Page 15 of Brazen
As I stepped outside, a limo was ready to take me back to the West Side. I jumped in and remembered how Hope had been so nervous when we took off. On the trip to Paris, I’d watched her from the cockpit as she clutched the arm rests. I’d wanted to go out there and comfort her.
Once we were in the sky, I spoke to the stewardess and had her escorted via the arm marshal into the locked cockpit, but she’d lasted many ten minutes then bolted. I’d hoped if I showed her that she was perfectly safe with me at the helm, but that plan backfired.
I had no idea how anyone was scared of heights in a city that was built as high as buildings went, but I’d spent the next day talking her into forgiving me.
After being dropped off, I headed into my building, and the security guard nodded. Everything was normal until I walked into my condo and heard women squealing.
I took off my shoes and saw a collection of high heels. Michael came to see me, carrying a serving tray of appetizers. I waved to the floor and asked him, “Who’s here?”
He nodded and directed me to the grand room. “Ms. Hope Williams and her guests, sir.”
Women were laughing. Michael's icy-blue stare told me without a word he wanted to disappear entirely. I popped my head in, and in the center of the room was Hope, wearing jeans and a shirt that went off one of her shoulders. She stood with five other women around her as they toasted her and laughed.
I asked, “Hope?”
She jumped up and grabbed my hand. Adrenaline rushed through me as she directed me into the middle of the room. “Charlie! You met Britney, but Avril, Kelly, Isabel, and Miley all wanted to meet you too.”
Hope had talked about her friends in the past and how she considered them her family. Avril was a thin blonde who seemed quiet, Kelly had a kind face and empathetic eyes, Isabel seemed standoffish, and Miley’s gaze was clearly analytical. Hope was the prettiest of them all by far.
Britney, the brash but kind one, said, “We’d like to take you out for drinks, Charlie.”
Despite how she accused me of being a playboy, the truth was that around women I pretended to be someone charming, but I understood I’d be unforgettable. In my heart, I knew I was full of complete crap. Before Hope, I didn't care what people thought. So I called out, “Fuller, get us a table at Ardesia down the street.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and disappeared.
Isabel pouted. “So what are your intentions with Hope?”
I would need to convince her friends like she would convince my family. I smiled, though Miley's piercing gaze reminded me of my brother Jeff, who was the hardest to ever fool. “I fell in love with Hope when we met at the airport on our way to Paris.”
Avril placed her hand on her heart and swayed. “Aww, this sounds like a fairy tale.”
Britney was shuffling us out, but I stopped. “Maybe you can help Hope pick out a diamond right now?”
Miley said nothing. I wasn’t sure I’d won her belief at all.
She tilted her head. “I thought we were going to go shopping later.”
“I had the shopping set up in the dining room," Michael said.
I met his gaze. He was actually more like my long-term guest who was hiding from his life by staying in New York. His pretense of being a butler was interesting. If I were him, I would have gone home to his family’s castle, but that wasn’t my concern.
The six women all went first, but Miley’s lips widened. “Hope, this is all gorgeous.”
Unlike my brother, perhaps Miley was buyable for tolerating me.
The group of them milled around, picking up rings. I stood back and watched Hope, the only one who mattered, as Michael waited at the door, glaring at Britney. It was strange, truthfully. Her friends all showed her various one, but a few minutes later, Hope held one up and seemed to like it. I walked over to her, and she showed it to me. “It is, but this one is nice.”
I nodded then showed the ring to my butler. “Michael, please inform the jeweler and have it set in a size eight.”
The women all filed out, and I handed the ring over as Isabel asked Hope, “You’re an eight, Hope? Your hands are so long…”
“Doesn’t matter. Hands are hands.” She curled her fingers at her sides. “Ring sizes don’t mean anything. Anyhow, let’s get those drinks.”
I walked next to her. “You’re perfect as you are.”
She beamed at me and relaxed. “Thanks. Isabel believes women are judged on everything, and she spends too much time worrying what others think of her. She’s a little too perfect sometimes.”
My limo met us and dropped us off a few blocks down at the cocktail bar. We headed out, and as her friends joined us, I refused to touch her—that was part of her new rules—but I walked closer. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
