For 100 Reasons Page 4

  Tasha’s been managing the restaurant for more than a year now, and somehow she makes it look easy. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watch her handle customers and staff with equal parts smooth professionalism and exuberant charm. Vendange had been popular enough when I worked behind the bar, but Tasha’s management of the hotspot has taken its success to a whole new level.

  She’s smiling as she breaks away from a table of happy customers and finally heads my way, pausing to place an order with the bartender. “Caleb, will you pour me a glass of that new Malbec that just came in, please?”

  While he nods and pivots away to fetch the drink, she comes over and envelops me in a warm hug. “Hey, you! Sorry to leave you sitting over here for so long. We’ve been going nonstop since the doors opened today.”

  “I see that. Things are going well.”

  “We’re having a record month,” she says, hooking some of her soft brown spiral curls behind her ear as she releases me. Her cheeks are bright, her gorgeous doe eyes dancing as she hops onto the recently vacated stool beside me. “At this rate, I’m going to have to expand the kitchen staff again and hire a few more servers. Not to mention I’m gonna need an assistant manager sooner than later.”

  I laugh, my brows lifting in surprise. “An assistant manager for my best friend, the ultimate boss lady? I’m shocked.”

  “Yeah, well, not like I have much choice.” She shrugs, her grin widening. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Tasha! Oh, my God, that’s amazing news.”

  “I know, right? My little Zoe’s going to be a big sister.” She starts giggling, and then I’m laughing along with her, my heart leaping at the pure joy I see in her face. No wonder she seems to be glowing today. Although she’s being careful to keep her voice quiet, I can see that she’s practically bursting with excitement.

  “How long have you known? I saw you and Tony last week and you didn’t say anything.”

  “I wasn’t sure. I mean, had a feeling I might be knocked up, but I just took the test this morning to confirm it. We’re not going to officially announce for a little while yet, just to be sure. You’re the first one to know, aside from Tony and his mom, of course.”

  “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.” I squeeze her hands, feeling elated and yet a tiny bit envious.

  When I was seeing Nick, she used to tease me about all of the extravagant places we went, all the romantic things we did. She would jokingly contrast her lifestyle to mine, as if the fantasy I was living in Nick’s Park Avenue penthouse was somehow leagues away from anything she would ever have.

  Even before my happiness with Nick came crashing down around me, I knew that what Tasha had with Tony was pretty close to perfect.

  “Here’s your wine, Tasha.” The bartender sets the glass down in front of her. When he moves on to greet a new customer, I tilt my head at her in question.

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s for you. Obviously, it’s off limits for me now.” She slides the glass next to the iced tea I’ve been nursing since I arrived. “I’m thinking about adding this to our regular list. You’re so good with wine, I’d love your opinion on it first.” A small frown creases her forehead. “And unless I miss my guess, it looks like you could use something a little stronger than what you’re drinking today.”

  I won’t argue that. She studies me as I tilt the glass to my lips and taste the smooth red wine.

  “How’d the reception go on Friday? You and Blandon have a nice time with all of his stuffy university chums?”

  “Brandon,” I say, slanting a wry glance at her. “The reception was great. I must’ve talked with half a dozen art magazines who wanted interviews and photos, and I went home with business cards from two of the best galleries in the city. As for Brandon’s colleagues, they weren’t stuffy at all. They were wonderful. He even introduced me to the dean.”

  Tasha’s eyes stay rooted on me as I pause my ramble to take another drink of wine. “Sounds amazing, Ave. So, what am I missing?”

  “Nick was there.”

  “What?” Her outburst turns several heads at the bar. She leans in closer, dropping her volume to a private level. “What the hell was he doing there?”

  I purse my lips. “He had an invitation, just like everyone else,” I say, recalling his slightly annoyed tone when I asked him the same thing that night. “Apparently, Nick’s been generous with donations to the university over the years. Brandon practically fell all over himself with praise when I introduced them.”

  “Awkward.”

  “A bit,” I agree. “Nick actually had the nerve to ask me to leave the party with him.”

  Tasha gapes. “In front of the professor?”

  “No. Before that. We bumped into each other while Brandon was circulating. I don’t think Nick was any happier than I was to find out we were in the same place, but that didn’t stop him from acting like there was still something between us. When I told him I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, especially considering where we were, he suggested we leave together.”

  “Interesting.”

  “If by interesting you mean arrogant, then yeah. He was. Which is typical of him.”

  Tasha shrugs. “I don’t suppose he got where he is in life by being shy.”

  “No, he got there by looking out for himself and taking whatever he wants.” I narrow my eyes at her as I lift the wineglass to my lips. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  She holds up her hands in surrender. “Just saying.”

  Although it would be a stretch to say that Tasha and Nick were friends, she is familiar with the way he operates in business at least. He’s the reason she’s in charge at Vendange and no longer working behind the bar for the jerk who used to manage the place.

  Nick bought the restaurant after we’d been seeing each other for several months. If he hadn’t promptly sold it after our breakup, jettisoning it almost as swiftly as he seemed to purge me from his life, Tasha had been determined to quit in solidarity with me.

  I’m glad it didn’t come to that because it’s clear how much she loves her job. She’s invested more than just her time into Vendange. Her personal touches in the restaurant are evident in everything from the upscale clothing style and strong morale of the staff to the innovative menu items and creative wine selections. For Nick’s part, he seemed to understand that too. One of the conditions he placed on the sale was that Tasha was to remain at the helm.

  I salute her with my half-empty glass. “This Malbec is excellent, by the way. Is it from Argentina?”

  “France,” she says, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “Forget the wine. Tell me more about the party. Aside from being as arrogant as ever, how’d Nick look?”

  “Good.” I see no point in trying to deny it. Not with her. I let go of a resigned sigh. “He looked ridiculously good.”

  “Ah, fuck. Of course, he did.”

  Tasha is well aware of how physical and consuming my attraction to him was. I don’t want to admit that his effect on my senses is still as powerful as ever, but she’d never believe it if I pretended otherwise.

  “If anything, he’s only gotten better looking,” I add, sipping my wine. “Evidently, single life has been good for him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No? Well, he looked damn good last night, too, when I was with Brandon at Gavin Castille’s new restaurant and saw Nick there having an intimate dinner with a gorgeous blonde.”

  Just saying it stings more than I want it to. I want to be over him. I want him to be relegated to my past, where I can better cope with his absence and all of the hurt that goes along with it.

  Seeing him at the party tore at the edges of too many of those wounds again. Seeing him on a date with another woman just a couple of nights later ripped a piece of me wide open.

  I’m not over him yet. I probably never will be. I gave him too much of me, things I won’t ever be able to give anyone else.

  The one thing neither of us seemed capa
ble of truly giving each other was honesty.

  Tasha winces as I take another swig of the Malbec, a bigger one this time. “What happened after you saw them?”

  “Nothing. I was on my way to the restroom. They were gone by the time I came out.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so. God, I hope not.”

  Her silence stretches for a long moment. “What about Brandon?”

  “What about him?”

  “Does he know you’re still in love with Nick? For that matter, did any of the other handful of guys you’ve briefly dated in the past year know that?”

  I stare at her, wishing I could balk at the suggestion. If it were anyone else I would.

  “I don’t know what I feel for Nick besides hurt and betrayed and confused. Am I over him? No. But I sure as hell don’t want to be in love with him. You should understand that better than anyone.”

  She nods slowly, no doubt recalling the mess I was during those first weeks back in the city. She and Tony took me in when I had nowhere else to go, making room for me in their already crowded home as though I were family. She saw me through the crying jags and the anger, and she helped pushed me back into my art as a means of off-loading all of my pain into something more productive.

  “Yeah, Avery, I do understand. And I hate the bastard for how he hurt you. But how I feel about him doesn’t really matter. You need to figure out what he means to you. Maybe he needs to tell you what you mean to him too.”

  I scoff. “I got that answer loud and clear in Paris, and in the twelve months since. All I was to him was an object to be acquired. He manipulated every aspect of my life—my job, my home, everything—until the only path I had left was the one that would lead me straight to him. I mean, how cold do you have to be to do that to someone? How would I ever forgive him for that?”

  “Maybe you should ask him that question, not me.” Her eyes turn soft, sympathetic. “Call him, Avery. Have the talk you both have been avoiding for the past year.”

  “No way. Not happening.” I down the remainder of the wine and set the glass on the bar. “I have no interest in letting him back into my life again. I can’t do it, Tasha.”

  She arches a brow at me. “Then skip the talk and just go fuck him like you want to do. Get him out of your system and get some closure, if that’s possible. It’d serve him right to be the one getting screwed over for a change.”

  “Oh, my God.” I gape at her because she’s clearly lost her mind to even suggest it. “You give really terrible advice sometimes, you know that?”

  She grins, entirely without shame. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. You’ve told me yourself that you haven’t gone to bed with anyone since him, and that’s a damn long time for a woman to go without. Besides, nothing wrong with some good old-fashioned revenge sex—even if you gotta get it from him.”

  I shake my head, appalled. Not only at her, but at myself for the way my body reacts to the idea of sleeping with Nick again, even under the dubious conditions Tasha’s proposing. Despite my intellect’s best efforts to shut down even the thought of it, desire prickles inside me. Like a living current of electricity, it slides through my veins slick and hot and intense, fueled by the knowledge of how good Nick and I were together.

  We were better than good together. He was the best lover I ever had, and no matter how badly things ended, I know he was every bit as caught up in me. Seeing him the other night at the reception almost had me believing that he might still be.

  Almost.

  Fortunately, my pride proved stronger than any weakness I apparently continue to have where he’s concerned. I don’t want to think about how idiotic I would feel today if I had let our encounter escalate at the reception, or, much worse, had I been foolish enough to let him persuade me into leaving with him, even just to talk.

  Tasha studies me as I run my thumb along the rim of the empty wineglass, my thoughts conflicted and my heart pounding heavily in my breast. She reaches out, placing her hand gently on my forearm, her brown eyes soft with concern.

  “Never mind all that shit I said just now. You’re right, it’s terrible advice. I was only trying to make you laugh.” I offer her a wan smile and she chortles. “Good lord, that bad, huh?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I love you anyway.”

  “Love you too.” She blows out a slow sigh, her gaze dropping to her watch. “I guess I should get back to work.”

  I nod. “Sure, okay. I want to head over to the studio for a while.”

  If there’s one thing I can count on to clear my head and set me back to rights, it’s sitting in front of my easel with a paintbrush in hand. I slide off the barstool and Tasha follows, hopping down off hers to embrace me in another warm hug.

  She steps back, pointing her finger at me. “If you’re free on Sunday, Tony’s mom is making her famous chicken cacciatore. Wanna come? You know it’s to die for.”

  I can’t remember the last home-cooked meal I’ve had, and Tasha’s mother-in-law makes some of the best. My stomach practically growls in agreement. “I’d love to. Thanks.”

  “Great. Inez will be glad to see you at the table with us again. Zoe too. She misses her Auntie Avery.”

  “I can’t wait to be there.”

  We say our goodbyes and I’m smiling with anticipation as I head out the door to the sunny summer afternoon outside. I see the sleek black BMW M6 standing at the curb in front of me, but at first it seems like a mirage. A trick of this vast city, where it isn’t unusual to see vehicles worth many hundreds of thousands of dollars idling at traffic lights or speeding along the gridwork of boulevards.

  But this particular vehicle is one I’ve been inside numerous times, one I know all too well.

  The driver’s side door opens, and my feet slow beneath me as I watch Dominic Baine step out. He’s not dressed in his business armor of a bespoke suit and tie today, but even sporting a basic white T-shirt and well-worn jeans, he still carries himself like a man who could—and probably does—own a healthy chunk of the bustling city that surrounds him.

  He says nothing, merely watches me from over the gleaming roof of the car.

  All the air in my lungs flees as I realize this is no chance meeting like the other two times I’ve seen him in the past week. No, he’s come to Vendange deliberately, possibly even been waiting outside for some time. The way he’s looking at me as he waits for my acknowledgment leaves no doubt about that.

  He’s here right now for one reason.

  Me.

  Chapter 6

  Avery’s bright smile fades the moment her eyes land on me.

  Whatever joy she’d been feeling is gone in an instant, snuffed out and cold. For the brief second she pauses on the sidewalk outside Vendange, all I see in her beautiful face is pain and confusion, suspicion.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I’m the one who’s done this to her.

  Not only that morning in Paris, but more recently too.

  She doesn’t even attempt to conceal her displeasure as she turns away from me without so much as a word. She starts heading up the sidewalk in the opposite direction of me.

  “Avery, wait.”

  Her pace doesn’t slow at all. I bite off a curse as I cut the M6’s engine and close the door. There’s no parking on this section of the street, but the last thing I’m worried about is a paltry ticket or a tow. Rounding the front of the vehicle, I catch up to her in a few determined strides.

  “Avery.” I step ahead, then turn to face her. My body blocks her immediate path, the only thing that seems to make her stop. “Goddamn it, don’t go.”

  My voice sounds too raw, enough to make her gaze snap up to mine in alarm. I rein it in with a scowl. It’s astonishing how quickly she can rattle my self-control. Then again, it shouldn’t surprise me. This woman has twisted me into knots from the first moment I laid eyes on her.

  Gritting my teeth against the urge to physically hold her in place, I try again. “Don’t run f
rom me. Please.”

  She doesn’t try to, but she glares in defiance, her lips flattened into a tight line. “What are you trying to do, Nick?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  A thin scoff escapes her. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “I think you can.”

  She’s pissed off, and as much as I hate being the target of her loathing, I can’t help wondering if last night at Gavin’s restaurant has anything to do with it. The question kept me awake for hours after I left the place. More than once, I had keys in hand, half-tempted to seek her out no matter the time. Instead, after pacing the penthouse like a caged animal until the sun rose, I wasn’t about to go the entire day without seeing her.

  “How did you know where to find me?” There is challenge in her voice, and in the narrowed stare that searches my gaze. “Don’t try to tell me you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  “No. I wasn’t.” At my admission, she folds her arms, her expression perturbed but far from shocked. “I wanted to see you. I drove by your place in Forest Hills this morning, but you were already out. I checked for you at the studio in Harlem too. Lita said she didn’t know where you were—right before she told me to go to hell and slammed the door in my face.”

  Avery’s stare remains stubbornly militant. “Good to know someone’s got my back.”

  I don’t doubt that all of her friends despise me. They have every right to. They’re protective of her, the way people who care for one another are supposed to be. They’re loyal and true. All the things I wanted to be for Avery, tried to be, but failed.

  It’s too late to take anything back. I can’t undo any of it. The wounded look on her face warns me not to even try, but I’ve never been good at taking direction.

  “Since you weren’t anywhere else I looked, I assumed you might be with Tasha at Vendange.”

  She exhales sharply. “You assume a lot. What if I was on a date?” She tosses the suggestion out at me like a volley shot over my bow. “Would you have come after me there too?”

  I don’t reply because there is no need. She can probably read the answer in my hot, unflinching stare. “Fortunately for both of us, you aren’t on a date.”