Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

“How wonderful ! Congratulations to you both.” There. That was more like it.

A tall, striking woman in a timeless Chanel suit approached them.

“Welcome to our little fete,” she trilled, air-kissing the general area around the group. “We’re just delighted all you California boys could make it.”

“Catherine,” Toby said, clasping her hands and kissing both cheeks.

Adriana wanted to puke. Puh-lease! The only thing worse than Europeans being Europeans was Americans being Europeans!

“I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Adriana de Souza.” At the sound of the g-word, Adriana stole a glance at Dean, who was already looking at her with eyebrows raised and an amused look on his face. “And also Dean Decker. Adriana, Dean, this lovely lady is your hostess for the evening.”

Adriana turned to the woman, who, upon closer inspection, was older than she’d originally thought, probably closer to sixty. She forced out the usual platitudes about such a beautiful apartment, so glad to be there, love your necklace, blah, blah, blah, but the woman only stared at her. After allowing Adriana to ramble on in this manner for a bit, Catherine cupped Adriana’s chin and slowly, with great gentleness, as though she were handling fine china, turned her face back and forth.

“My, my, you are lovely,” Catherine said, gazing at Adriana. “Excellent cheekbones and pretty, wide eyes. But your skin!” The woman groaned. “The complexion of an angel.”

Well, this was more like it. Adriana found herself flashing her second award-winning smile that night. “Thank you! How nice of you to say.” She tried for an embarrassed, or at least humbled, expression, but wasn’t sure of the outcome.

“Catherine…,” Toby said in a warning voice.

“Sorry, I know-no work at a party. I promise not to bother her tonight, although all bets are off for Monday.”

The woman looked up as two more guests appeared in the foyer. “The bar is through there, in the living room.” She gestured to a set of imposing French doors. “Please excuse me for just a moment.”

“I think I’m going to make a beeline for the booze,” Dean announced as Catherine floated to greet her new guests. “See you two later?”

“Later, man,” Toby said, trying to sound cool but just sounding old.

Adriana barely knew where to begin. Did she grill Toby first about Dean or Catherine?

“You’ll have to be careful, or you might just find yourself in the pages of Marie Claire ,” Toby said, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a roving waiter’s tray and thrusting one toward Adriana.

“Catherine works at Marie Claire ?” Adriana demanded.

“Catherine used to work at Marie Claire. She was the booking editor for decades and is credited with discovering loads of now-famous models. So that’s quite a compliment she paid you. Not that I didn’t know it already…” He leaned in close enough that Adriana could smell the champagne on his breath.

“Interesting,” Adriana said. “Very, very interesting.” She’d have to ask her mother about Catherine; if the woman really was the booking guru at Marie Claire , then Mrs. de Souza would certainly have known her.

“Come, darling. Let me show you off.”

When it came time for dinner, Adriana located her place card, only to find that she was seated between a female editor from Marie Claire and Dean. Catherine had-as all good hostesses do and all their guests hate them for-split all the couples and scattered them around the table to encourage fresh conversation among strangers. Not ideal, but not a total disaster, either. She could’ve been seated between Dean and Toby; that would not have been fun. Adriana assessed the scene, devised a game plan, and took her seat. She nodded at Dean and then, as planned, quickly turned to her left. Adriana leaned in close to the woman, so close they nearly touched foreheads, and said, “Do you realize how lucky you are? You’re seated next to the most gorgeous man in the room.”

The woman, whom Toby had introduced earlier as Mackenzie Michaels, the woman to know at Marie Claire , stared blankly at Adriana for a moment, undecided in her reaction. Adriana merely nodded, as if to say, Well, it’s true , and Mackenzie stole a furtive glance to her left. Adriana watched as her eyes widened and she inhaled. Sitting on Mackenzie’s other side was a guy even more gorgeous than Dean. He was wearing a fitted, funky pinstriped Thom Browne-esque suit with no tie. His hair was clipped tight around the back and sides, but the slightly longer top was just the right amount of spiky: cool, but not trying too hard. But best of all was how he just seemed to gleam. His skin looked freshly scrubbed and shaved and tan from the actual sun and not the salon; his fingernails were cut short and straight with a subtle shine that managed not to look the least bit effeminate; even his tassel-toed leather loafers glinted in the light.

Mackenzie turned back to Adriana and groaned. “You’re right. He’s a fucking god,” she whispered.

Adriana surveyed Mackenzie’s hands and, finding no rings, said, “Go for it, querida . Make him yours.”

Mackenzie laughed, a sort of snort that wasn’t nearly as delicate or as feminine as Adriana’s. “Yeah, right. I’d have a better chance of going home with Matt Damon tonight.”

“Is he here?” Adriana asked, forgetting her promise to herself not to look in Dean’s direction. She scanned the table, carefully going over the faces of all twelve guests.

“No, he’s not here ,” Mackenzie said with a laugh. “I was just making a point: There’s no way in hell that gorgeous guy would go for me.”

Again, Adriana assessed her new friend. Average height. Better-than-average face, with a cute button nose and a nice smile. Decent enough figure, she guessed, although it was impossible to tell what was happening under that babydoll dress. How she loathed babydoll dresses! Every woman on earth, herself included, looked either morbidly obese or eight months pregnant in babydoll dresses, and yet they were all the rage. Adriana suspected Mackenzie might even be hiding a pretty decent rack under that muumuu…a crime if there ever was one. Thankfully, the woman was somewhat saved by her flawless grooming. She sported a sleek blowout, what looked like professionally applied makeup, and a shoes-and-bag combo that most of womankind would kill for. Her appearance, combined with her success as one of the most sought-after magazine editors in New York, as Adriana would later learn, should have propelled Mackenzie into the stratosphere of confident women; her insecurity made absolutely no sense.

Before Adriana could do a thing to stop her, Mackenzie turned to the hot guy, tapped his arm insistently, and cleared her throat. She didn’t seem to notice that she was interrupting his conversation with the woman to his left, nor did she catch the surprised and slightly irritated look on his face. He swiveled around and peered at Mackenzie.

“Hello,” he said in a neutral voice, but Adriana could tell what he really meant was “Yes? Can I help you with something?”

Mackenzie plastered on a huge fake smile and extended her hand, a rather awkward gesture considering how tightly everyone was packed in around the table. She ended up looking slightly spastic, a fact that wasn’t lost on the guy. “Hi there. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Mackenzie Michaels, features editor at Marie Claire. Probably not your typical reading, since it’s a women’s magazine-but actually, come to think of it, we do have quite a few male readers. And surprisingly, they’re not all gay, which is-”