No. 11 is one of those exquisite and lively restaurants located near the harbor. Just last week, it was featured in Stylish Restaurants as one of New York’s
finest for the great food and cosmopolitan ambiance where the classical meets modern world décor.
It’s the place for lovers to be lovers, friends to become better friends, and sentimental moments to be shared.
Judging from the fusion of exuberant conversation floating around the room, everyone here is either one or all of the above. So, in my sullen mood of doom and gloom, I’m as out of place as a bright yellow duck amongst a brood of puppies.
It’s Thursday night, one of the busiest nights at No.11, and I’m sitting at a table by myself amongst a sea of happy, shiny people.
Before me is an untouched plate of delicious fettuccine alfredo and a flute of sweet red wine. Both are a total waste because I don’t think I have the stomach for either of them.
Coming here tonight was obviously a mistake. I thought being here would cheer me up, but truthfully, I’m not sure anything can.
My life has officially gone to hell, and I have to accept it’s going to take every ounce of strength I can muster to not give up on my dreams of becoming a writer.
It’s just that I never thought I could be sitting here today with a double honors degree in English literature and journalism from Brown University, a multitude of experience under my belt, and a shelf full of awards, and still feel like I have no future.
People have all sorts of pep talks about being strong, but what happens when all seems lost and you find yourself sitting alone in your favorite restaurant with nothing but darkness to look forward to?
I guess for the moment, I should just be grateful that being a regular here makes me look less like a loser than I am.
The staff who know me will remember my happier days here when my mother was alive. We’d come by at least three times a week when I wasn’t away at college, and even more during the summer. That time together held many special memories I’ll always, always cherish.
My eyes drop from the half-moon-shaped Kokomo opalescent glass windows and land on the heart-breaking rejection letter that sent me here.
It’s from Montrose Magazine. I have the letter opened and placed on the table next to my wine glass. I’ve read it several times since I received it. Part of me hopes that each time my eyes find the words, they’ll be different. That they’ll be the words I want to hear.
But they aren’t. They’re the same.
That first paragraph explaining my non-acceptance is enough to make me throw in the towel on my career for good—
Thank you for your interest in joining our team at Montrose Magazine. We wanted to let you know that although your resume and work experience are very compelling, our hiring team reviewed your application and did not select it for further consideration for the writer’s position.
Utter bullshit.
Last year, I was assured by the same hiring team that as soon as a writing position came up, I’d have first pickings. And, given the fact that I’d interned for them for four summers and worked at the magazine for a year after college, Montrose was the only place I wholeheartedly believed would accept me.
They were the ones I was waiting for as I worked my last temp job and counted down the days for their recruitment season to open.
More than anything, I felt for sure Montrose would remain untouched by the nemesis hellbent on destroying me. But I’m sure, even without any evidence of her tampering, that she got to them too.
Just like she did with all the other magazines I’d applied at. Her devilish fingers and thirst for revenge are the only way I can explain this unfortunate event.
As the heiress to Lachlan Caseros, one of the biggest media moguls in the US, Rachel Caseros has the power to burn all bridges for me before I can even think of crossing them.
I wish I could call her a bitch, along with every heinous name on this side of the solar system, but I can’t.
I can’t because she’s the result of my one very bad mistake.
One bad choice. One bad thing I can never take back.
I should have known better than to get involved with Scott. He was my college professor. All the red flags were waving in my face, telling me to run away. But I didn’t listen. It wasn’t until after the jet-ski accident that took his life, that I found out he was married to Rachel. Married with two children.
He took me for the fool I played right into his unfaithful game, becoming a convenient thing to pass the time whenever he was teaching at the university.
When I got involved with Scott, I didn’t think about what would happen to my father’s good name if our secret ever got out.
Our affair has only been kept a secret because Rachel doesn’t want people to know what kind of asshole her husband was. The only person who knows about it on my side is Madison, my best friend.
I trusted her with the truth because I needed someone to talk to. She also figured it out while I was seeing him in secret because we were roommates in college.
Although my sordid affair went down close to two years ago, I still wonder if I fell for his charms because I was grieving the loss of my mother, or if I really did love him.
My heart tells me the bitter truth is both.
Everything I’ve been through is enough for one person to experience in one lifetime. But sadly, it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The job at Montrose was supposed to be the silver lining to the dark cloud covering the life that will barely belong to me once I marry Nathan Gilmar in a handful of months. Once I say, ‘I do,’ I’ll be little more than the nightingale locked away in its cage.
Elena, one of the waitresses who always serves me, makes her way over. She’s grinning from ear to ear as if she’s got some amazing news to share.
Before she reaches me, I grab the letter and shove it into my bag. I wouldn’t want her to see the contents and really pity me.
“Hey, Aurora.” Her expression brightens.
“Hi.” I smile back, hoping she hasn’t come to ask me why I haven’t touched my food. When a glint of amusement forms in her eyes, I decide it can’t be that.
“Guess what? The gentleman in the far corner of the bar is requesting that you join him for a drink on the terrace.” Her voice takes on an excited sing-song edge.
At first, I wonder if I heard her right, then I squint and intensify my stare. “Excuse me?”
“The gentleman at the bar.” She gestures to the bar, where my eyes lock with the Nordic blue ones of a man so striking, I have to look hard to establish that he’s real.
Dressed in a black button-down shirt and beige slacks, his presence takes over everything in the room with an elegant yet rugged masculine charm.
To simply call him handsome feels too meager a word. It’s like there’s handsome, and then there’s him.
Him with his thick black hair cut into a neat faux hawk, dark brows, sharp exotic cheekbones, and olive skin that looks like it’s been caressed by the sun.
He looks Italian, or like he’s from somewhere in the Mediterranean.
And Jesus, I’m staring at him. As my brain returns to earth, heat skates over my skin, making my entire body blush. Swiftly, I return my focus to Elena, my throat and mouth dry.
I lean in closer to her and whisper, “Are you sure you have the right table?”
Elena nods vigorously. “Yes, I’m completely sure.”
“Did he say why he wanted me to join him?” I know that’s a silly question for several reasons. One, I’m obviously eating alone, and two, he’s a guy. A man would only request a woman to join him for dinner if there was something he liked about her.
Elena gives me a deadpan stare. “No, but why wouldn’t he?” The blunt ends of her brown hair swish over her shoulders. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you, but I feel like shit right now.” I sigh, hesitation gripping me. “I’m not sure I should—”
“You should.” She cuts me off faster than a bolt of lightning crackling through the sky in an angry storm, then wiggles her French-manicured fingernails before me. “Don’t you know who he is?” She lowers her voice a notch.
God. This is going to be one of those times when living in the writing cave is going to make me look like some sort of social recluse.
“No.” My tone is careful, my voice a fraction above a whisper.
“He’s literally been in the press for the last month.” She stares at me wide-eyed.
A month? That’s roughly about the same time my brain has lived on Mars, but just to double-check, I risk glancing back at the beautiful man. I groan inwardly when nothing comes to mind. Even in recluse mode, I would surely remember a man as good-looking as him.
“I’m drawing a blank.” My shoulders slump.
She gives me a saucy smile. “Then maybe it would be more fun if you did join him for a drink.”
“He wasn’t in the press for anything bad, was he?” That’s the last thing I need.
“No, I would be the first to warn you away if that were the case.”
“Can’t you at least give me a clue on who he is?”
Elena thinks for a moment before her playful smile returns. “Let’s just say he’s one of New York’s most sought-after men and of the mega-billionaire variety.” Stars practically glitter in her eyes as she speaks. “As in, he’s on the Forbes Billionaire list. And that spot on the terrace he’s talking about is usually booked out for weeks, but whenever he’s here, it’s his.”
Okay, then. And dayum.
Hesitation grips me again. This time, for other reasons. The right reasons. Like my official engagement on Saturday, where Nathan will give me his ring. As that’s only two days away, I’m practically engaged now.
But realistically, am I?
Nathan and I are exactly what you would expect from people who are about to enter a business marriage. We’re falling in line with what our families requested of us.
Although I’m trying to be the dutiful daughter I should have been back in college, I don’t want to marry him.
Sure, he’s nice to me and likes the idea of having me on his arm, but apart from that, we’re not together at all. We’ve never even been on a date.
I can also guarantee that if Nathan isn’t knocking boots with some woman in his car or his bed, he’s definitely not thinking about me.
It was only last week that Madison caught him having sex with his secretary in the parking lot of the DoubleTree. Thankfully, he didn’t see her. They were at the hotel for the wedding of a mutual friend.
Madison has been my partner in crime since we were twelve. She’s been my eyes where I can’t see and my ears where I can’t hear. She’s also been the voice of reason telling me that if I can’t get out of this wedding, then I should live it up until I can’t.
My experience with Scott taught me to make better decisions in life, but this…
This is nothing, right?
It’s just a drink.
I look back at the beautiful man again. The sight of him has my heart thumping.
This might just be an invitation for a drink, but it’s an invite from a ridiculously gorgeous man who’s so gorgeous it feels sinful to look at him. And he has my body tingling in places I forgot existed.
“Well?” Elena prods, shuffling impatiently from one foot to the other.
As if the beautiful man can hear us, he raises those thick story-book prince brows, the same question as Elena’s on his face.
“Yes,” I hear myself say.
Yes. I should do this.
Why not?
After all, it would be rude to refuse, and I’m sure no woman in their right mind would turn down a man like that.
