Drawn to You Page 4

  “I doubt he would have cared,” I say with a frown, wondering what Jack could have wanted. “He’s engaged.”

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her, “to Claudia Sever.”

  “That asshole,” Laurie mutters. “I’m sorry,” she adds gently.

  I shrug.

  “I thought he didn’t have it in him to commit to one woman,” she says drily.

  “No, just me.” I trace a pattern on the covers on my bed, the sadness from last night coming back.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Laurie says. “You deserve so much better than a guy who keeps toying with you. Either he wants you or he doesn’t. Seriously Rach, he gives you enough attention to keep you in love with him while he fucks everyone else but you.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “Now, do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

  “Ohhhh There’s more…” She loses her serious expression. “I hope it doesn’t involve Jack Weyland.”

  Shaking my head, I start to tell her the rest, watching her eyes grow wider and wider when I get to the part about Landon.

  “Holy hell!” She whistles. “You had a one night stand!” She starts to giggle. “And he thought you were a hooker. Wow! You’re not the girl who left this apartment last night. Where’s Rachel?” She asks dramatically, “Where’s my cousin, what have you done with her?”

  I smile. “I think I gave her something she really needed.”

  “Ha!” She exclaims, then frowns. “Landon… The Swanson Court penthouse… Was it Landon Court?”

  “Who? I don’t know, I didn’t ask for his last name, you know, one night stand and all that.”

  “No, you were too busy trying to get a ride on his disco stick.” She snickers.

  “Actually, two rides,” I correct.

  “Whore!” she exclaims, giggling along with me. “But seriously, Swanson Court, penthouse apartment…She hands me her bowl of cereal and bounds up from the bed. My computer is on my desk by the window, and she lifts the lid and starts it up.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, stealing a spoonful of her cereal.

  “Hold on,” she replies, “and don’t eat my cereal. You haven’t even brushed your teeth.”

  I shrug and take another spoon, watching as the laptop starts. Laurie opens a browser window and types a few words before hitting the ‘enter’ button. The search results appear almost immediately, with a few images down the page. I wait while she clicks on something and then the screen is filled with pictures.

  Some of them are of a building, which I recognize as the Swanson Court hotel. The others are mostly of a man. I move towards the edge of the bed so I can see the screen better. There are pictures of him in suits, in tuxedos, a shot with his dark gold hair tousled, blue eyes vibrant. There’s a picture on a large boat, one at the airport as he walks across the tarmac with a beautiful blond woman who looks like a model, and lots more.

  I get off the bed and move forward to check the search term Laurie used. It’s ‘Swanson Court Owner.’

  “Is that him?” Laurie asks.

  I nod slowly.

  “He’s the fucking owner!” She whispers, uncharacteristically awed. “I’ve seen his name on the gossip blogs. He’s always on those lists, the ‘most eligible bachelors in the country’ lists. He’s a gazillionaire, and he’s fucking hot!”

  He is. I’m transfixed by the sight of him on my screen. Lauren goes back to the search results and I read some of the information in the box beside the results. Landon Court, hotelier and real estate magnate, the billionaire owner of the Swanson Court hotels and residential apartments with branches all over the country.

  He’s beautiful, rich, and sexy.

  And I slept with him.

  “Wow!” I release a breath. “I had no idea.”

  Laurie clicks on the Wikipedia link and starts to read his biography out loud. But I’m looking at the picture at the top right of the page. This one shows him in a tuxedo outside a building that looks like the Met. He looks like a movie star, only more handsome than any of the ones I can name. In all the pictures, he looks detached, remote even. Like a solitary man in a room full of strangers. I remember his smile from last night, and suddenly I feel privileged to have been on the receiving end of a familiarity he obviously denies the public.

  Even if he thought I was a hooker.

  “I can’t imagine why he would want to sleep with a hooker,” Laurie muses beside me. “No offense to you, obviously. You’re not a hooker.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “But he’s been linked with lots of attractive women. I’m sure he can have anyone he wants without having to pay for it.”

  I remember asking him the same question. “Maybe he was being adventurous,” I tell Laurie. “After all, I was supposed to be a birthday present.”

  Laurie sighs sadly. “Now I feel bad for your sake that you didn’t leave him your number. I mean look at that body! I’d pose as a hooker to hit that.”

  “Jeez Laurie. Remember Brett? Your boyfriend, who loves you. He’s in the next room.”

  She giggles. “If he hears me, he’ll probably challenge Mr. Rich and Handsome Hotel owner to a duel or something.” Going back to the Wikipedia article, she starts to read again. “He’s only twenty-nine,” she says. “Fancy being so rich so young.” She pauses. “His mother was Alicia Creighton, OMG!” She turns to me, eyes wide, then realizing that I have no idea who she’s talking about, she shakes her head, “The prima ballerina. She died in a car crash before I started dancing, but my ballet teacher practically worshiped her.”

  “He must have been very young at the time,” I say with a small frown. I can’t imagine life without my mom, or even Aunt Jacie, even if they both drive me crazy at times.

  Laurie reads on. “He supports various charities, and likes opera, ballet, and the theater.” She looks at me. “Rachel, I believe this man is exactly your type.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, “It was only a one night stand. I’m never going to see him again.”

  “Said Cinderella, but then she got drunk and ‘forgot’ her glass slipper,” Laurie does her thing where she winks continuously for a few seconds. “Seriously, if you had a chance to date him for real, you’d say no?”

  I gaze at the Wikipedia picture. “I don’t… After Jack, I don’t need another guy to fixate on.”

  “Jack again,” Laurie says wryly. “Forget about him Rach.” She looks back at the screen. “A man like this would reboot you with his hard drive.”

  “Jesus!” I exclaim, shaking my head. I have no idea where Laurie picks up her references. The law firm where she works while attending her final year of law school is as old fashioned and staid as it is possible to be in twenty first century New York, so it’s definitely not at work.

  I turn back to the screen. She’s right though. Landon could probably help to wipe Jack off my mind, but then I would likely fall for him. Who wouldn’t? And I’d be right back where I started, hung up on a man.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell Laurie, pulling my eyes away from Landon’s face on the screen. “I don’t have his number, and he doesn’t have mine. We hooked up for a night, and as hot as it was, we’re never going to see each other again.”

  LANDON COURT.

  No matter how hard I try not to think about him. I can’t help myself. The memories, his name, everything just hovers at the borders of my mind, waiting for the slightest opportunity to come in and torment me with images from the night we spent together.

  It’s been almost a week, but I’m still no closer to forgetting him than I was when he was right in front of me.

  Landon Court. Even the name is sexy. And his voice... It makes me shiver to remember.

  “Top ten travel apps,” Mark Willis, senior features editor, says musingly, looking at a sheet of paper on the table. It’s Thursday, and we’re in one of the small meeting rooms, going over last minute articles for next week’s publication on the website version of Gilt Trave
ler. “That one’s yours Chelsea.”

  Chelsea, my fellow features associate, beams and makes a note on her writing pad. She’s startlingly beautiful, with cornflower blue eyes and waves upon waves of platinum blond hair. She always gets the simplest and most unchallenging articles, because of the combination of her wide-eyed sweetness, the fact that her father is a Kentucky billionaire oilman and rancher, and the southern accent she displays no desire to get rid of. She doesn’t mind. She uses all the resulting free time to work on her historical epic novel about the power-hungry noblemen of renaissance Italy, and the women who loved them.

  The articles I write aren’t much better. My last assignment was to write about a cruise on the Colombia River. I interviewed Evelyn Hart, a former Broadway star who’d taken the cruise. It was a promotional article, sponsored by the cruise company. Evelyn Hart even admitted to me that she’d spent most of the trip holed up in her cabin, recuperating from her most recent plastic surgery. Luckily, her assistant, who’d experienced the cruise while her boss was hiding out in her cabin, had been able to provide some details.

  I don’t really mind what I do. I’d been over the moon when I got a job at Gilt publications, even though I didn’t get my dream position in Gilt Review, the literary magazine where I’d hoped to work as an editor. There was just something about the organization and the atmosphere at Gilt that made it more than just magazines. Gilt was a lifestyle, embodied by so many of the tastemakers who worked here. From the enigmatic editor-in-chief of Gilt Style, who could make or break a fashion designer’s career with just a word, to Grace Conlin, the no-nonsense boss at American Homes.

  Mark looks up at me. He’s a slightly built man with an earnest, serious face that sometimes makes me imagine that he’d rather be teaching journalism at some college than working at Gilt. “You have another promotional article, it’s a lounge called Insomnia, the newest lounge in Manhattan, apparently. You’ll write one of those ‘Top Ten Reasons to Visit Insomnia while in New York’ kind of articles. They requested for you, particularly.”

  I frown. “Really?”

  He shrugs. “Your prowess at putting out promotional articles isn’t going unnoticed, it would seem.”

  The words could be interpreted as anything between a compliment and an insult. I purse my lips and make a note of the assignment, resigned to my fate. At least I’ll get to visit the ‘newest lounge in Manhattan.’

  As soon as I leave the meeting, I call the manager of the Insomnia Lounge and make an appointment for later in the evening. She informs me that a VIP access will be delivered to my office so I wouldn’t have to wait in line.

  By the time our conversation is over, I’m back in my office. My inbox is full of mail, and one of them is from Laurie.

  Look what I found. His brother is even more delicious.

  There’s a link, and I click on it to see an article in one of the online gossip sites. There’s a picture of Landon with a younger man as they walk out of a popular Manhattan restaurant.

  Hotel Magnate Landon Court Celebrates Birthday With Baby Brother Aidan.

  He’s wearing the suit he had on when I met him, complete with the discarded tie I’d seen in his living room. He does look delicious. My eyes don’t even go towards the brother, instead my mind travels back to that night in his apartment, and the memories my body isn’t yet ready to give up.

  I sigh. I’m not going to obsess over my one-night-stand. I should be more concerned with planning how to act with Jack when I inevitably run into him again. Already the office is buzzing with news of his engagement. Chelsea, as nice as she’s beautiful, and one of the few people who’d seen past my friendship with Jack to the fact that I was in love with him, had already asked if I was alright, and assured me that she was always available if I wanted to bitch about Jack.

  It’s tempting, but the less I say or think about him, the better for me. He hasn’t called me, and I haven’t seen him since Chadwick’s party, so whatever the reason why he came to my apartment that night, it probably wasn’t important.

  The mail from Laurie is still open on my screen. I type my reply.

  ‘Yeah whatever. I see how productive you're at work. Anyway, get ready, we have a VIP pass to Insomnia tonight.’

  She replies via text with a long ‘Yay!’

  I spend the next few minutes answering the rest of my work emails. I’m almost done when my phone rings.

  It’s my mom.

  “Darling.” Her voice is low and smooth. “How are you?”

  I imagine her washing paint off her arms as she speaks, phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, with her red hair pinned up. That’s the image I always have of my mom. She’s a successful painter, artsy, and sometimes silly, the direct opposite of my dad, who is serious and a little nerdy. He was the business side of Trent & Taylor, the ready-to-wear clothing line he founded with his twin brother, my uncle Taylor, until they sold a large percentage of the company to a multinational chain. He totally adores my mom. Together, they’re a walking true love cliché.

  I grew up dreaming about having a love like theirs. I waited for it, and when I found Jack and fell so hard, I thought I’d finally found it. How wrong I was.

  “I’m alright Mom. You?”

  She laughs. “Oh! I’m fine. How’s work?”

  I shrug. “Perfect.”

  “It doesn’t sound all that perfect, from the tone of that voice. Not that I blame you. You must be the only travel writer in New York who has never been outside the city for work.”

  “I’m not a travel writer, mom. I just…”

  “…write for a travel magazine. I know.” She sighs. “I hope you can make it this Sunday. I’m making lunch. Laurie already confirmed that she’s coming with Brett. She also said you’re free this weekend so don’t bother to give me an excuse. Your brother won’t be there, but your uncle and aunt will.”

  I roll my eyes. Mom likes to plan these family reunions at least once a month, and she connives with Aunt Jacie to waylay us into coming. She probably told Laurie that I’d already agreed to come.

  “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  I hear a pause in her voice. “Laurie told me about Jack’s engagement.”

  I close my eyes, unsure whether to channel my annoyance towards Laurie for telling my mom, Jack for breaking my heart in the first place or at myself for letting him.

  “Aren’t you glad I finally got the wake-up call I’ve needed for almost two years?” I ask. My mom’s opinion on my fixation on Jack has always been the same as Laurie’s.

  “Oh sweetie,” she sighs. “I just hate that you’re hurting. I remember how excited you were when you first started seeing him. Of course, you romanticized him, and you were more in love with your idea of him than with who he really was.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know more than you think I know. I’m your mother. Anyway, now you’ll get over him.”

  “How’s Dylan?” I ask, eager to change the subject. My baby brother is the apple of my mom’s eye.

  Her voice perks up, “He’s fine. Sometimes I worry that he’s studying too hard…” She launches into a long monologue about my brother, and luckily doesn’t bring up Jack again before she has to go.

  Afterward, I wonder what she would have said if I’d told her about Landon. She’d probably have been excited, and like Laurie, disappointed that I hadn’t left him my number. Again, I can’t keep my mind from drifting back to that night, and a wave of heat courses through my body. It had only been sex, great sex, but thinking about it, it felt like so much more.

  Maybe if I had come clean and told him that I wasn’t actually a hooker, we could have come to some sort of mutually beneficial and sexually rewarding arrangement. Maybe I could even have kept on pretending to be a prostitute, hooking up with him whenever he called. I’d be Rachel Foster, Gilt employee by day, and Landon Court’s whore by night.

  The prospect is disturbingly appealing.

  Shaking the thought out
of my head, I turn back to my screen. Landon Court has probably forgotten that I exist. Which means that the only reasonable thing to do is to forget about him too.

  THE VIP pass allows us to bypass the long queue outside the lounge. Once inside, a hostess clad in a revealing, but classy mini-dress leads us through the club to a raised area overlooking the dance floor, where she shows us to our table.

  “The manager will be with you soon,” she tells me, before her eyes shift to Brett as she surreptitiously checks him out. “Drinks are on the house.”

  “Thank you,” Brett drawls in reply.

  The hostess smiles, her eyes still alternating between his wiry muscles and his face. “I’ll send a waiter,” she says finally, before leaving.

  As soon as she’s gone, Brett lets out a whistle. “This is some swanky joint,” he says, grinning at me, and already nodding his head to the music. He’s tall and fit, with curly black hair and intense dark eyes. Like Laurie, he’s a great dancer. He used to be an associate at the same firm where Laurie works, but he left to pursue a career in fitness. He co-owns a trendy gym close to our apartment, but hasn’t been able to get either Laurie or me interested in squats, lunges or whatever other exercise move people are doing these days.

  “The staff shouldn’t make eyes at the customers though,” Laurie says drily. “That hostess was totally checking you out.”

  Brett leans over and kisses her nose, making her laugh. “I didn’t notice. Only gat eyes for my baby.”

  “Seriously, you should get these kinds of assignments more often, Rach,” Laurie declares, flirting hostess already forgotten, as a waitress approaches our table.

  We order drinks. “So where’s the manager?” Brett asks. He has one hand on Laurie’s lap, and she’s leaning into him. Even in public, they’re unable to keep their hands off each other. They’re the third nauseatingly happy couple in my family, my parents and Laurie’s parents being the other two. Soon Dylan will fall in love and join them, and then I’ll probably have to buy a box full of cats and resign myself to my fate.