direction, which shouldn’t have bothered me, but curiously made me take a more defensive stance.

At first, he seemed oblivious to my approach down the staircase, occasionally glancing up its elegant steps, never looking in my direction. It wasn’t until I was almost on top of him that we locked eyes. Ian glanced up at me once, looked back toward the revelers, and then rapidly jerked his head back in my direction, his eyes widened, his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“I honestly think I’ve seen everything now,” I said. “You’ve come a long way from bartending.”

“Me? What about you? You look like...like a girl,” he stammered.

“I think you mean woman. I ceased being a girl when I was seventeen.”

“What I meant to say is, you don’t look half bad,” he backpedaled.

“Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” I said, noticing the envious stares being cast my way. “It appears as though you’ve attracted quite the fan club.”

“It’s the tuxedo.” He held out his arm, inviting me to entwine mine with his. I accepted his invitation and, together, we walked into the action. The photographs in
Modern Society
had done little justice in capturing the natural beauty of The Park View. Every foot we walked revealed something in the architecture, paint, or décor, from minuscule to grand in detail, that caught my eye and made me gawk in wonderment.

“Apparently, we’re supposed to go into the dining area to eat before embarking on any fun for the night,” Ian said.

“I think any hope of us having fun here has been vanquished by our little pre-arranged meeting tonight.” We entered a dining area adjacent to the ballroom where we were greeted by a maitre de who showed us to a small table near a window overlooking the river in the dimly-lit room. Ian let go of my arm and pulled my chair out for me, gesturing for me to sit down. “Did Kara arrange for an etiquette coach on top of your beautification team?” I asked through my smirk.

“Oh, come on, now. Give me a little more credit than that,” he replied as he folded his napkin neatly in his lap. “Her name was Jill, and she was utterly ghastly.” He did his best attempt at mimicking what must have been Jill’s English accent. “Remind me to personally thank Kara for that experience. I mean, I already knew the basics, pulling chairs out for women, please and thank you, and such. It’s not like I was going to scratch my ass in front of these fine people.” A couple passing by our table simultaneously whipped their heads around, glaring at Ian in disgust. “Pardon me,” he corrected himself, “I meant to say arse.”

I did my best to suppress my laughter. Disgusted, the couple resumed their walk away from our table, leaving a trail of self-righteous, pretentious privilege in their wake. “You certainly have a way with words, Ian.”

“It’s a gift,” he said. His eyes sparkled against the candlelight that lit our table. An unseen force, inexplicable and completely out of my control kept me staring into them as though my very life depended upon unraveling the secrets behind them.

“Hello, I’m Sasha,” our too-perky-for-this-formal-establishment waitress introduced herself at our table, a small tray of ice water balanced expertly on her arm. “I’ll be your waitress for the evening. May I start you two off with something to drink? Chardonnay? Tea?”

“Ladies first,” Ian offered.

“I’ll have the chardonnay,” I said, thinking to myself that it had been a long time since I’d had any sort of wine.

“I’ll have the chardonnay too,” Ian ordered.

Sasha removed two glasses of ice water from the tray and set one down in front of each of us. “You two make a really cute couple,” she proclaimed.

“We’re not a couple,” I replied, without looking up at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just…I just…the way you came in and all,” she stuttered.

“What my wife meant to say is that we’ve been together for so long it’s almost like we’re an institution instead of a couple. Isn’t that right, honey?” Ian’s eyes lit up even more, begging me to keep up the ruse.

“Of course, darling, that’s exactly what I meant by that statement.”

“Aww…isn’t that sweet,” our young waitress gushed. “I hope I can find a love like yours when I’m your age.” With that, she left to presumably fetch our drinks.

“Damn kids,” Ian muttered. “What is she, like two, maybe three, years younger than us?”

“Let’s face it, we’re not getting any younger,” I chuckled.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked, his face suddenly more serious than I believed it had ever been.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve both been gone—removed from our lives—for almost a year now. Sure, in hindsight that’s not a long time, but what happens when three years have gone by? Five years? Ten years? We may be young now, but each day we grow older, and each day our former lives pass us by. What are we going to do when—if—we succeed? I know exactly what I’ll have waiting for me when I return, but what about you?”

“You’ve been pondering this for a while, haven’t you?” I asked him, unable to resist thinking about what it would be like to attempt to resume my former life alone. Thoughts of Chase, married to someone else, of children with his same bright blue eyes, of him living in a home with a white picket fence—a home that should have been ours—crept through my mind. My stomach turned instantaneously at the thought.

“It’s just a thought I’ve had recently,” he said, looking out the window.

“Here are your chardonnays.” Sasha returned, and set the crystal stemware containing our wine down on the table.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Will you be having the duck or the prime rib tonight?” she asked me.

“Duck for me,” I answered her.

“The prime rib. Medium,” Ian said, flashing his signature smile at Sasha.

“Very well, I’ll have them put that right in for you.”

“Thank you, Sasha,” Ian said. “I’ll try not to grow any older waiting for it to arrive.”

“You really need to stop saying things like that,” I said. “Those kind of thoughts will destroy you.”

“All I’m saying is that it would be nice having something worth losing for once in my life.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I gave him a half grin, knowing exactly what he meant.

*****

Ian and I left the dining area arm-in-arm after dinner, entering the grand ballroom where jazz music was keeping the guests on the dance floor.