Countdown To A Kiss (A New Year's Eve Anthology) Page 7

  Chapter Seven

  Present Day

  Tess couldn’t find Lewis. He wasn’t answering her texts either. Typical man. Typical Lewis. He was probably sitting in a corner somewhere, inventing a new smartphone app. That was how he’d made his millions, which, if Gracie played it right, could also be her millions.

  Although, as she’d come to learn, money did not a happy marriage make.

  But Tess needed to talk to Lewis. Not because she needed a date (at this point, she realized she didn’t flipping care—she’d be just as happy popping a bottle of champagne on her own), but because Grace had actually had not one but two guys show up to be her date (nothing like overcompensating!). And neither of them looked like they were going to be easily bought off like all the other flunkies over the years had been.

  Had Tess ever felt guilty about being part of the game, working with Lewis to make sure Grace was the one he got to kiss at midnight every single year? Not really. She figured if the guys Gracie brought were as easily bought off as they had been, they didn’t deserve her smart, funny, kickass sister—and it was a good way for her to find out.

  As for Lewis…since he’d been in love with Grace forever, Tess thought the poor guy deserved a shot. A real shot. But for God’s sake, he’d better make it happen this year, because she was done with the whole game.

  “So where’s your husband, Tess?” asked Laney Boudreau. They’d been chatting for a few minutes while Laney’s date went to get her a drink. “Isn’t he a director? I heard he was here last year.”

  “He didn’t come—” she started, but Laney leapt on her words before she could explain.

  “Did you bring someone else then—someone famous?” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she looked around as if expecting to see George Clooney step out of the shadows.

  I wish.

  Tess could have been irritated by the celebrity stalking, but she wasn’t. After all, one year she’d brought the lead singer of Grammy winner Ferrie’s Wake, and another time she’d brought Senator Goldstein’s son.

  She’d gotten used to this sort of reaction from the members of her hometown, and realized they were simply curious. And a little intimidated. They read gossip magazines and Page Six and entertainment blogs and just wanted to know what it was really like to have Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker know you by name, and run into Jon Stewart at the Rockefeller Center and actually have a conversation, and know where Beyonce and Jay-Z’s apartment was because you’d been there.

  So she replied with the patience and grace she’d cultivated when dealing with these situations. “I’m actually here without a date tonight. It’s a little strange, but I’m getting divorced, and, well, I just wanted to have a relaxed time tonight. Especially since it’s technically my second anniversary. But,” she added with a purposeful twinkle in her eye (she wasn’t an actress for nothing), “if you see any hot, single guys, send’em my way.”

  “Oh, I’m really sorry you’re getting divorced,” Laney replied. She seemed sincere. “I hadn’t heard anything—I mean, in the gossip columns. Well,” she looked a little mortified at having to admit it, “I do read Page Six. It’s kind of neat when someone you sort of know shows up in it.”

  “I read Page Six too,” Tess confessed with a smile, casting a subtle glance around for Lewis. Where was he? It was after ten. “And the divorce hasn’t really made the news—we’re definitely not a big celeb couple like Brangelina or whatever they’re calling Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively. Which is fine with me.”

  “So does that mean you’ll have to kiss Lewis Kampmueller tonight instead of Grace?” Laney said with a broad smile.

  Tess chuckled. Pretty much everyone knew about the arrangement (after all, it had been going on for a decade), and most people knew about the behind-the-scenes manipulation Lewis always did to make sure he kissed the right Devine girl. Except for Grace. “Well, it’s definitely looking that way. I hope Gracie doesn’t get jealous.”

  They were laughing together when Tess noticed her mother gesturing to her from across the room. “Excuse me, Laney,” she said, turning back to her companion. “Looks like my mother needs to talk to me—probably about whether the band’s been paid yet. You have a great time the rest of the night!”

  It took her longer than it should have to make her way across the room—but it was to be expected. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing, where her date was (apparently news of her divorce was just beginning to filter around), when her next Broadway appearance was going to be (she didn’t say), and whether she was actually going to have to kiss Lewis this year.

  She finally extricated herself from Mr. and Mrs. Turniter and, ready to make a beeline toward Belly, turned abruptly. And came face to face with Johnny Wilder.

  “Oh,” she said in an embarrassingly gaspy sort of way. “Wilder.” Crap. That still came out sounding like Marilyn Monroe. “Hi. I didn’t know you were in town.” Oh my God, could you sound more idiotic?

  “Same here,” he drawled. He had that way of speaking so low and carelessly…it felt like a little caress down her spine. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

  Well, that’s about as blunt as you can get, isn’t it? “Last minute change of plans,” she said, trying to smile casually.

  Tess could not figure out why her heart was literally slamming in her chest. Johnny Wilder was just an old friend…well, yeah, who’d said some things during an opportunistic moment—but, Lord, one look at him and he was pushing all her buttons tonight. He was like a tall, cool drink on a summer day: mouthwatering.

  His hair needed a cut, but it looked good—a rich bronzy brown brushing the collar of his tux and in thick waves curling back from his temples. The last time she’d seen him, it was cut military short for the Air Force. His mouth was fixed in a familiar half-smirk but his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers. Tess had seen hundreds of sexy men in tuxes, but there was something about the way he wore his—with careless attitude—that really made her hormones buzz. He looked so cool and sharp: the crisp white shirt under the sleek black coat encasing broad shoulders, military straight and a stance filled with confidence. He wore a neat, understated black bow tie and sharp onyx cufflinks. It was a delicious package and her insides were all a-flutter.

  “So…it’s been a while,” she said after an awkward moment. “A few years. I heard you were in Iraq. I’m glad you made it back safely….” Her voice trailed off. Surely war had changed him. Maybe that was why he carried himself so differently…with an attitude, and strength, and something else. A subtle show of…not bravado but…wisdom? Experience. And not the kind with women, though he had that in spades too. “I’m sure you look at things differently now.”

  His eyes widened a little as if he wasn’t expecting such a personal and intuitive comment and he seemed to relax slightly. “I do. It was…dark. And difficult. But there were moments of satisfaction and victory. I was proud to be there. Glad I went.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. Meaning it.

  Then, “Hey,” she said, trying to jolt herself out of this very strange discomfort. She tested a little flirtatious smile. “I don’t have a date tonight, and since I’m really not interested in kissing Lewis Kampmueller, maybe you could help me out again? You know, for old times’ sake?” She forced herself to sound light and funny and teasing, just the way she’d always been with Wilder. Pretending she didn’t remember anything that had happened four years ago.

  His gray eyes swept over her, suddenly turning Arctic cold. “I don’t think your asshat of a husband would appreciate that. Nor would my very sexy date. Good to see you again, Tess.” And he walked away.

  Her cheeks flared hot and her whole body quivered with anger even as it flushed with shame.

  Four years ago, he’d been playing the “I’m off to war, honey, send me off with a bang,” card….

  Damn good thing she hadn’t believed him.