Easy Virtue Read online

  “Blaire, ” she says carefully as if she’s gauging her words and my reaction to them, “I don’t want to be that nagging friend, but you just ended things with Walker.”

  “No, you’re wrong. He ended things with me,” I sneer.

  “Whatever, and don’t you take that tone with me, missy. Your bullshit won’t fly with me. All I’m saying is that maybe you’re hurting a little bit and that being with another guy is not going to make the pain go away. Don’t let another guy use you or treat you like shit.”

  “Newsflash, honey, I use them too. Besides, I’ve had fun with most of the guys I’ve dated. I’ve been to Paris and Milan just for shopping sprees. I’ve fucked a guy senseless in the presidential cabin of the Oriental Express while touring Asia. I’m living in an apartment in Murray Hill for free, as long as I keep getting on my knees and opening my mouth. You call it being used, but I call it being smart and resourceful. All of my relationships are mutually beneficial. Trust me on that.”

  “But—”

  I don’t want to look at my reflection in the mirror anymore, so I get off the chair, feeling the slight thump of my heels when they connect with the floor. As I move to stand next to Elly, we stare at each other, resignation reflects in her eyes, or maybe it’s sadness. The urge to cry comes over me, but as quickly as it comes, I’m able to control the slight trembling of my lips. I’m able to swallow over the knot in my throat and pretend that, for one short second, I wasn’t tempted to get lost in the comfort of her warm embrace while I confessed that Walker had indeed hurt me; that I need my best friend now more than ever. However, the opportunity comes and goes, and like a departing train for which I’m too late, I watch the chance disappear over the horizon. I shake my head and lean down, kissing her cheek. “Can we drop it? I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Elly shakes her head, making her short brown hair brush the outline of her jaw. “Fine, be your usual shit-don’t-bother-Blaire self, but if you want to talk about it or if you need a good cry—”

  “I’m not going to. I’m wearing my favorite Chanel mascara, and I like it too much to waste it on him.”

  She sighs. “Oh, girl, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Nothing. Just love me like I love you.” I smile and grip her hand, squeezing it hard. “Thank you, Elly. I mean it. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  She squeezes my hand back. “Just know that I’m here for you, okay?”

  I nod. “All right, get your cute ass behind the bar before I get you in trouble. I need to go talk to Carl about the computer at the hostess station. I think Carla messed up the program because some reservations won’t show up,” I say.

  Later that night, when the restaurant is at its busiest, I smile at the couples waiting to be seated as I go over my conversation with Elly in my head. I don’t want to explain to her why I called Lawrence because it would mean having to admit that Walker actually hurt me. That he managed to get under my skin when I least expected it and, like the Trojan horse, showed me how vulnerable I still am by cracking the indestructible walls I thought I erected. He showed me that they were breakable.

  If I’m honest with myself, I feel like shit, but I will make sure that never happens again. I’m Blaire White after all.

  I don’t wallow.

  I don’t cry.

  I move on.

  I forget.

  I discard … or get discarded.

  I’m a survivor.

  I’m resilient.

  I will always have the last say in what goes on in my life. I’ve gone through too much not to. And if that means maybe getting involved with someone who is actually willing to pay me to sleep with him at the expense of feelings, so be it.

  I don’t care.

  I’M LYING IN BED TRYING TO figure out what to do with my day. I don’t have anything going on until work later tonight, and staring at my white ceiling fan while I wonder if the blades could actually cut my head off is not what I consider healthy or fun.

  I shake my head, dismissing the morbid thought, and stretch my body, yawning. Minutes pass in silence where the only sounds I can hear are my steady breathing and the noises coming from outside the window.

  I grab my old copy of Persuasion—my favorite novel—and try to get lost in the love story of Captain Wentworth and his Anne Elliot. But today, not even Jane Austen’s witty narrative will do. I’m restless and I can’t focus.

  Putting the book down on my nightstand table, I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to take a shower. I have to get moving so I can avoid thinking about what the hell I’m doing with my life and what is my purpose to exist other than sucking a rich man dry. It’s quite annoying because as easy as it is to lie to everyone, it’s close to impossible to lie to oneself since deep down we always know whether we are a failure or not.

  And, oh, boy, don’t I know it.

  I decide to spend my time shopping. Yep, that’s something that doesn’t require much thinking, and there’s no woe that a great outfit won’t solve. And if it doesn’t, at least I’ll look good.

  After I settle on a cute chocolate-brown, bohemian babydoll dress with a very delicate flower pattern, and loafer ankle boots, I take a shower and finish getting ready. But as I apply my makeup, I think that maybe I shouldn’t go shopping since I need to make Walker’s money last until I find someone else. I guess one of the reasons why I’ve managed to stay debt free for this long is because I only splurge when I’m dating someone who will take care of the bill. I try to avoid tapping into my personal savings account.

  But then I remember Lawrence …

  After buying a short leather skirt and a silk cream blouse with black piping, I leave Barneys. I’m standing outside the department store, watching people walk past me or cross the street, oblivious to the world beyond their minds, so I decide to take a walk as well.

  I end up sitting on the wall at the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. Once I place my shopping bag on the ground, I lean forward, dipping my fingers in the cool, greenish water as I look up at the famous Angel of the Waters. There are about a dozen pigeons scattered on its wings and hands, but only one sitting atop the statue’s head. He looks lonely. My eyes remain trained on the bird until it flies away, then I scan the surrounding area protected in trees.

  The heat is rising. The air is hot and humid, almost oppressive, and the light sheen of sweat that covers my skin makes the dress I’m wearing cling to my body. I’m staring at the young couple making out to my right, when someone sits next to me, his or her leg bumping into mine.

  Out of reflex, I glance to my left and find a boy of maybe five or six years eating a salted pretzel. It looks delicious, and I guess my stomach agrees because it grumbles loudly in protest. Self-conscious, I wrap my arms around my middle as I realize that I haven’t eaten anything all day. The boy must hear the embarrassing sound because he turns to look at me, smiling sweetly.

  I flush. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay, my belly growls all the time. Mommy tells me that I eat like a champ because I’m growing up.” He breaks off a piece of the doughy bread and hands it to me. “Would you like some? It’s really yummy.”

  My mouth waters as I stare at the piece of bread in his hand, but I don’t want to take it. I don’t do carbs. At all. It’s a hang-up I have, particularly because if I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I can still remember being cruelly teased about my weight by Paige and her friends.

  I shake my head slightly. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Here. I promise I won’t make you buy me another one.”

  The way the boy is staring at me, his hand holding the pretzel toward me, his soft brown eyes expectant, tugs at my heart. How can I say no?

  I reach for the bread, smiling. “Okay, you win. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grins from ear to ear before taking another bite.

  I stare at the piece of bread in my hand. Oh, what the hell. After taking a bite, I
address the little boy. “You were right. It’s really yummy.”

  “Yep, told you. My name is Ollie by the way.”

  “Nice meeting you, Ollie. I’m Blaire.”

  He grins. “We can talk now since we know each other, doll.”

  I want to laugh but somehow I get the feeling that it would be crushing for the young boy, so I don’t. “Doll, huh? Did someone teach you that word?”

  “Yep, I got my skills from the best,” he says proudly, but then his nose scrunches up. “He doesn’t know I was listening to his conversation with his floozy. I was supposed to be focusing on doing my homework while they watched tv in the living room—”

  Okay. I have to laugh. “Floozy? Where did you hear that word, Ollie? I hope he didn’t call her that name.”

  “Oh, no! I heard my mom using it.”

  “Did she know that you were listening?”

  He blushes and looks down at his feet. “No …”

  Giggling, I realize that I haven’t been this entertained in a very long time. Who knew innocence would be this sweet and fun?

  I’m about to take a second bite when it dawns on me that he’s alone. Frowning, I ask, “Hey, where are your—”

  “Ollie! There you are, buddy! I told you to wait for me with Frank!”

  I turn in the direction of the voice. The sound stirs my memory, and when my eyes land on the man addressing Ollie, I know why. Shocked into immobility, all I can do is stare at him, the same guy from outside the Met, as he takes me in as well. A stunned expression crosses his sun-kissed face that I’m pretty sure mirrors mine.

  “Hi,” I say, suddenly nervous. “Does this cute little guy belong to you?”

  As soon as I ask, I see the resemblance. Glancing between them, I notice that they both have the same wavy coffee bean colored hair with natural golden highlights under the sun. Ollie’s curls are long and untamed, but the man staring at me with the most unusual, striking light brown eyes, has short hair, the top longer than the sides. They both have the same straight and elegant nose, but the man’s nose is dusted with freckles, giving him a boyish air. He’s absolutely sigh-inducing.

  He puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and smiles, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe. Has Ollie been bothering you?” His voice is husky and deep, reminding me of old school Hollywood actors.

  I look down at the grinning boy as he pushes himself closer to me. I smile and wink at him. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, he was kind enough to share his pretzel with me.”

  “Yep, I was a good boy and shared like you and mom always tell me,” Ollie says.

  “That’s my boy,” I hear the stranger say. The thought that he might be married is disappointing, which is totally ludicrous because I don’t even know the guy.

  After taking a few steps, he sits down next to Ollie. As he wraps an arm around Ollie’s shoulders, his free hand ruffles his hair, making the kid giggle. “You scared the hell out of me, buddy. I went back to Frank’s looking for you and you were gone. I need to text Frank and let him know that I found you before he loses his shit. Seriously, you can’t do that again. I’m going to have to tell your mom and I’m pretty sure she’s going to rip me a new one.”

  Ollie’s shoulders fall contritely. “I know, Uncle Ronan. I’m sorry. I got bored listening to Frank talking to his girlfriend so I left. I just wanted to sit here.”

  Uncle Ronan? Hmm, I like.

  The man, who is actually a lot more handsome than I remember, lifts his eyes, meeting mine, and smiles. “I can’t say that I blame you, buddy. But you can’t do that again. Promise?”

  “I promise, Uncle Ronan.”

  I blush and lower my gaze to the ground but watch out of the corner of my eye as they shake hands. With his attention now on Ollie, I take the opportunity to check him out. The light caramel color of his skin lets me know that he spends a lot of time under the sun or outdoors. The sexy scruff on his square jaw says he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the muscles in his arms, strong like corded steel, show that he likes to work out. He reminds me of a model for Gap—laid-back, sexy, and oh so very cool with a dash of rock star. I don’t think I have ever seen someone look as masculine and sexy as he does in a simple black fitted T-shirt without being totally douchey.

  I continue to appraise him when his gaze connects with mine again and he smiles, almost as if he knows I’ve been watching him the entire time.

  Figures. He just caught me staring.

  I smile back because, really, what else can I do?

  “Sorry, I’m being rude. I forgot to introduce myself,” he says.

  “No worries. You must be the one who taught Ollie all his killer skills with the ladies.”

  He runs his hand through his hair, groaning. “Do I even want to know?”

  I shrug, enjoying myself immensely. “Oh, I don’t know … doll.”

  “She seemed to like it too. She started making these funny noises and telling him not to stop and to keep going,” Ollie adds proudly.

  I grin when I hear Ronan curse under his breath. Poor guy.

  Leaning forward, he places his forearms on his legs and turns to look at Ollie and me, his eyes dancing with mirth and a slight blush covering the crests of his cheeks. “Glad you two are having such a good time at my expense.”

  “Well … you asked, right, Ollie?”

  Ollie nods his head vigorously, making his curls bounce. “Yep.”

  Ronan laughs out loud, pulling Ollie closer to him and mussing up his brown hair, making him giggle. It makes me smile too. “You little rascal. You’re supposed to be on my team.”

  “She smells nicer than you, Uncle, and she’s prettier too.”

  I grin. “See—smart boy.”

  “Jesus. How can I compete against that?”

  “You can’t,” I say, laughter embedded in my voice. “I’m Blaire by the way.”

  “Blaire,” he says, letting my name roll off his tongue. “It suits you. It’s very pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, Blaire … tell me, how is the dude in the tux?” he asks offhandedly, looking down at the ground as he runs his hand over his scruff. Though, by the way the muscles in his arms tense while he awaits my answer, I get the sense that he cares.

  “You like to get straight to the point, huh? He’s gone.”

  Ronan lifts his head to look me in the eye, all traces of laughter in his face replaced by something sincere, something tender. “Can’t say that I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I want to speak, but the way he’s watching me, almost as if he can truly see me, creates complete chaos within me, leaving me tongue-tied. His soft brown gaze wrecks every single thought of mine.

  Our eyes remain locked as a sweet smile crosses his lips before he speaks once more, only further messing with my head. Really, I’m so busy watching the way his full and oh so kissable lips move that I’ve completely missed whatever he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I say breathlessly. Why the fuck am I breathless?

  He lets his eyes roam over my face, pausing on my lips. “I thought I would never see you again.”

  “Uncle Ronan … I’m still hungry. Can I have a popsicle now?” Ollie interrupts. His words, like a hammer, break the thick brick of tension that surrounded us a moment ago. And I can’t say that I’m sorry for it.

  Sighing a breath of relief, I happen to glance at my watch, noticing the time. Shit! It’s past four, and I still have to go home and get ready for work.

  I stand and stretch my stiff legs after sitting for such a long time, noticing that the couple who was making out next to me are gone. Actually, the crowd is completely different from before, and the heat also feels less suffocating, less stifling. Funny how time seems to fly when you’re having a good time. After I pick up my almost forgotten shopping bag off the ground, I turn to look at Ollie and Ronan as I tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear.

  “I’m really sorry but I have to go. I have an appointmen
t in less than two hours, and I still need to catch a cab. It was great meeting you, Ollie and Uncle Ronan.” I wink at Ronan.

  He smiles crookedly at me, shaking his head. “You have a thing for walking away from me, don’t you?”

  I bite my lip, as I recall that night. “And you have a thing for stalking, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I do … maybe I don’t. Maybe it’s destiny playing its hand.” He pauses, grinning cheekily at me. “Or maybe I just have a thing for nice scenery.”

  Laughing out loud, I whack his knee with my bag. “You’re bad.”

  “Uncle Ronan …”

  I chuckle when he interrupts us once again. I almost get the feeling he’s doing it on purpose.

  “Yes, Ollie?” Ronan asks without breaking eye contact with me, amusement dancing in his eyes. That little boy is totally killing his game and he knows it, and if I may say so, quite successfully.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Ollie asks.

  “Sure.”

  I watch as Ollie pushes his little body closer to Ronan’s and whispers something in his ear. Ronan shakes his head and smiles at me but addresses Ollie. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”

  Ollie runs a hand through his long curls, making them look wilder than before. “I was wondering if you want to come to my birthday party tomorrow.”

  My heart skips a beat. I don’t do birthday parties. I hate them. As panic begins to rise inside me, I have to cough a couple times to find my voice. “Oh, no-no-no … ah … I don’t know … I can’t … I’d be intruding on a family event. I just couldn’t. Thanks for asking though, Ollie. That’s really sweet of you.”

  Ollie shakes his head. “No! My mom won’t mind, right, Uncle Ronan?”

  Ronan pats Ollie on the back. “Nope, the more the merrier. Come on, don’t break the boy’s heart. It’ll be fine.” He turns to look at Ollie. “Right, buddy?”

  “Yeah. Don’t break my heart,” he repeats meekly.

  “You two are trouble, you know that, right?” I say as two pairs of brown eyes stare at me, waiting for my answer.