Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

Only I’m not a barista anymore. For the first time in my life, I can really call myself a translator.

Connor orders another round.

“I got you something,” he says, reaching down to grab a bouquet of red and yellow daisies the color of autumn leaves. I grin, throwing my arms around him in a tight hug that nearly has us both toppling to the floor.

He laughs. “Come on, they’re just flowers.”

“Shut up, they’re perfect.”

“The bodega’s finest.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

When the bartender places our drinks down in front of us, Connor grins at him. “My gorgeous friend here just signed her first book deal today.”

“Hey, technically, I haven’t signed anything yet,” I protest. I could kill Connor right now.

“This round’s on me.” The bartender gives me a flirtatious wink before wandering down the bar to help another customer.

“By the way, Margot wanted to come but she’s stuck in the library doing a group project.”

“You talked to Margot?” I ask.

“Of course. Danny, this is big news. You didn’t call her?”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to bother her. I know she’s swamped.”

“No wonder she sounded pissed.” Connor takes another sip of his drink and wrinkles his nose. “What the hell is this?”

“Absinthe and champagne.”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. Who in god’s name would come up with something like that?”

“Hemingway, obviously. I wanted to celebrate. This seemed appropriate.”

“I don’t know what planet you’re living on where mixing absinthe and champagne seems appropriate,” he says, laughing. “But tonight’s your night so whatever you want.”

“I knew you’d understand,” I tease.

“Understand might be a bit of an exaggeration, but sure. Now out with it. I want to hear everything.”

So I tell him. About meeting Megan. About how nervous I was. About their plan to launch an entire series of Catalan translations. We finish our drinks and this time, order a round of beers. I think if I have another one of those, I’ll be on the floor in no time. Which isn’t exactly how I want to celebrate the big news.

When we finish up, Connor insists on paying. “It’s your big day. So put your wallet away and shut up.”

Outside, Connor threads his arm through mine as we stroll down Bedford Avenue, towards DuMont Burger. Around us, the streets are churning with people. It’s the witching hour, when the bars are just starting to open their doors and Bedford Avenue, Williamsburg’s main street, becomes a mob scene. Normally, I avoid Bedford like the plague. Too many people. Too much of a hipster scene. But DuMont has burgers that are worth the hassle.

With the flowers tucked under my arm and Connor by my side, I know we must look like a happy couple out on a date. Maybe it’s wrong, but I tuck myself in closer to Connor, relishing in the warm comfort of his presence. I don’t want to think about how much Sebastian’s disappearance has stung me, but it’s there, beneath the surface, tarnishing an otherwise perfect evening.

Connor orders while I go to the bathroom and then we spend the rest of the night goofing around. Whenever Connor isn’t looking, I check my phone under the table, hoping there will be some word from Sebastian. There isn’t. And every time, I feel a stab of disappointment. How can you miss someone you barely know? Just because he knows every part of my body doesn’t change the fact that he’d walked away without a word.

But I ache to tell him about the book deal. When I left Argo this afternoon, he was the first person I wanted to call. It’s stupid. But it’s true.

I glance up at Connor, who is watching me with a funny expression. I desperately want to vent, to ask his opinion both as a guy and as my best friend, but I can’t and it’s not the NDA that’s stopping me. No, it’s Connor. I know he’d tell me that any guy stupid enough to blow me off doesn’t deserve me, and while intellectually, I know he’d be right, that’s not what I want to hear. I want someone to tell me that it’s not over. That Sebastian is just too busy. That something has come up that has nothing to do with me. But I know that’s not true. No matter how much I want it to be.

After dinner, Connor walks me home and there’s a moment, standing in the dim light outside my door, where I think he wants me to invite him up. Instead, I give him a hug and thank him again for the flowers.

Upstairs, I stare at my phone for a long time. I want to call Sebastian. Want to hear his voice. More than that, I want my phone to ring. Want Sebastian to be the one who caves first.

In the end, I’m good and silence my phone, putting it on the bedside table. Nothing good comes from texting a man when you’re tipsy and missing him.

Over the weekend, Connor has a friend in the legal department look over the contracts from Argo Press before I sign just to make sure it’s a fair deal and by Monday, he’s given me the green light. I still have to wait on Megan’s response to my manuscript, but I’m confident that it will be fine. Just like that, my life has gone from a complete and utter disaster to moving in the right direction. It’s hard to take in. Hard to believe. I thought it would take years for me to get a book deal. If it ever happened.

Instead, I blinked my eyes and just like that, it had happened.

I glance at the photo on my bedside table of my mom and me at the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona and can’t help but wish she were here. It kills me that she’ll never get to see this, that she’ll never get to go into a bookstore and find the book that I translated on the shelf. But as shitty as that is, that’s life. Sometimes the people you love die and there’s nothing you can do to change that.

I’m not a sentimental person, but I still have the white roses Sebastian sent next to my bed. No matter how many times I replay the events at the Met, I can’t fathom what went wrong. Everything was going great and then bam, nothing. Radio fucking silence. I know it won’t make the slightest difference torturing myself over it, but it’s like a scab I can’t help picking until it bleeds. I have so much to be thankful for right now, so why can’t I stop thinking about him?

Seriously, you don’t have the best sex of your life and then just walk away.

Then again, it might not have been the best sex of Sebastian’s life.

The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t want to admit how much it hurts, thinking about Sebastian sleeping with another woman, thinking of Sebastian fucking another woman, but it does. It’s like a fucking punch to my gut and I really wish it weren’t. Sebastian was the one who insisted I give him a second chance. I should have just walked away. But it’s too late now. I’m in too deep and the thought terrifies me.

I care about Sebastian. And I miss him. And it fucking sucks.

Chapter Eighteen

I’ve been Connor’s date to every Brooklyn Quarterly launch since he started working there as an intern when we were in college. I arrive at the bar a little after seven, wearing a red sheath dress that ends just above my knees and the black pumps Sebastian bought me. I feel sexy and confident and just a tad over-dressed knowing tonight’s crowd but I don’t care. Tonight, I want to feel beautiful. Desirable.

The bar is spacious, the contemporary décor cold and modern, the design equivalent to the magazine’s minimalist aesthetics. They’ve set up a small stage in the back where contributors will read from their work once the event gets going.

Connor spots me from across the room and grins, but he’s busy talking to a twitchy looking intern, likely fixing some last minute screw up, so I give him a knowing wave and head to the bar. I remember what it was like when Connor was the intern, intent on impressing the boss. I revel in how much has changed over the past few years.

I get the bartender to pour me a white wine and sit back to take in the room. Music plays from speakers hidden in the walls, some indie rock band I don’t recognize but it’s catchy and I find myself tapping my foot to the beat as the room begins to steadily fill up. It’s the usual crowd: young, hip, and attractive. Lots of chunky plastic glasses and plaid shirts. I see more than one man sporting a bowtie.

Connor slides in next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek. “What have you done to my Danny?” he jokes, looking me up and down. I shove him and he just laughs. “Seriously, you look great.”

Connor motions for the bartender to bring him a drink. “So, what do you think?”

I grin. “Max must be over the moon.” Max is Connor’s boss and the founder of Brooklyn Quarterly, a big teddy bear of a man with a penchant for flannel and boots better suited for a farm in upstate New York.

“He’s insufferable. Won’t shut up about how this is the best issue yet.” Connor grins. “He kind of has a point.”

I squeeze Connor’s arm. “I’m so proud of you!” I know how much this means to him. He’s come a long way from being an intern digging through the slush pile. From intern to senior editor in what feels like the blink of an eye and I couldn’t be more proud.

“Look at the two of us,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Who would have thought?”

I shrug. “We were always destined for greatness.”

Connor laughs. “A month ago you were resigned to the fact that you’d be a barista for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, so maybe not destined for greatness.” I laugh and take a sip of my wine. “Is Margot here?”

“Ugh, no, she’s stuck in class. Can you believe it? On a Friday night.”

“Hey, when she’s a big shot corporate lawyer she can buy us all the brunch and books we need.”

“On second thought, you’re right. To higher education,” he says, lifting his glass.

“What about your parents?”

“No, they said they didn’t want to intrude. Personally, I think they couldn’t bear the idea of leaving the hotel,” he says with an exaggerated shudder. Knowing Connor’s parents, I have a pretty good idea of what he means.

“Come on, it’s their anniversary.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t like to think about them having sex.”

I laugh. “Thank them again for dinner, will you?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Totally unnecessary as long as you promise to consider Thanksgiving. Mom won’t stop bugging me until you say yes.”

“I’ll think about it.” Even as the words leave my lips, I know my answer will still be no. Since mom died, I’ve worked everything Thanksgiving weekend. I’m not ready to face a happy family gathering. Not yet. Somehow, it’s easier to pretend the holidays just don’t exist.

“I know the holidays are hard, but I’m serious this time. Think about it. It would be good for you to get out of the city for a change. We could go swimming, walk on the beach. Hell, I’ll teach you how to surf. I promise, it’ll be fun.”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“Fantastic. And I’m holding you to that, so don’t think I’ll forget.” Connor scans the room quickly. “Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says and I groan. I hate schmoozing. It makes me too self-conscious, but I grab my drink from the bar and follow Connor through the thickening crowd.

“Aki, this is my best friend in the world, Danielle,” he says to a petite Asian woman about my age with a huge swallow tattoo taking up most of her forearm. She’s gorgeous. Dressed all in black, with her long dark hair hanging perfectly around her face, she looks so cool and next to her, I feel completely unhip. Not that I’m all that hip to begin with.

“Danny’s translations were in our spring issue.”

“How do you know Connor?” I ask politely.

Aki smiles widely, and for a brief instant, she seems totally normally and not at all intimidating. “I’m a poet. I have two poems in this issue.”

“Are you reading tonight?”

Aki shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

“Not that I didn’t try,” Connor adds. “Aki’s amazing.”

“I’d rather scoop my own eyeballs out with a spoon than stand in front of a crowd like this.” The look of pure terror on her face makes me laugh.

“I’m the same way.”

“God, you’re both so melodramatic. It’s really not that bad.”

I glare at Connor. Of course he doesn’t think it’s a big deal. He loves an audience.

“I’m a poet. I belong in a musty old garret, lamenting the cruelties of the modern world,” Aki jokes. “Not in front of an audience. I’d die.”

I lift my glass towards her. “I’m with you.”

When I finish my wine, I ask if either of them wants something from the bar. Connor shakes his head, but Aki sheepishly asks for a light beer.

The crowd is picking up and I have to squeeze my way up to the bar. Once these events get going, they quickly turn into something of a booze fueled literary meat market and it’s next to impossible to get a drink. Luckily, the bartender remembers me and comes right over. The man next to me glares in my direction but I just give him my brightest smile, grabbing our drinks off the bar.

Max has joined Connor and Aki and he sweeps me into a tight embrace, dwarfing me in his plaid covered barrel chest.

“Congratulations!” He holds me at arms length, peering into my eyes. “Just don’t forget who published you first.”

When Connor explains the book deal to Aki, she looks over at me with a renewed interest. “You lucky bitch!” she says, grinning madly at me.