Page 19 of Rivals to Lovers
“What makes it lust, then?” he asked, wanting to press the issue. What would make her turn and look at him in that less careful way she had last night?
“Oh, pheromones and hormones, probably,” she said, taking the question academically. “I could ask my sister.”
“What?”
“My sister. She breeds dogs, so she thinks a lot about mating, compatibility—”
He stepped faster to catch up to her. How she could walk so quickly was a testament to her having become a real New Yorker. “But humans aren’tdogs,” he said.
“Most aren’t, but I’ve met some exceptions.” She stared at him with an eyebrow raised.
“That’s a rough assessment.”
It was her turn to stop on the sidewalk, and he was gentleman enough to stop next to her. “That was a bad pun.” She elbowed him. It was a light jab, but her elbows were ridiculously pointy.
“Ow. You got a permit for those elbows, Ms. Denton?”
“No, but I am always armed.”
“Terrible,” he said, but grinned. He wanted her to like him, he realized. He wanted to claw his way into her good graces to see what it looked like to earn a real smile from her.
The cafébell dinged as they entered. This place was one of his favorites and baked the best lemon poppy seed muffins he had ever eaten. Wes took in a deep, fresh-roasted sniff and glanced to see if his mother had taken a table yet. Ulla was, as usual, precisely one minute ahead of whatever internalschedule he was running. She had a tablet in front of her and was delicately scrolling through some proposal or another for a product that she would find a way to sell to the masses. He stopped by the table before ordering, leaving a kiss on her delicately powdered cheek.
He asked after his father.
“Well.” Ulla gestured with her eyes over Wes’s shoulder.
Maureen stood, wearing the familiar fish-out-of-water look he had observed more times in the past twenty-four hours than her smile. “Hi,” Mo said. She introduced herself, and Ulla reciprocated.
As the two women fell into stilted small talk, Wes excused himself to get a coffee. Standing in line, he felt the guilt roil in his stomach. He and Mo had been so busy talking about the October/December romance unfolding in the bedroom down the hall that he hadn’t warned her that Ulla would have coffee with them. Ulla never expected much from Wes and wasn’t the type to meddle, but if he was back in town, a coffee date was an expectation. He’d forgotten to share that plan with Maureen—or his mother, for that matter.
He ordered a latte—oat milk and an extra shot—and stood at the end of the mahogany bar. The frother hissed and the door tinkled again as a huddle of women entered, gabbing gleefully. They passed the table with Mo and Ulla, who seemed to be deep in conversation now.
He might have made a mistake in leaving them alone together. Ulla had a forceful personality. She tended to steamroll people with meaningful silences and solid smiles and had a way of enforcing her point of view by allowing you to come around to it. This kind of expected mind reading was a conversational curse that Wes had inherited and one that hadmeant the downfall of some past relationships, both professional and personal. He had trouble asking for things from other people—that would be rude. Better to let someone figure out his desires through watching. He didn’t act this way in business relationships. His editorial letters to clients were clear and to the point—he didn’t bullshit them, and it served both parties well—but in personal relationships, he had a way of assuming both the best and worst in the other person simultaneously. The best in that whoever he was with was the absolute perfect person for him—at least for two weeks. And the worst in that they didn’t know how to love him without all the connections he brought along. It was easier to assume temporary status for any relationship. It was easier to accept the mutability of the heart than to let himself be hurt.
Ulla and Mo were chatting like old friends by the time he got to the table, and amazingly not about pork or butter—or any kind of animal product that he could determine. Instead, horrifyingly, it was obvious they had been talking about him. Ulla smiled in anI just showed your baby pictureskind of way when he approached, and he saw her reach for her phone again. It was surreal to see Mo unfazed by Ulla. In the past, new friends were showing work samples by this time, but Ulla had paused her embarrassing story about him to check something on her phone. Of course, Mo was not a new friend. Perhaps Wes needed to make and bring around more enemies to the estate.
Suddenly, Wes’s own phone buzzed, and he reached into his pocket. The message was from Ulla.She is sweet. I like her, but can we talk alone?
He texted back.I’m her ride.
Instead of replying to the text, Ulla pursed her lips and turned to Maureen. “There are several lovely shops around here. How about we walk around together, and we can show you the circuit?”
Maureen glanced uncertainly at Wes. “I don’t want to intrude.”
Ulla, who clearly had won over Maureen more in five minutes than he had in a day, touched her lightly on the arm. “Please do me the favor of letting me show you around. I never get to play hostess to Wes’s friends.”
Mo seemed about to argue again but cast a look at Wes. The wordfriendssat as heavy as an anvil between them. “Sure. Of course.” Two minutes later, the three of them set off again into the chilly morning air. Ulla led the way—she usually did—and Mo walked in step next to Wes. “I’m not planning on buying anything.”
“That’s fine,” Wes said. “It’s always fun to look.” Even though he didn’t believe that at all, especially not at the women’s clothing stores that he had been dragged in and out of too many times. Before he left for boarding school, on days when his nanny was sick, he remembered sitting outside changing room doors or hiding in the giant metal circle racks of women’s skirts and dresses, waiting for Ulla to find the right outfit. He hated to shop even for himself and subscribed to one of those “order for me” men’s clothing services.
The first stop was a consignment store for luxury clothing. The window display showed mannequins decked out with entire ensembles, one in what looked like a navy-blue Victorian jacket with tasseled trim and padded shoulders. “Looks like Miss Havisham out on the town,” Maureen whispered. Wes grinned at her.
The other mannequin wore a pale-pink sateen dress with a ruched flower at its waist. “Jason Wu,” Ulla pointed out as they passed it. “And the shoes are Jimmy Choo.” How she could tell one pair of beige pumps from another was a mystery to him.
Inside the store, long racks lined the walls, color coded and separated by type of garment. The coats hung out together near the front of the store, while couture dresses lined the back wall. Shelves of purses hung above the clothing racks to crown them off. Ulla immediately separated herself, now distracted from the need to talk by the need to browse. Maureen seemed as frozen as Wes was.
“I really don’t need anything,” she said again, not looking at him.
