Chapter 43
2303words
Usually, twenty seconds was more than enough. Once, I had escorted a wealthy client down a fourteen-story fire escape wearing nothing but a poncho in under ten seconds.
But this wasn't a typical client. The Reverie wasn't an ordinary venue. And right now... right now, I'd trade anything for a fire escape.
Okay, Avy—game on. Twenty seconds starts... now!
I maneuvered through the crowd like an otter through choppy waters, chiffon billowing behind me. The clock was ticking, and I couldn't afford to be polite or delicate. Thankfully, my towering heels provided plenty of motivation for people to step aside. The last group of stockbrokers parted before me, and suddenly, I halted in my tracks.
There he was.
International sex symbol. Eccentric philanthropist. Legendary playboy. Heir to the largest fortune in the Western Hemisphere. And the thorn in my side.
Nicholas Huntington.
At fourteen, he had been named one of the five most beautiful people on the planet. The Belgian royal family had tried to adopt. He'd opened the Olympics twice—performed in them as a last-minute pole-vaulting addition once. He'd backpacked through every country where you could still find espresso. Literally orbited the earth's atmosphere on a dare. Destroyed a priceless Egyptian artifact when he tried to take an ill-timed selfie. And on three separate occasions, he had turned an official state dinner into an impromptu rave.
At present, he was standing in the center of the fountain. Dripping wet. Drunk as hell. His hand wrapped around the breast of one of the statuesque angels in an unintentional grope.
'Avy!" he cried the second he saw me.
He was the only one who called me Avy. Even my mother was not so bold. To everyone else, it was Avery. Avery Winchester. PR maven extraordinaire. A credit to her industry. A savior to her clients. A razor-tongued blessing to those who employed her, and a curse to those who stood in her way. (This was all printed on my business cards. In so many words.)
But to him, I was Avy. And to me, he was Nicholas.
We'd dropped the formalities about the third time I'd had to stash him naked in the back of my car. Hiding under a pashmina as I smuggled him through security.
Fifteen seconds. Make them count.
'What are we into this time, Nicholas?"
Every rescue started the exact same way. A simple question, followed by a lengthy explanation—so convoluted and self-righteous, it defied rational comprehension.
Sure enough, he was ready for me.
'Lobsters," he answered promptly.
This one actually threw me for a second. A second I didn't have.
'...lobsters?"
Instinctively, I looked down into the water below—half expecting him to be standing in the middle of a small colony, teaching them how to unionize.
'What did you..." A flashbulb went off behind me, and my voice lowered sharply. 'What do you mean—lobsters? What did you do?"
He tilted his head defiantly to the side, still holding onto the angel for balance.
'Why do you automatically assume this is my fault?"
My eyes made a slow journey from the top of his dripping head, to the bottom of his submerge
d four hundred dollar shoes. Even he had the decency to blush.
Ten seconds...
There was a sharp tap on my shoulder, and I turned around only to come face to face with the most severe looking mustache I had ever seen. It took everything I had not to reach out and touch it with the tip of my finger—see if I would bleed. The mustache had a face to match.
'Excuse me—but are you responsible for this man?" A heavy French accent, and a spray of spit. 'Ms. Winchester?"
He sneered my name with the kind of disdain you only heard from villains in children's TV shows. The veins in his neck throbbing with every vowel.
My face melted into a charming smile. The kind I should have been using on my date.
'That's me. What seems to be the problem?"
There was a drunken splash behind me, and the smile tightened painfully.
For fuck's sake, Nicholas. Could you make this any harder?
The man's face darkened to an ugly shade of puce. An aneurysm was not too far behind.
'We were pleased to welcome Monsieur Huntington into our establishment today. As ever, his family's patronage is greatly appreciated. But halfway through the cheese course, he took it upon himself to attempt to free the collection of lobsters we keep in the kitchen. My security man, Harold, found him frolicking in the tank."
A towering figure next to him nodded solemnly in my direction, his only contribution and a somber one at that. Yeah... Harold wouldn't take that well.
The manager's voice lowered marginally, stretching the boundaries of professional decorum as the tale veered into an aquatic chase.
'Typically, we extend some leniency to guests like this, no matter how unconventional their behavior. But we had plans to serve—"
'—plans to murder," Nicholas interjected.
The manager's nostrils flared like a bull. 'The lobsters cost five hundred each. Despite Monsieur Huntington's offer to pay, they were already spoken for. When we declined, he proceeded with what he termed vigilante justice—"
I closed my eyes and gestured for silence. I could guess where the story was heading. I was all too familiar with Nicholas's version of vigilante justice.
Five seconds...
'I'll handle this," I said sweetly, before turning back to the fountain.
Nicholas still clung to the centerpiece statue for support, his ten thousand dollar Armani suit drenched and clinging to his tall frame. His golden-brown hair was wet and tousled, and several claw-sized marks crisscrossed his hands.
'Avy, don't let them take me in," he whispered loudly, water dripping down his perfectly chiseled face. 'You know how much I fear authority."
I rolled my eyes and took a step closer, acutely aware of the outrageously expensive gown I planned to return the next day as it swept across the wet tiles.
'What were you thinking, Nicholas?" I asked softly, assessing him with practiced calm. If we needed to make a break for it, I needed to know if he was capable and how much alcohol had clouded his judgment.
'I did exactly what you told me," he insisted loyally.
I blinked, struggling to maintain composure.
'You interpreted my instructions as inciting a rebellion among crustaceans?"
'No, you said not to get arrested on your night off."
It took a moment for the absurd logic of his mind to sink in. Piece by piece, I started to connect the dots.
'So, you decided the fountain was a safe zone from the cops."
He winked. 'Genius, right?" Outside the splash zone, three bewilderd police officers looked on, failing to deter Nicholas, who appeared rather pleased with himself. 'See, Avy? I do listen when you say stay out of trouble."
Shaking my head, I scanned the area, trying to formulate a plan. 'You must have had seventeen nannies. How did none of them consider strangling you as a child?"
He shrugged casually, now eyeing the statue's bosom.
The title of his future memoir.
Alright—time's up, Winchester. What'cha got?
'What's that?" I leaned back with a look of theatric surprise and raised my voice to be heard by the crowd. 'You were raising awareness for environmental groups protesting inhumane practices inherent in the commercialization of shellfish?"
Not my greatest story, but he hadn't left me many options.
The manager shook a fist towards the heavens, but Nicholas flashed me a secret grin and nodded sagely—discreetly angling his ‘good side' towards the cameras.
'As many of you know, the passionate advocacy for mollusks and other forms of sea life is a cause very near and dear to my heart."
'Don't over-sell it," I muttered, clenching my teeth together in a perfect smile.
'At any rate, I think tonight has taught us all a valuable lesson." He levelled the long-suffering manager in his gaze, holding him hilariously accountable. 'Isn't that right, Marcus?"
...don't push it.
Marcus turned with a vengeful glare to the police.
'Fire at will."
There was a split-second pause, during which nobody moved.
Then I threw back my head with the loudest laugh I could possible manage. A second later, the rest of the patrons joined in. Then the press. Laughter gave way to applause, as if the entire debacle was some kind of aquatic performance art. Only Marcus the manager looked supremely disappointed, as the cops holstered their tasers and headed home.
'There's a car waiting out front," I muttered under the cover of applause. 'Get your ass out of the fountain, Nicholas. I'm taking you home."
He waved to his adoring fans, tilting precariously as the water sloshed up around his ankles. 'That might be a little difficult, as I'm not entirely sure I can stand." His eyes flickered guiltily to the four empty bottles of champagne sitting on his abandoned table. 'You're going to have to come in here and get me."
Go in there?!
'Nicholas," I hissed between my teeth, 'I'm wearing new shoes."
'So take off your shoes."
'And a new dress."
His eyes sparkled with a devilish wink.
'Well, you know what I'm going to say to that."
My blood boiled as I gauged my rather limited options. The applause was already starting to die down, and the police were only a stone's throw away. It also had to be said, that Nicholas didn't look very capable of supporting his own weight right now.
He looked handsome. And wet. And very, very drunk.
'You're serious right now?" I stalled. 'You're really going to make me come in there?"
He didn't answer. Just blinked at me and stepped further into the fountain.
Of for the love of—
A bitter sigh slipped past my teeth as I kicked off my shoes, hiked up my designer dress, and waded tentatively into the fountain.
'You might be worried about the cops, but you should know that I'm going strangle you myself in the car on the way home," I warned, stepping carefully over a hundred well-wishers' coins. 'I'm going to do what the nannies couldn't."
'Avy—you came!" he exclaimed, delighted that I'd joined him.
I rolled my eyes and draped his arm heavily over my shoulder.
Get a job in public relations, they said. It will be easy, they said.
Remind me to hunt those people down and choke them with a lobster.
'Just don't get met wet," I commanded, as we navigated our way slowly to the rim. 'If I'm really lucky, I think I can still salvage this—"
FUCK!
His foot caught on the edge of a statue, and the two of us went down—landing on our backs in the freezing water, drawing yet another round of delighted cheering from the crowd.
I closed my eyes in complete mortification, feeling as the clouds of billowing chiffon filled slowly with water and sank like designer kelp to the bottom of the pool. The miniature crystals sewn into the skirt were soon to follow—loosening themselves one by one and sinking down to a watery grave.
A burst of sparkling laughter brought me back to the present.
'Avy!" Nicholas yanked the soggy slip of paper off my dress with a drunken grin, 'you left the price tag on!"
'No—it's not funny! It's actually not funny at all! And if you keep laughing, I'm going to shank you with my stiletto!" I shoved him into the town car and clambered in behind—my wet dress clinging to my legs. 'Straight home—Bobby."
The driver glanced back with a professionally restrained smile, and pulled away from the curb. When Nicholas started talking again, he discreetly rolled up the partition.
'You're going to shank me?!" he asked with a dripping smile.
'I'm from Brooklyn," I replied flatly. 'Why? What do they do at boarding school?"
'We stab, Avy. We stab."
I shot him a withering look.
'Well not everyone can be as pretentiously poetic as you."
With another word, I swiveled away from him, looking down in dismay at my once-perfect ensemble. Not only had my princess dress become some kind of body-suit, hugging onto me like a second skin, but my perfectly coifed curls hung in limp tendrils down my chest. I was Cinderella alright. If Cinderella had gotten dunked in a mountain stream.
'Sorry about the car, Bobby," I called through the partition. 'I'll get it serviced for you in the morning." My voice dropped several accusatory octaves. 'Right after I write the Reverie a rather exorbitant check..."
'You can just say it, Avy." Nicholas took off each of his shoes and emptied them into the car with a look of supreme patience. 'No need to be passive aggressive."
Oh yeah? Then I'd show him ACTUALLY aggressive!
'You EAT lobster!" I cried. 'You eat lobster ALL THE TIME!"
'But I never had to actually SEE them before, Avy!" Nicholas's voice rose with self-righteous indignation to be just as loud as mine. 'Not their FACES!"
His eyes grew wide as he remembered. A drunken shudder ran through his body.
'It was like they were screaming," he concluded darkly. A look of absurd seriousness shadowing his face. 'And only I could hear the screams."
I glared at him for a moment, before crossing my arms and turning back to the window in a sulk. 'You could not hear the screams."
'I could hear them."
On the other side of the car, Nicholas was glaring out his own window—just like me.
'Oh yeah?" I countered petulantly. 'What did they sound like?"
'...you wouldn't understand."
