I can’t work that party, though. Not just because my skin crawls at the idea of Rob Thurmond’s hot, sweaty face. I’m meeting Alex and his boss, Dave, for dinner tonight, and Alex is waiting for me at the bar next door. But I don’t think a date with my boyfriend is going to cut it with Xavier as far as excuses go.
Luckily, I remember that Xavier loves anything to do with rich people and their money. “Actually,” I tell him, “I’m having dinner with one of the managing directors at Wright and Moore. They’re a top investment banking firm on Wall Street…”
“I know who they are.” Xavier rolls his eyes.
“I thought it would be a good opportunity to talk up the restaurant. Maybe invite him to come out for dinner sometime. He does a lot of entertaining clients, obviously, so I plan to assure him the chef’s table is always available.”
Xavier’s eyebrows raise. “Good thinking, Sadie.” He might actually look a little impressed. “I knew my instincts about you were right.” With that, he finally spares a glance at my cake. “Hmmm.” He purses his lips, and I brace myself. Finally, he murmurs, “Very nice. Great work.”
Whew.
As soon as Xavier heads out into the dining room to make a show of greeting Rob and his guests in an artificially enthusiastic voice, I run for the break room to grab the garment bag out of my locker and change into my designer dress and heels.
I hurry next door where Alex is waiting for me at the bar. As soon as he spots me standing in the doorway, his gaze sweeps down to my feet and then to the top of my head. I can tell by how his face lights up that he approves of my outfit. I’ve chosen a classic little black dress by Celine and paired it with the diamond pendant necklace and the Louboutin pumps. Since I had to work earlier, I didn’t have time to do anything with my hair except pull it into a super quick French twist, but I decide it gives me a Breakfast at Tiffany’s vibe. I try out a smoldering look on Alex, channeling Audrey Hepburn, and several people glance up from their drinks to admire me.
Maybe there really is something to these fancy, expensive clothes and accessories.
But before that thought has time to fully form, I step off the mat at the bar’s entrance and onto the wood floor. Unaccustomed to towering four inches higher than its usual latitude, my heel slips, and my ankle twists, and I go flying into the lap of an older gentleman at a nearby table. My elbow hits his drink and sends it toppling to the floor.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I grasp at the table, trying to stand in my heels without slipping in whiskey or stabbing the man in the eye with my black clutch. As I flail around, two strong hands hook under my armpits and haul me to my feet. I look up to find Alex standing above me, his expression unreadable.
I would kill to be in my pajamas right now.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, this time partly for Alex’s benefit.
“Are you okay?” he asks, checking my ankle for injuries and my dress for whiskey stains, thankfully finding neither.
“Yes, just mortified.”
After Alex sorts out the man and his spilled drink, we climb in an Uber headed into Manhattan. I start to reassure Alex I won’t repeat the same scenario in front of his boss, but then I trail off because I really shouldn’t be making promises in four-inch heels. Alex gives me a crooked smile and a shake of his head, which is probably the only response I can reasonably expect. I wonder if he’s regretting buying these shoes. And then I wonder if it would be too much trouble to ask the driver to stop at T.J.Maxx so I can buy a pair of sneakers.
Instead, I gaze out the window as the Upper West Side rolls by, a neighborhood we used to frequent when we started dating, but I haven’t visited since Alex was a student at Columbia. I remember our carefree days walking down Broadway to grab falafel at our favorite hole-in-the-wall before heading over to Central Park to eat it by the Reservoir. We’d end up back in Alex’s fifth-floor walk-up, making out on his futon and drinking the eight-dollar bottle of Merlot we’d picked up at the liquor store down the street.
These days, Alex is obviously a downtown-high-rise-with-all-the-amenities kind of guy, and when we arrive at the restaurant, he goes to the bar to get me a glass of champagne. But when he presses a kiss to my temple and tells me he’s glad I’m here, that familiar affection spreads across me.
“How was your day?” Alex asks as we sip our drinks.
I lean back against the leather banquette, finally feeling my shoulders relax, and glad to be off my feet. “Just more of the same from Xavier. He wanted me to stay and wait on that creepy guy I told you about. The only thing that got me out of it was name-dropping your company and hinting that we might bring your boss there someday.”
“You won’t be working for Xavier forever, Sadie.” Alex takes my hand. “And I know you’re going to be great at whatever you do next.”
I give his hand a squeeze in return, and when I excuse myself to run to the bathroom a few minutes later, I stop in the hallway to send him a punny text. You bake my life a butter place. Just like old times.
I return to the bar just as Alex’s boss and his wife walk in. Dave and Melinda are a middle-aged couple, attractive in that way people are when they have plenty of money for personal trainers and hair stylists and bespoke suits. Though Dave and Alex greet each other with a handshake, Dave gives Alex an extra pat on the back, and Alex’s face lights up. There’s a warmth to their exchange that hints at a personal relationship, and I’m reminded that Alex didn’t always plan to be an investment banker.
Ever since the third grade when he was asked to write an essay about what he wanted to be when he grew up, Alex expected to become a financial adviser and work in his dad’s company back in Wisconsin. Charlie Martin was the kind of guy who coached his kids’ soccer games, took them camping in the summer, and went out of his way to make it home each night by six so he could have dinner with his family. Alex adored him. When Charlie died unexpectedly at the age of fifty-eight, and Alex’s mom sold the company, Alex’s whole life changed in an instant.
I know how important this meeting is for Alex. So, I turn to Dave and Melinda and give them my most charming smile. We head for the table, and I take careful steps, determined not to trip over my shoes or fall in any other laps.
Dave pulls my chair out for me, and once we settle into our seats, he orders a bottle of red for the table. “So, Sadie,” he says, leaning back in his chair once he’s swirled, tasted, and approved the wine. “Alex tells me you’re a pastry chef.”
I nod. “I’ve worked at Xavier’s for about four years.”
“Oh, how fascinating.” Melinda presses her left hand on Dave’s arm, and her enormous diamond ring twinkles. “Honey, Xavier was the chef who did the menu for Steve’s fiftieth birthday party, remember?” She turns to me. “Dave’s brother. His wife hosted a dinner party for his birthday last August. The food was wonderful.”
“Sadie probably made the pastries for that party.” Alex looks down at me with a proud grin. “She’s basically Xavier’s right-hand woman. You won’t find better desserts at any restaurant in the city.” He stretches an arm behind the back of my chair, and I lean into him. Melinda and Dave exchange a smile as if they’re charmed by our young love. Pleasing Dave means so much to Alex, so for his sake, I’m thrilled this seems to be going well.