Her Perfect Affair Page 23

  He closed his eyes, the fight draining out of him.

  Damn it, he didn’t want her to be right.

  “You should go to the firm’s holiday party on Wednesday,” she said.

  That got his attention. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  “Oh, I’m not going.” She made a wide-eyed are-you-kidding-me face as she shook her head. “No, I’ll stay home and rest, but you”—one of her hands patted his chest—“you can make it. Don’t you think?”

  He frowned, not keen on leaving her alone. Certain she’d gripe again about not needing a babysitter if he said so.

  Instead, he settled for leaning down to press his forehead against hers. The faint scent of her coconut-vanilla lotion teased him. “I think I’d rather we just kiss and make up. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  Her fingers flexed, tugging on his sweater. For a hot second, he thought she might take him up on his suggestion.

  “Oh, I wish it were that easy,” she said softly. “Unfortunately, doing what feels good is how we got into part of this predicament in the first place. I’m afraid you’re solo, my friend.”

  And with those last two words, she effectively killed all hope that he might get lucky with a good-night kiss.

  Disappointed, Jeremy backed up a step. The serious, uncertain expression on her beautiful face let him know that despite her banter, he hadn’t quite convinced her that he was worth believing in yet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “¡Ay Dios mío, que sinvergüenza!”

  Rosa laughed out loud at Yazmine’s spot-on description of Cecile’s behavior the previous day. Most certainly the socialite had behaved shamelessly.

  “Please tell me Jeremy put that woman in her place!” Yaz slowed her car as they approached a red light on their way to Queen of Peace just before noon on Monday.

  Jeremy had been called into the office for a meeting, so Yaz had shown up to “Drive Señorita Daisy,” as she’d announced when she walked in the door.

  “He did, kind of. I think?” Rosa frowned. “Really, the whole visit was surreal and Cecile was only a small part of it.”

  “Bueno, chica, you need to go to that holiday party with him,” Yaz said.

  “No, I’m staying home.”

  “You said you were feeling better. Is that not true?” Her big sister gave her a stern once-over as the light turned green.

  “Estoy bien,” Rosa reassured her.

  “If you’re fine, then you need to take your butt to that party. Don’t let Cecile get her manicured talons in him again.”

  “¡Ay!” Rosa huffed in frustration. “We are not adolescents vying for the hot guy’s attention.”

  “You’re right, but like I told you on Thanksgiving, if you plan to be a part of Jeremy’s life, then people like Cecile, events like this swanky holiday party, are par for the course.”

  “I know.”

  “¿Pero?”

  “But what?” Rosa really wanted to twist in her seat and glare at her sister. Too bad riding in the car exacerbated her nausea so she had to keep her eyes on the horizon ahead.

  “I know you, and when you get petulant like Lilí, you’re hiding something.”

  “¡Ave Maria purísima!”

  “Hail Mary nothing. If you want to keep whatever it is to yourself, fine. But take it from me.” Yaz pulled up in front of the school and put her blue Ford Focus in park. “Hiding out in Oakton, sending Jeremy on his own to an event I personally don’t think he’s thrilled about attending, based on off-the-cuff comments he’s made in the past, is not the smartest move. ¿Me estás escuchando?”

  “Yes, I’m listening to you,” Rosa complained. She unbuckled, then reached for the door handle.

  “You said you were going to do what’s right for you and your baby, and I’m telling you—” Yaz jabbed a finger at Rosa, emphasizing her point. “Staying away from that part of his life is not the right thing. Damn, girl, he’s putting up with daily phone calls from Tía Dolores. That says a lot! Jeremy’s stood by you. If you’re well enough to go with him, don’t you think maybe you owe it to him to do the same?”

  Rosa slung her messenger-bag purse over her shoulder and pushed open the door. “I’ll think about it.”

  “¡Ay, que cabeza dura eres, chica!”

  Hardheaded?

  Whatever.

  With a grumbled adios, Rosa stepped out of the car.

  * * *

  Rosa scanned the expanse of the private room at the five-star steak and oyster house hosting the Taylor & Millward holiday party in downtown Chicago.

  The diverse mix of people on the seventy-five-plus guest list had surprised her. Off to the left, near the open bar, a group of University of Chicago and Northwestern University law students mingled with several local judges and well-known politicians. Professional athletes and local celebrities chatted with legal assistants, secretaries, and interns. Seasoned lawyers from the firm as well as from the district attorney’s office networked with up-and-coming younger ones. She’d been impressed with and pleased to meet the president of the local Latina lawyers’ alliance, a fellow Puerto Rican who, like Rosa, enjoyed swapping stories of their visits to the Island.

  Sure, some women wore elegantly cut cocktail dresses, sparkling jewels, and designer heels Lilí and Yaz would drool over, but Rosa’s forest-green lace sheath dress and low heels weren’t out of place like she’d worried. Besides, as far as she was concerned, she had the best accessory, the most handsome man in the room. Who just so happened to place his arm around her waist at that exact moment.

  Tingles of heat shimmied from her waist, across her hips and lower. She leaned into his side, finding his nearness reassuring, and peeked up at him from under her lashes. ¡Que guapo!

  Handsome indeed! Jeremy’s dirty-blond hair had grown a little longer in the past couple of weeks. The sides now skimmed the top of his ears. The length made his hair wavier, and her fingers itched to comb through it. His charcoal suit with tiny white pinstripes fit him like it had been tailor made, snugly giving in all the right places. Like his broad shoulders, strong biceps, firm thighs. A-plus effort on the part of his tailor, who certainly knew how to cut a man’s suit to draw the eye.

  Bueno, hers anyway.

  Jeremy smiled down at her while at the same time he acknowledged the older gentleman standing to his left. With the crowd’s din, she couldn’t hear what the other man said, but she didn’t mind. She was more focused on the change she felt in Jeremy.

  Earlier, when they’d left his BMW with the valet and turned to head inside, she’d caught the uncertainty in his blue eyes.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Jeremy had reached for her hand, drawing them to a halt.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he’d asked for at least the third time since she’d come downstairs back at her house.

  His obvious discomfort had made her long to soothe him, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Plus, she refused to let him use her as an excuse to bail on the evening.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she’d assured him. “I took a nap after work, and I’m feeling fine right now.”

  “If you get tired or your stomach gives you trouble, just say the word and we’ll be out—”

  “Jeremy,” she’d interrupted him, knowing exactly what he was going to say because he’d already told her. Twice. “If I need to head home, I’ll let you know. But right now, it’d be great if we could get out of the cold. I’m sure your parents are excited to see you.”

  He’d responded by pressing a warm kiss to the back of her hand, following it up with a whispered thank-you. A gesture that warmed her heart, and took her mind off her own misgivings about being here.

  Inside, they had been ushered to the private area as soon as Jeremy gave his name. They’d wound past white linen-draped tables with muted candle lighting attended to by strategically placed waiters in red oxford shirts with thin black ties and dress pants. Touches of the holiday season accented the room. A beautifully decorated Christma
s tree stood to the right of the hostess table and poinsettias accented the space. Rosa had spotted a gleaming brass menorah displayed on a decorative side table next to a piano whose ivories were being tickled by a middle-aged man crooning about having a blue Christmas.

  Admittedly nervous, she’d hoped the song didn’t prove to be prophetic. Especially considering how horribly things had gone at the Taylors’ penthouse last Sunday.

  Inside the private room, Laura and Sherman had stood by the door, waiting to greet them. There had been a brief male stare-down between Jeremy and Sherman. Father weighing son. Son weighing father. Then, to Rosa’s relief, with a hearty clasping-of-the-elbows handshake, the two had exchanged relieved smiles and the awkwardness had eased.

  Sherman had greeted her with a warm handshake, but Rosa had been pleasantly caught by surprise when Laura had opened her arms for a hug.

  Jeremy’s mom had softly whispered, “Thank you so much for coming,” and her tight hug had touched Rosa, easing her qualms.

  Now, an hour and a half later, Rosa had been introduced to so many people the names had become a blur.

  The older gentleman standing next to Jeremy shuffled a bit to his left, angling his back to the crowd and stepping closer to include Rosa in their conversation. With his dapper deep cranberry-colored suit, black silk cravat, and wizened eyes, he reminded her of a cool cat time-hopping from Chicago’s prohibition era. Only his fedora was missing.

  “Jeremy tells me you’re a librarian—is that right, young lady?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

  “Yes, at a small private school in Oakton,” she answered with a polite smile. Her legs were starting to tire from all the standing, but she pushed away the fatigue.

  “If I know Laura Taylor, she’ll have you volunteering for her Literacy Ball in no time.” The old man tipped his Scotch on the rocks at her, the veins in his pale hand visibly pronounced as it shook slightly. His friendly smile deepened the wrinkles in his face. “That woman is a dynamo when it comes to helping causes.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Rosa took a sip of her water with lemon. “Any cause that benefits reading is certainly something I can get behind.”

  As Jeremy added his agreement, his hand began drawing a tiny circle on her hip. The motion sent answering swirls through her, distracting her from the conversation.

  The crowd around them shifted, and across the room, Laura caught Rosa’s eye. Jeremy’s mom beamed at her. Then someone touched Laura’s elbow to gain her attention, and she turned her attention to them.

  Yaz had been right—it was good that Rosa had come.

  By sticking to her preconceived notions regarding the snootiness she’d anticipated from many in Jeremy’s social circles, she had been behaving just as poorly.

  A modern-day Pride and Prejudice situation if she’d ever been party to one.

  Why not embrace what was, truthfully, her first real “date” with Jeremy?

  Once she’d gotten past her nerves, and Jeremy himself had relaxed, she’d focused on the night out with him.

  Whether to make her or himself feel more comfortable, Jeremy had remained by her side the entire time. Well, except for one quick trip to order a drink at the bar. Cecile had approached him then, offering her cheek for a kiss hello. Jeremy had obliged, then deftly stepped aside, scooped up his gin and tonic and Rosa’s water, and headed back to her. The socialite had yet to say anything to Rosa, but that was fine by her.

  There were plenty of others she enjoyed meeting.

  Jeremy had smoothed over any awkwardness by introducing her without a specific label—no “girlfriend,” “good friend,” or “mother of my illegitimate child”—going with a simple “someone special I’ve known for several years.” That worked for her. And hadn’t led to any intrusive questions.

  A waiter approached, a shiny silver tray of sushi rolls held aloft in his hand. Rosa turned her head away, hoping to discourage him from stopping. She’d caught the smell earlier and her stomach had rolled in protest.

  “—the scholarship students are around here somewhere. You might be interested in meeting some.”

  The matching expectant looks on the older man’s and Jeremy’s faces alerted her that they were waiting for her to reply.

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t quite catch your question.”

  The gentleman leaned closer and looked about to say something when a shiny silver platter with perfect bite-sized rolls of white rice, seaweed, veggies and some type of raw fish appeared right under Rosa’s nose.

  One whiff of the fishy smell and Rosa’s stomach revolted. Nausea rose up her throat and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Jeremy must have clued in to her calamity because he brushed the tray aside, bending down to whisper in her ear.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to risk a verbal answer at the moment.

  “Excuse us, Mr. Douglas,” Jeremy quickly said. “We need to take care of something.”

  Rosa hoped her eyes expressed her apology to the older man as she backed away, then spun and made a beeline for the ladies’ room.

  Winding her way through the crowd, Jeremy at her side, she prayed she’d get to the restroom in time. They turned the corner into the dimly lit hallway next to the kitchen door, hurrying past framed, autographed pictures of famous athletes and movie stars eating at the restaurant. Normally she might have stopped to take note of a few. Not right now.

  Instead, she hit the women’s door with a flattened palm and raced into the last of the three stalls, barely registering the unique floor-to-ceiling light wood doors that closed off each stall completely.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Jeremy called.

  “No! Go back to the party,” she answered. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention by having him stand watch outside. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Please. Go. I’ll text you if I need anything.”

  She heard the outer door close seconds before she lost the contents of her stomach in the toilet.

  Fifteen minutes later, the worst had passed and the dry heaves slowed. Hands trembling with fatigue, Rosa tore off some toilet paper to dab her face. She sagged back against the thick wood door, waiting for the spasming in her stomach to ease. Her legs heavy, she wanted nothing more than to slide down to the floor in a heap, but even though the ceramic bowl with its gold accents looked clean, and the modern artwork and deep cranberry-painted wall spoke of the restaurant’s opulence, no way was she sitting on the floor of a public restroom. Yuck.

  The outer door opened and Rosa expected to hear Jeremy calling out to her. Instead, the voice that carried into her stall belonged to a more recent acquaintance.

  “She’s supposedly related to one of Jeremy’s friends from New York,” Cecile was saying.

  “She flew in just for tonight?” another female voice answered.

  “No, she lives somewhere outside of the city. In the burbs of all places.” Cecile’s scandalized twist of the word “burbs” expressed her sentiments on non-city living. “She works at a small private school as a teacher—no, a librarian.”

  Rosa realized the two women were talking about her at the same time it became apparent that neither had bothered checking the stalls for occupants. Granted, the wooden doors ran from floor to ceiling, with no gap between the door and the support walls so you couldn’t peek in or out.

  The sound of water running indicated they were at the sinks directly across from the stalls. Probably touching up their makeup, maybe adjusting their Spanx.

  A tiny flicker of guilt flared in Rosa at the catty thought. It was quickly doused when she heard the other woman’s nasally voice announce, “Well, she seems rather bland if you ask me. Nothing for him to get excited about. If you want Jeremy for yourself, I’m sure you could win him back.”

  The snide comment had Rosa pushing off the stall door to stand tall. Yazmine’s admonishment rang in her head, warning her not to let Cecile get her talons in Jeremy aga
in. Cautioning Rosa that she had to get used to dealing with women like Cecile and her bosom buddy.

  Cowering in the stall was not what her sister had meant.

  Nor was it indicative of the strong woman she was determined to be for her child.

  Straightening her shoulders, Rosa unlocked the door, jerked it open, and stepped out.

  Dios mío, what she wouldn’t give for a still photo of the jaw-dropping shock on the socialites’ artfully made-up faces. Cecile’s red-painted lips opened and closed like those of a fish in distress.

  Her partner in crime stood about Rosa’s height, her figure a few too many candy bars shy of being slender. The young woman’s short, bottle-blond bob curled around her pale face, huge diamond studs flashing from her ears. Her shocked gaze traveled from Rosa’s head down to her sensible heels and back up.

  Apparently neither woman had the audacity to say anything, much less apologize, so Rosa took the high road.

  “Hello,” she directed to Cecile’s sidekick, proud of the calm evenness in her voice when, inside her, the good girl who didn’t like making waves quaked. “If you don’t mind. I’d like a word alone with Ms. Millward.”

  Both women blinked in surprise, their eyelash extensions fanning their cheeks. Cecile recovered first, nudging her friend in the side with her elbow.

  “I’ll be—I guess I’ll head to the bar,” the woman stammered, shuffling quickly to the door.

  Once they were alone, Rosa moved to the sink next to Cecile’s.

  “There’s no need to be catty about this. You have a history with Jeremy, and you see me as an interloper.” Rosa stuck her hands under the tap, activating the sensor. Warm water cascaded over her hands. She glanced up, snagging Cecile’s narrowed, suspicious gaze in the mirror spanning the length of the wall above the brick-red-tiled counter.

  “The thing is,” Rosa continued, “you and I may both want to be with Jeremy, but it’s not entirely up to either of us.”

  “Oh really?” Cecile answered, one of her perfectly plucked and shaded eyebrows arched in defiance. Her skinny right hip jutted to the side in a kiss-my-ass angle reminiscent of a petulant student.