Walk of Shame
Page 47

Likable.
Lovable.
“Pam told me you were a ladies’ man,” I blurt out.
He laughs. “What?”
Yeah, what? This is random, even for me. I blame the extra glass of champagne.
I take a big bite of donut and then set it on the napkin on the front desk, feeling embarrassed, not just by the telling proclamation but by the fact that Ramon’s right there. “Can we talk for a sec?”
Andrew nods and starts to guide me toward the seating area on the far side of the lobby.
“Wait, my donut,” I protest.
“Ridiculous,” he mutters. But he picks up the donut, along with a couple of extra napkins.
“Now,” he says as he sits beside me on an uncomfortable love seat, out of Ramon’s hearing, “what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter, fiddling with the napkin.
“Don’t know, or don’t want to tell me?”
“Are you really a genius?” I ask.
His head snaps back slightly. “I see you and Pam had quite the chat.”
I nod. “Quite. She said you were deadly smart.”
“She exaggerates.”
“But you skipped two grades. That’s a really high level of nerd-dom, Andy. Where do you rank next to Einstein?”
His eyes narrow on me slightly. “Is this really what’s bothering you? My IQ?”
“Does it bother you?”
Andrew shrugged. “I was a smart kid. Took me a while to grow into my brain, but I’d like to think I ditched at least some of the awkwardness.”
I give him a sympathetic look and pat his cheek.
He grabs my hand, kisses my palm. “Tell me what’s up. Really.”
Hmm. Perceptive. He really has grown out of his awkwardness. And yet . . .
“I saw Liv Dotson last night,” I say, glancing up and finding him studying me carefully.
He blinks. “All right.”
“You didn’t tell me she’d called off her divorce.”
He blinks again. “To be fair, I didn’t technically tell you she was getting a divorce in the first place.”
“Well, I figured that part out,” I say. “I mean, why else would you have been with her at lunch?”
“Because I’m a ladies’ man?” he says with the slightest of smiles.
“Really? Of all days, today you decide you have a sense of humor?” I reach out and take his mug, taking a sip even though it’s terrible.
“Look, Georgiana.” He takes my hand. “There will always be things about my job I can’t tell you. Do you understand?”
His gaze is strangely intense, as though my answer means everything, and I slowly nod. “I get that. I mean, it was a little embarrassing, because she acted like I knew, but yeah . . . I get it. Except . . .”
“Except?”
“She said you’d invited us to dinner. Surely you could have passed that part on? And now I keep wondering over and over why you didn’t.”
Andrew’s gaze goes just the slightest bit impatient. “It’s not a big deal, Georgiana. I just . . . dinner parties aren’t always where I need to focus my attention.”
I let out a little laugh. “Right. The fluffy nonsense is for people like me, right?”
He blows out a breath. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d talk to me more often. Tell me what’s going on up there.” I tap his temple.
He slips his hand behind my neck. “What’s gotten into you? What’s going on?”
I avoid his eyes. “I’m just suddenly hyperaware that our worlds are so different. I mean, take the very fact that we’re meeting at five A.M., but you’re just up from bed and I’m just going to bed. And I hardly ever know what you’re thinking. And you like order and control, and you probably iron your underwear. And you’re drinking that terrible health sludge, and I’m eating a donut, and what are your thoughts on Beyoncé? Do you hate her? I worry you do, and then—”
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my lip. “And besides, we don’t have nothing in common. We both like the color red, remember?”
I laugh. “So true. We must be soul mates, then.”
“There she is,” he says with a slight smile. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be back here by five-thirty. We can have a drink at my place before heading out to the party.”
“Perfect,” I say, meaning it. Not only is my mood lifted by his warm, unexpected affection, but he’s just given me an idea of the perfect outfit to wear tonight.
Andrew

THURSDAY EVENING “Damn, Mulroney. It’s not enough that you command some of the highest rates in the city, you’ve also got to show us up by hitting a home run in your personal life?”
Andrew turned away from where he’d been watching Georgiana coax smile after smile out of his normally stodgy senior partner and his shrew of a wife.
Katherine Hopkins was watching him with a knowing look. “She’s the one, huh?”
He took a sip of his gin martini and dodged the question, turning to face her. “Where did Jim run off to?”
She plucked a glass of red off a passing tray, trading it for her empty one. “He’s talking hockey with Marlene’s husband. But who cares? How’d you and Georgie meet? And don’t think I’ve forgotten that just a couple of weeks ago you were telling me how true love was for losers and all that.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked back to Georgiana. She seemed to sense him watching her and turned his way, giving him a subtle little wave without ever stopping whatever story she was telling, which involved plenty of facial animation and hand movements.
“She lives in my building,” he explained to Katherine.
“Ah. Well, if a girl like that lived in my building, I’d hit on her too. She’s hot,” Katherine said in a loud whisper.
Hot didn’t do Georgiana justice. Not tonight, he thought.
Her light brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, makeup was expertly applied so that her eyes looked huge, her mouth inviting, but it was the dress that did it. It was cut at an angle, held on one shoulder by a thin strap, falling from mid-thigh to her knee in an uneven hem that utterly suited her.