Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

“Oh, please, you’re gorgeous,” Adriana said automatically, although she was pleased-and in full agreement-with Leigh’s assessment.

“Where are you headed tonight?”

Another sigh. “With Toby to some dreadful industry dinner party. Studio execs or producers or some such, in town for a reason I can’t remember.”

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. Where is it?”

“Uptown.”

Leigh crinkled her nose. “Oh. That sucks.”

“What are you up to?” Adriana already knew what the answer was but felt she should ask anyway. Leigh was a lot of really wonderful things, but fun wasn’t one of them.

“Me?” Leigh glanced down at her flannel pajama pants and laughed. “I’ve got a hot date with my TiVo and a pint of Tasti D-Lite. Shocker, I know.”

Adriana shook her head. “And where’s your fiancé? No, wait-let me guess. He’s out somewhere like a normal person, having fun and being sociable, and you refused to go with him?”

“I didn’t refuse , I just opted out. Besides, I have a ton of work to do.”

“Okay, okay, querida , I must be going. If I stay here a moment longer, I’m going to get very upset with you. I’m going to sound like your mother and ask why someone as young and beautiful and charming as yourself insists on hibernating instead of flourishing.”

“ Flourishing ? Did you just say that?” Leigh glanced at the cover of a Sharper Image catalog and tossed that one out, too.

“Ach!” Adriana threw her hands up in frustration. The girl was impossible. And what a waste of a perfectly good boyfriend. Poor Russell probably just wanted to go out, relax a bit, have a little fun, and his girlfriend didn’t know the meaning of the word. “You should be going to this boring dinner tonight and I should be out with Russell, having fun.”

Leigh rolled her eyes. “Go! Say hi to Toby for me. And behave yourself, will you? No mischief at the dinner party.”

“What, are you worried we’re going to have sex in the bathroom?” Adriana asked with a grin.

“I’m more worried that you’ll have sex in the bathroom with someone other than Toby.”

Adriana pretended to consider this. “Hmm. I hadn’t even thought of that. Very interesting…”

The ride up to Seventy-fourth and Park was interminable. She was too young for formal dinner parties uptown! Too young to bury her beautiful figure under knee-length skirts and trench coats! Too young to be with only one man for the rest of her life! It was all so silly, this rush to find a husband just because she’d soon be thirty. Such pressure! From her parents, but from her friends, too: Why were they so convinced that their path was the correct one? Adriana grew angrier with every passing block; by the time they soared past the MetLife building she had resolved to end this entire farce once and for all. So she’d lose a bet-big deal.

The town car flew past Bear Stearns, and Adriana couldn’t help but think of Emmy’s Duncan, as she always did when she passed the building where he had once famously (in her mind, at least) claimed to “run shit.” She’d never liked him, but Adriana had to admit that he was a reasonably attractive, overly confident, typical New York banker who pretty much had his pick when it came to girls. Wasn’t it safe to assume that if Duncan had traded Emmy in for someone eight years younger, his friends and colleagues would do the same? Of course it was. And there was always Yani. Over the last few months she’d stepped up her efforts to flirt with him, make him notice her, until it had all ended one devastating morning when she saw him kiss another girl after class. Not one who was prettier or in better shape, mind you, but with a clear and undeniable advantage: She couldn’t have been a day over twenty. And finally there was Toby. Her mother might have said it first, but Adriana didn’t disagree: While there was no shortage of successful, handsome, wealthy men, not that many were straight or single. Of those left, how many would choose to marry a thirtysomething woman over a fresh-faced girl of twenty-two, one who looked up at them with big, adoring eyes and an expression that said, “I revere you and think every syllable you utter is the word of god”? Adriana knew she could fake it for a bit in the beginning, but her days of worshipping men were long gone-if they were worthy of her attention, they could worship her .

Toby was waiting for her outside the building when she arrived. Adriana almost told him he should have worn a pair of slacks with his blazer instead of jeans-Park Avenue and the Hollywood Hills didn’t exactly share the same dress code-but she remembered to channel her inner twenty-two-year-old, leaned in close, and whispered in his ear, “You look so hot tonight. I can’t wait until later.”

His face lit up with unabashed joy. “Really?”

Good lord, it was too easy. Mr. Superstar Director might ooze cockiness and confidence when it came to making movies, but he clearly wasn’t accustomed to this kind of compliment. Adriana did a quick calculation and figured she had probably just knocked a full month off of Ring Quest ’08.

“Really,” she purred.

The doorman greeted them by name and ushered them into the richly upholstered elevator. “Take it to the top,” he said without a trace of irony. Adriana rolled her eyes and Toby laughed. This isn’t so bad , she thought, allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind as the elevator closed. He’s cuddly and sweet and he loves me. I could get used to this, if I must.

Which lasted precisely ten more seconds, just long enough for the elevator to open directly into the penthouse apartment and for Adriana to lock eyes with the very first person she saw.

“Well, look who it is,” Toby bellowed, releasing Adriana and moving forward to shake the man’s hand. “Sweetheart, I’d like to introduce you to someone. Dean Decker, this is Adriana de Souza. Adriana, Dean.”

Adriana’s mind went into overdrive. How did Dean and Toby know each other? Had she mentioned Toby to Dean on the plane that day? Was she about to be caught or busted by anyone for anything? She quickly concluded that no, as of this moment, she had done nothing wrong, but she was still too shocked to react in any sort of appropriate fashion. Thankfully, Dean appeared much more composed. Amused, even.

“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.).