Chasing Harry Winston (26 page)

“Adriana, is it? Great name. Well, hey, it’s nice to meet you.” He offered his hand.

“You, too,” she managed. She could feel the hair on her arms stand up when her hand touched his. His utter scrumptiousness was impossible to deny, especially since he was sporting the exact same outfit (black blazer, white shirt, and jeans) as Toby. Just moments before Toby had looked reasonably attractive, but now, standing in direct comparison to Dean, he appeared shockingly troll-like. Adriana’s mind flashed to a disturbing image: photos of Toby and Dean side by side on
US Weekly
’s “Who Wore It Better” page, with a full hundred percent of those polled in Rockefeller Center voting for Dean. She’d never seen a full hundred-percent vote before—not even the time they had pitted Rosie O’Donnell against Petra Nemcova—but in her imaginary layout, the results were crystal clear.

Seeming unaware of both their matching outfits and his stunning defeat, Toby wrapped one arm possessively around Adriana’s shoulders and pulled her closer to Dean, so all their three heads were inches apart. “We’ve just signed Dean for the lead in
Around Her
,” he announced in a conspiratorial voice.

Adriana’s eyes darted to Dean.

“It’s true.” Dean nodded and grinned.

Adriana felt herself reeling with surprise. “Really?” she squeaked.
Pull it together!
Adriana reprimanded herself. She took a deep breath and then put on a smile, the real dazzler she usually reserved for special occasions (meeting a current lover’s wife, asking Papa for a new car, etc.).

“How
wonderful
! Congratulations to you both.” There. That was more like it.

A tall, striking woman in a timeless Chanel suit approached them.

“Welcome to our little fete,” she trilled, air-kissing the general area around the group. “We’re just delighted all you California boys could make it.”

“Catherine,” Toby said, clasping her hands and kissing both cheeks.

Adriana wanted to puke. Puh-lease! The only thing worse than Europeans being Europeans was
Americans
being Europeans!

“I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Adriana de Souza.” At the sound of the g-word, Adriana stole a glance at Dean, who was already looking at her with eyebrows raised and an amused look on his face. “And also Dean Decker. Adriana, Dean, this lovely lady is your hostess for the evening.”

Adriana turned to the woman, who, upon closer inspection, was older than she’d originally thought, probably closer to sixty. She forced out the usual platitudes about such a beautiful apartment, so glad to be there, love your necklace, blah, blah, blah, but the woman only stared at her. After allowing Adriana to ramble on in this manner for a bit, Catherine cupped Adriana’s chin and slowly, with great gentleness, as though she were handling fine china, turned her face back and forth.

“My, my, you are lovely,” Catherine said, gazing at Adriana. “Excellent cheekbones and pretty, wide eyes. But your skin!” The woman groaned. “The complexion of an angel.”

Well, this was more like it. Adriana found herself flashing her second award-winning smile that night. “Thank you! How nice of you to say.” She tried for an embarrassed, or at least humbled, expression, but wasn’t sure of the outcome.

“Catherine…,” Toby said in a warning voice.

“Sorry, I know—no work at a party. I promise not to bother her tonight, although all bets are off for Monday.”

The woman looked up as two more guests appeared in the foyer. “The bar is through there, in the living room.” She gestured to a set of imposing French doors. “Please excuse me for just a moment.”

“I think I’m going to make a beeline for the booze,” Dean announced as Catherine floated to greet her new guests. “See you two later?”

“Later, man,” Toby said, trying to sound cool but just sounding old.

Adriana barely knew where to begin. Did she grill Toby first about Dean or Catherine?

“You’ll have to be careful, or you might just find yourself in the pages of
Marie Claire
,” Toby said, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a roving waiter’s tray and thrusting one toward Adriana.

“Catherine works at
Marie Claire
?” Adriana demanded.

“Catherine
used
to work at
Marie Claire.
She was the booking editor for decades and is credited with discovering loads of now-famous models. So that’s quite a compliment she paid you. Not that I didn’t know it already…” He leaned in close enough that Adriana could smell the champagne on his breath.

“Interesting,” Adriana said. “Very, very interesting.” She’d have to ask her mother about Catherine; if the woman really was the booking guru at
Marie Claire
, then Mrs. de Souza would certainly have known her.

“Come, darling. Let me show you off.”

When it came time for dinner, Adriana located her place card, only to find that she was seated between a female editor from
Marie Claire
and Dean. Catherine had—as all good hostesses do and all their guests hate them for—split all the couples and scattered them around the table to encourage fresh conversation among strangers. Not ideal, but not a total disaster, either. She could’ve been seated between Dean and Toby; that would not have been fun. Adriana assessed the scene, devised a game plan, and took her seat. She nodded at Dean and then, as planned, quickly turned to her left. Adriana leaned in close to the woman, so close they nearly touched foreheads, and said, “Do you realize how lucky you are? You’re seated next to the most gorgeous man in the room.”

The woman, whom Toby had introduced earlier as Mackenzie Michaels,
the
woman to know at
Marie Claire
, stared blankly at Adriana for a moment, undecided in her reaction. Adriana merely nodded, as if to say,
Well, it’s true
, and Mackenzie stole a furtive glance to her left. Adriana watched as her eyes widened and she inhaled. Sitting on Mackenzie’s other side was a guy even more gorgeous than Dean. He was wearing a fitted, funky pinstriped Thom Browne–esque suit with no tie. His hair was clipped tight around the back and sides, but the slightly longer top was just the right amount of spiky: cool, but not trying too hard. But best of all was how he just seemed to
gleam.
His skin looked freshly scrubbed and shaved and tan from the actual sun and not the salon; his fingernails were cut short and straight with a subtle shine that managed not to look the least bit effeminate; even his tassel-toed leather loafers glinted in the light.

Mackenzie turned back to Adriana and groaned. “You’re right. He’s a fucking god,” she whispered.

Adriana surveyed Mackenzie’s hands and, finding no rings, said, “Go for it,
querida.
Make him yours.”

Mackenzie laughed, a sort of snort that wasn’t nearly as delicate or as feminine as Adriana’s. “Yeah, right. I’d have a better chance of going home with Matt Damon tonight.”

“Is he here?” Adriana asked, forgetting her promise to herself not to look in Dean’s direction. She scanned the table, carefully going over the faces of all twelve guests.

“No, he’s not
here
,” Mackenzie said with a laugh. “I was just making a point: There’s no way in hell that gorgeous guy would go for me.”

Again, Adriana assessed her new friend. Average height. Better-than-average face, with a cute button nose and a nice smile. Decent enough figure, she guessed, although it was impossible to tell
what
was happening under that babydoll dress. How she loathed babydoll dresses! Every woman on earth, herself included, looked either morbidly obese or eight months pregnant in babydoll dresses, and yet they were all the rage. Adriana suspected Mackenzie might even be hiding a pretty decent rack under that muumuu…a crime if there ever was one. Thankfully, the woman was somewhat saved by her flawless grooming. She sported a sleek blowout, what looked like professionally applied makeup, and a shoes-and-bag combo that most of womankind would kill for. Her appearance, combined with her success as one of the most sought-after magazine editors in New York, as Adriana would later learn, should have propelled Mackenzie into the stratosphere of confident women; her insecurity made absolutely no sense.

Before Adriana could do a thing to stop her, Mackenzie turned to the hot guy, tapped his arm insistently, and cleared her throat. She didn’t seem to notice that she was interrupting his conversation with the woman to his left, nor did she catch the surprised and slightly irritated look on his face. He swiveled around and peered at Mackenzie.

“Hello,” he said in a neutral voice, but Adriana could tell what he really meant was “Yes? Can I help you with something?”

Mackenzie plastered on a huge fake smile and extended her hand, a rather awkward gesture considering how tightly everyone was packed in around the table. She ended up looking slightly spastic, a fact that wasn’t lost on the guy. “Hi there. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Mackenzie Michaels, features editor at
Marie Claire.
Probably not your typical reading, since it’s a women’s magazine—but actually, come to think of it, we do have quite a few male readers. And surprisingly, they’re not all gay, which is—”

“Mackenzie,
querida
? Would you happen to have a little breath mint, or perhaps a stick of chewing gum?” Adriana asked, gripping the woman’s arm. It wasn’t brilliant, but it was the best she could possibly do with this woman she barely knew. Besides, she didn’t really care what was said, just so long as Mackenzie stopped talking. It was painful to see, like sitting in the front row as a comedian floundered or the best man flubbed his toast. It made
her
uncomfortable, and for this reason alone Adriana stepped in.

She looked at the hot guy and it occurred to her, for just a moment, that he was a delectable prospect. If Mackenzie was going to sabotage herself…But no! She had been lucky enough to find her future husband, and she wouldn’t allow this dime-a-dozen playboy to tempt her. This mission was strictly one of necessity, not pleasure.

“Allo!” She turned up the Brazilian accent a few notches. “I am Adriana. Do you mind if I borrow my friend for just a moment?”

Mackenzie opened her mouth to interject, but Adriana took the liberty of pinching her forearm.

The hot guy smiled, nodded, and turned back to his original conversation.

Adriana could feel the iciness radiating from Mackenzie’s whole body, but she was even more acutely aware of Dean’s presence on her right. He’d watched the whole thing, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that he was smiling. Then there was Toby, who, from the other end of the table, was using her name in conversation loudly enough that she could hear every word. She should be curled up on a dark banquette with a caipirinha and a boy, and instead she was enduring one social awkwardness after another.

“If you wanted him yourself, why did you encourage me to go for him? Just to make an ass of myself?” Mackenzie hissed in Adriana’s direction while staring straight ahead. Both women smiled at the waitress as she placed endive salads before them.

Adriana sighed and checked to make sure that Dean was engaged in a different conversation before continuing. “I didn’t—don’t—want him myself,
querida
. I just couldn’t bear to watch that. It just felt so, so…” Adriana tried to think of another, gentler word here, but she already felt so exhausted.

“So what?” Mackenzie insisted.

Adriana met her gaze levelly. “So
desperate
.”

Mackenzie inhaled sharply and Adriana felt a pang of sympathy before remembering that she was doing Mackenzie a favor. If no one had told her this already, she was pretty much doomed. So she’d hate her. Adriana had bigger things to worry about than yet another woman hating her.

“It wasn’t
desperate
,” Mackenzie whispered. “I was just being
friendly
.”

Ah, the friendly card. Adriana was instantly transported back to her teenage years, when her mother was trying to teach her these important lessons and Adriana had raised these very same arguments. She almost smiled with the memory.

“Friendly, outgoing, engaging, charming, whatever you want to call it, it still translates into ‘available and desperate’ when you’re the one who initiates contact.”

Mackenzie appeared to mull this over, at one point opening her mouth to disagree and then changing her mind. “You think?” she asked finally.

Adriana nodded. It was boring, it was so obvious. Why didn’t American women understand this? Why weren’t they taught it?
The Rules
had helped a little but hadn’t done nearly enough; it instructed women how to deny men, but not how seduce them. If she hadn’t actually witnessed it herself over the last ten years, she never would have believed there existed grown women who thought the way to get a man was to chase him. She’d found the exact same thing with her friends—Leigh to a slightly lesser degree because of her more reserved personality, but Emmy had been downright humiliating, initiating conversations, calling first, suggesting plans, and making herself constantly available.

“So I shouldn’t have introduced myself?”

“No.” Adriana sipped her wine.

“Well, how were we going to meet otherwise?”

Adriana looked at her and tried not to get frustrated; she had to remember it wasn’t really Mackenzie’s fault. “You would have met, probably within minutes, when
he
had introduced himself to
you.
”

“Oh, please! What’s the actual difference who—”

Adriana continued as though she’d heard nothing. “At which point you would have rewarded his politeness with a smile and some smoldering eyes, and then you would have promptly dodged any of his direct questions, turned away, and become completely engaged in a conversation that did not include him.”