My head throbs.
Maybe some fresh air would do me good, so I stab the elevator button, head downstairs, and walk around the block a couple times, breathing in the night. Fall is coasting into Manhattan, and soon the leaves will change, the air will chill, and life will go on.
As it should.
After another lap or two, I have a hold of myself. Smoothing my hands down my shirt, I return to the party.
I get up to the warehouse space and scan the room for the guests I need to check on.
Angeline is nowhere to be seen.
Hmm.
Maybe she’s with Max. He’s gone too.
I hunt for Kendrick and Payton, but don’t see them either. The party seems to be winding down, and it’s damn early. Isn’t it?
A glance at my watch, though, tells me it’s ten. Maybe my walk lasted longer than I thought.
But I’m sure everything was fine while I was gone. Coco stands by the piano, and she’ll debrief me. Nothing escapes her.
When she spots me, she pins me with a stern glare and arches one brow, then the other. I hold out my arms, asking what with my expression.
Efficiently elegant, she glides over to me, then beckons me back down the hall. Once we’re out of earshot, she bops me on the head.
“Ouch!” I rub my temple where she knocked me. “That hurts.”
“It does not.”
“Does so.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you.” She nods toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “What mess did you just make of your life?”
“Why do you think I made a mess of it?” I ask, defenses all the way up. We’re talking ramparts level.
“Let’s see . . . could it be because I have eyes and ears?”
I’m just not in the mood anymore. “And what did you hear and see, Coco?”
Her eyes are fiery. “Young man, do not take that sassy tone with me. I might work for you, but I’m still your grandmother.” She’s half a foot shorter, but she seems ten feet taller.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Say it like you mean it,” she says crisply, her shoulders squared.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Good. Now, what on earth were you thinking?”
“With what?” I ask, exasperated—with tonight, with the party.
With myself.
“Let’s start with how you didn’t introduce Max to Angeline. You had a very important client here who needed extra attention, and you failed.”
I wince. “What happened with Max?”
“Nothing, munchkin,” she snaps. “Absolutely nothing. All she wanted was an intro, but you had to go pee on Bellamy instead.”
“So did you introduce him to her?”
“No,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Because he was already chatting with Priya. It was too late, and that would have been rude. Which is exactly what you were to all your guests.”
“I wasn’t rude.” I try on denial, but it’s not a good look on me. Whatever jealousy-fueled bravado I felt earlier has been stripped away. Guess when the woman you adore leaves you, it puts a damper on your night.
“You were rude,” Coco insists.
I sigh then shrug helplessly, admitting the cold truth. “Okay, I was rude.”
Her tight smile shows no teeth and no pleasure. “That’s a start. But you were also rude to Kendrick and to Payton. Is that how you behave with guests? You say those sorts of things to clients?”
My cheeks redden with shame. “How do you know what I said?”
“I heard from the hosts and hostesses. And I saw their faces as you crashed each conversation with that crazed look in your eye. I can’t even imagine what you said to Bellamy.” Her stare intensifies, burning through me.
“I said . . .” The conversation with her replays in my head, but I don’t want to hear my foolish words again. “A lot of things,” I mumble.
“Like?”
But I don’t think it’s what I said that sent her away. It’s what I didn’t say. I didn’t say how I feel about her, or us, or anything.
I didn’t tell her a shred of the truth.
“Look,” I say, zeroing in on work, “just tell me what I need to do to fix the party.” I’ve got to be able to do that much.
But when I return to the main space, I see the event is a lost cause. Only stragglers are left.
Even if I was in my own world, I have excellent hosts and hostesses.
Terrific staff.
A great theme.
Fantastic drinks.
But this is like a high school party after the cops have been called.
It’s all my fault. I left, abandoning the scene. A host shouldn’t do that.
This vacant space is all my doing.
I set to work cleaning up, and I go home alone.
As I stare out at the city from my window, I hit play one more time on Bellamy’s podcast.
And what if he does want the same things? What if he’s changed? What if he’s open to all the possibilities?