Katie Oliver - Manolos In Manhattan

“Oh. Sorry.” He leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and hit ‘pause.’ “Okay, I’m all yours. Well,” he added with a smirk, “as much as I can be.”

“Look, Chaz, I know you like Ciaran—”

“ Like ?” he interrupted. “‘Like’ is hardly the word for what I feel for Ciaran.”

“‒and so I hate to tell you this,” she forged on, “but I can’t not tell you.” Holly bit her lip. “He asked me to spend the day with him tomorrow.”

Chaz blinked. “He did?”

“Yes. And I told him I’d go. It’s for publicity, that’s all,” she rushed to add. “But I know you like him, and, well...you’re not mad at me for saying I’d go, are you?”

He was silent. “Of course not,” he said, and brushed stray popcorn kernels from his lap. “You’d be crazy not to go.”

“You don’t want me to go,” Holly said. “I’ll tell him no.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He flopped back against the sofa cushions. “It’s time I got over my crush on Ciaran and met someone. Someone real. After I lose fifteen pounds,” he added bitterly.

“You’re not fat .” They’d had this argument many times before.

“No, but I’m not Ryan Gosling, either. I’m Seth Rogen...before he lost weight.”

“Stop.” Holly tossed a throw pillow – bright orange and round – at him. “No pity parties allowed tonight.”

Chaz caught the pillow and turned it around and around, his expression shuttered. “I never told you this, but I used to be best friends with this kid, Ted. We did everything together – Scouts, science projects, hung out on the weekends. Halfway through seventh grade he found out I was gay. I don’t know how he found out, or who told him, but it was like I suddenly had a communicable disease. He never talked to me again.” He tossed the cushion aside. “He wouldn’t even sit next to me on the bus. If we passed each other in the halls, he crossed to the other side. I felt like a – like a ghost.”

“He was a jerk.”

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with remembered pain. “It really hurt, Holly. I was the same person. Nothing changed. But after Ted found out I liked guys, not girls...everything changed.”

“He was a knob,” she said, her words firm. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for. You’re funny, and smart, and Rhys says you’re the best personal assistant he’s ever had—”

“Oh, please,” he groaned, “don’t start telling me how wonderful I am, and how I’ll make some guy really happy one day. Right now I just want to wallow in my unattached misery.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Alone.”

“Okay. Sure.” Holly drew back, stung by his refusal to let her comfort him. “I need to get back to the hotel anyway, before Jamie gets there first and calls the police and reports me missing. You know how he is.”

He didn’t respond, just stared dejectedly at the bowl of popcorn – no butter, no salt – on the coffee table.

“I mean it, Chaz,” she told him firmly as she picked up her clutch and headed to the door. “If you don’t want me to go out with Ciaran on this publicity thing tomorrow, I won’t.”

He sighed. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I want you to go out with him. How else will I find out what it’s like to spend an entire day with an internationally famous film star?”

Chapter Five

Natalie leaned her head back against the Jaguar’s headrest, pleasantly relaxed as Rhys drove them to their apartment with the painting of her father safely stowed in the back seat.

“I wish we could’ve stayed at the Plaza,” she said wistfully as they left Greenwich Village. “Like Eloise.”

Rhys turned the car onto Third Avenue. “You know we have to keep expenses down, Natalie. The stores aren’t fully recovered yet.”

“I know,” she grumbled. “Such a bother. I’m longing to splash out on a few more baby things and some chic maternity outfits...but I haven’t. I’ve been very restrained.”

“Right,” he agreed, his voice dry, “restrained, if you don’t count the roomful of stuffed animals from FAO, enough onesies and jim-jams and nappies to stock a baby store, or that ridiculous pram you insisted on buying—”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she protested. “It’s a Silver Cross Balmoral, meticulously handcrafted in Yorkshire.”

“Natalie ‒ it costs $3,000! For a bloody pram .”

“Well, yes, because it has a C-spring suspension for a smooth and unrivalled ride.”

“Which is all very well and good,” he retorted, “if one’s buying an Aston Martin ‒ not a pram.”

“And the lady at the store said I might exchange the navy-and-white model for a pink-and-white model if we have a girl,” Natalie went on. “ So nice of her, don’t you think?”

“I think for $3,000, she ought to give you a different model pram for every day of the week and throw in a nanny and free nappies for good measure.”

“Oh, Rhys, honestly. Don’t you want our baby to have the best?”

He turned onto East 47th Street and glanced over at her. “Of course I do. I just don’t want you to bankrupt us in the process.” He reached out his free hand and laid it atop hers. “We’re nearly there.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Detouring to the apartment on our way home to deliver the painting.”

“Not at all. I wanted to stop and check that the security system’s on in our apartment anyway. I told the movers to activate it, but I want to be sure. I also thought,” he added as he slowed the car, “that we could have a look at our new home for the next few months before we officially move in tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to have a place of our own here in Manhattan. Although,” Natalie added, “I’ll really miss room service, and those lovely chocs they put on our pillows every night.”

“Sir Richard thought it made sense to keep a place near the store, where I can stay whenever I’m here on business. Now that Alastair’s bought that townhouse in Gramercy Park, I doubt he’ll ever use the apartment.”

He brought the Jaguar to a stop in front of an impressive building. The Dunleigh was located on the Upper West Side, just across from Central Park and a stone’s throw from the Dakota. As they got out of the car and Rhys gave instructions to the valet, Natalie glanced up at the imposing turn-of-the-century building.

Stone griffins and winged cherubs cavorted around the perimeter of the Mansard roof; a uniformed doorman stood guard at the canopied entrance. It looked like something out of Rosemary’s Baby .

“Well, what do you think so far?” Rhys inquired as he tucked the portrait carefully under his arm and escorted her inside.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s all a bit...scary looking, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Wait till you see the apartment.”

“Right,” she murmured, and gripped her husband’s arm as she took in the marble-floored lobby with its potted palms and elaborate Victorian staircase. “It’s lovely.” Lovely, she thought, if you were the Addams Family, or a guest at the Overlook Hotel.

The concierge behind the counter to the left smiled at them and nodded imperceptibly. “Good evening, Mr and Mrs Gordon.”

Rhys nodded. “Good evening. We’re just going up to check that the security system is armed.”

“Very good. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

As she and Rhys made their way across the lobby to the lift, Natalie frowned. “That was a bit odd, don’t you think? How did he know who we were?”

“It’s his job to know who we are. I’ve been in and out of here enough that the staff all know me by name.”