Unmasked

I quickly change the subject. “What about you? I’m surprised they let you out with the case starting Monday.”

Lexie snorts. She’s a second-year associate like me, which means we spend our lives locked in the library, researching legal briefs for the partners upstairs. Unlike me, she loves every minute of it. “I have to go back in first thing in the morning. You too,” she adds. “Harper is demanding all hands on deck.”

I groan. “Is this what you imagined in law school?” I ask, looking at my reflection, and horrified to see shadows under my eyes. I scramble to find concealer in my tiny purse. “Spending all day and night in that building, eating lunch at our desks and for what? So some big corporation can find a loophole in their contracts?”

“It’s only for another few years,” Lexie reminds me, sounding upbeat. “Everyone kills themselves with work starting out. Only the fittest survive,” she beams at her reflection, “and to the victor, the corner office!”

“And a heart attack before they turn thirty-five,” I joke, trying to pin back my curls. But, as usual, they refuse to surrender.

“C’mon,” Lexie beckons from the door. “I promise I won’t abandon you to that stuffed shirt. Who knows? After a couple of glasses of champagne, maybe he’ll loosen up. Or you will,” she winks, and I can’t help but smile.

“Don’t bet on it,” I say, pulling a mask from my purse. It’s got feathers pluming out from the corners, a flash of bright pink I couldn’t resist. “But hey, behind this, he won’t even be able to tell when I’m rolling my eyes.” I slip it over my head, fastening the ribbons behind my head. I strike a pose.

Lexie laughs. “Gorgeous. Now, how long do you think we’ll make it before they call us back in to work?”

“Don’t!” I protest, following her out of the bathroom. “I’d be happy if I never saw another legal brief again!”

An hour later, I’ve changed my mind: I’d happily go into work right now. Anything to cut short this nightmare of a date. Grant has barely paused for breath, trapping me in a corner and regaling me with tales of trial victories.

“She was crying on the stand, talking about her kids, but I could tell it was all for show…”

I stare longingly over his shoulder at the main room. Lexie’s abandoned me for the dance floor, and everyone seems like they’re having an amazing time.

Be nice, the voice in my head urges me. Be polite, give him a chance.

Screw polite.

“Great story! I’m going to go get another drink,” I interrupt him. Grant pauses, thrown, but I don’t give him a chance to object. “Be right back!”

I give him a sunny smile and duck under his arm, breaking free for the middle of the room.

Escape!

I slip through the crowd, wanting to put as much distance between us as possible, but when I glance back to check on Grant, he’s already hitting on some poor waitress. Douche. I don’t know what my dad was thinking, setting us up. Does he really think I’d want to share my life with a man who boasts about getting desperate mothers locked up in jail?

Grant wouldn’t be the type of man to stop in the middle of the street to help anyone, place a steadying hand on their arm and ease their heel from the grate as if it was made of glass.

Not like my rescuer, the man with the mysterious smile.

I try to shake it off. I know I’ll never see him again, but I can’t forget that moment, suspended in the middle of all the city noise and rush. He looked at me with those dark, inscrutable eyes, and everything melted away. All my stress and exhaustion, all the long hours and frustrating work. In his arms, none of it mattered. I wasn’t frazzled or bored or restless anymore.

I felt alive.

I reach the bar and hop up on a stool. “Martini, please,” I tell the barman. “Extra olives.”

“I would never have guessed.” A voice comes from right next to me, the low, rich tone making every sense in my body come screaming back to life. “Not when you taste so sweet.”

My pulse kicks. I almost don’t want to turn, just in case I find another stuffed shirt acolyte of my father’s, some Wall Street guy playing a smooth line. But I recognize that voice…

Please be him. Please be him.

I look over, and my heart stops. It is him. The man from outside. He’s leaning against the bar beside me, sipping something that looks like scotch. The same dark eyes behind that black silk bandana, the same removed smile on his gorgeous lips.

He looks illegally handsome in that perfect black tux, and for a moment, I lose the power of speech. The bartender brings my drink, so I take a sip as I scramble to stay cool.

“How do you know we’ve met?” I tease. “These masks make life interesting.”

The man smirks. “I’d know those lips anywhere.”

He reaches over and brushes his thumb over my lower lip, holding my gaze as ripples of heat shiver through me.

Damn.

Just like that, I’m awake again. Awake, and full of rebellious energy. God, I’m so sick of boring dates and long work days, feeling numb and tired, wondering what’s the point of it all. For once, I want to stop pretending to be something I’m not.

I want to have some fun.

I take a gulp of my drink, then hop down from the stool. “You have perfect timing,” I tell him, holding out my hand. I step back towards the dance floor and beckon.