One Winter's Night. Susan MeierЧитать онлайн книгу.
a secondhand sewing machine so she could make real alterations.
Smiling as she went in search of her scissors, she realized she was really looking forward to going out. She would meet people in a position to hire her. But also she had a reason to dress up. To socialize. Maybe even dance. It would be fun.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fun.
As long as Ricky Langley really was a gentleman, this arrangement could be good for a bundle of reasons.
He arrived a little before eight. Still excited, she opened the door, and her eyes widened. She’d forgotten how good-looking he was. Dressed in a tux with a black top coat, he was so gorgeous, so sophisticated, he could have been the king of a small country.
She quickly pulled herself together. His amazingness did not matter. She did not want to be attracted to anybody. She wanted a job.
“Let me get my coat.”
Nodding, he strolled into her apartment, but she didn’t give him a lot of time to look around. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her living space. Actually, she was proud of the fact that she had come as far as she had with absolutely no help. But she was eager to get out the door and go to a party. In a pretty gown. Something she’d made even prettier.
She flipped her cape over her back and walked toward him.
“You look incredible.”
Pride sizzled through her. He wouldn’t have said that if he’d seen this dress five hours ago. “Thanks. I loved this dress when I bought it.” They walked to the door, and she closed it behind them. “So it was fantastic to have a reason to bring it up to date.”
She led the way down the stairs.
“You updated your dress?”
“Yes. I took off the collar and the belt and did a little something to the back.”
“Oh.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to worry that I’m going to embarrass you. I don’t have money to buy new things, but I have plenty of old things I can fix or update. And I’ve gotten very good with a sewing machine. No one will even notice that this dress used to look totally different.”
The conversation died, and they stayed silent on the drive to the Waldorf. The building façade had been covered in white lights, which were also woven through the branches of the fir trees standing like sentinels on both side of the entryway.
Memories of the time she’d come here with her parents flooded her. It had been her first formal party, and she was so nervous at meeting her dad’s friends and business associates that she’d sworn real butterflies were in her tummy.
Mind your manners.
Don’t speak unless spoken to.
You are a guest. The daughter of a wealthy man. Your comportment should say that.
The doorman came over and opened the door of Ricky’s limo.
She drew in a breath and let him help her out. That’s when she saw the other attendees. Furs. Diamonds. Hair coiffed to perfection.
She slid her hand down her cape, which looked foolish compared to the furs being worn by the other women exiting limos, and turned to Ricky. “I’m guessing the guy knows a few wealthy people.”
He smiled, motioning for her to walk under the portico and to the steps leading to the hotel. “Expect a camera or two on the way in. A photographer for the society pages will take a shot of everyone in the hope of getting something for tomorrow’s paper.”
She faltered. “Oh.” Her mother might live in Kentucky, but she got all the New York papers so she could “keep up” with her own kind. She lived and breathed the society pages.
Fear shimmied along her nerve endings. She couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She hadn’t seen her parents in five years. Not since they’d disowned her. But if they saw her at a society event with a wealthy man, God only knew what they’d do. Happy she’d finally come to her senses, would they call her? Pretend nothing had happened? And if they did, what would she do? Was she lonely enough, desperate enough, to pretend it was okay that they hadn’t cared that her husband had died and that she was struggling to get her bearings?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why hadn’t she thought of this?
Ricky’s voice came to her slowly, softly. “You don’t mind getting your picture taken, do you?”
She popped her eyes open. “It depends on where it will end up.”
He took her elbow and guided her up the steps to the entryway. “Probably nowhere. We’d have to be important enough for a society columnist to want to comment on us.”
“And you’re not important?”
Another uniformed hotel employee opened the door and they walked inside. “Last year I was everybody’s charity case. This year, I’m nothing. You’re safe.”
Relief poured through her, but it was short-lived. Not only was she in a dress from five years ago, updated by collar-and-belt removal, but also no one could predict who a society columnist might deem important to write about. If Ricky Langley hadn’t dated anybody in a year, his suddenly appearing with a woman might spark curiosity.
As they walked through the ornate lobby, she saw a camera raised toward her, and as smoothly as possible, she ducked behind Ricky.
He turned. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, I just thought because you have the invitation, you should go first.”
He frowned. “The lobby is wide enough that we can walk side by side.”
Seeing the photographer’s attention had been caught by another guest, she laughed. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
They entered the elevator and rode up to the ballroom in silence. Ricky noticed that she’d kept hugging her cape, almost as if she was trying to hide it, and winced a bit internally. She clearly believed she didn’t belong here and was embarrassed.
But wariness overcame his worry. This was their first date. He wanted her to have a good time and meet perspective employers, but he was more concerned with how his friends reacted to her. If they didn’t believe their dating was real, then all bets were off, and she wouldn’t have to worry about how she looked.
The doors opened, and they walked out of the elevator together.
He caught her gaze. “Let me take your cape for coat check.”
She slid it off and handed it to him. He shrugged out of his top coat and gave the two to the young woman manning the station.
They turned to go into the dimly lit foyer that would take them to the ballroom, and a photographer snapped their picture. Eloise’s face drained of color. He would’ve sworn she swayed.
At Tucker and Olivia’s party, she’d given him the impression she was as close to a princess as a woman could be without actually being royalty. Yet she was suddenly shaking in her shoes.
“Are you okay?”
She faced him with an overbright smile. “Yeah. Sure. I’m fine.”
He knew she wasn’t. Her eyes shone with fear. Her face was pasty white.
“You’re not afraid to meet these people, are you?”
She sucked in a breath. “I need to meet these people.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“I hate to have my picture taken.”
Which explained all the questions she’d had about the photographers...but raised new ones about why she wouldn’t want her picture taken.
Before he could say anything,