Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (10 page)

Putting my case
s in the closet, I was surprised, once again, to see a black garment bag hanging conspicuously from the closet rod. I flipped on the light, wanting a better look. My jaw hit the floor when I saw the Lanvin logo adorning the bag.
Oh, shit.
Unzipping the zipper, I found a note plainly labeled
Ryen
, in Elle’s precise handwriting.
Oh no ... what did she do!
  I pulled my hands back like the damn thing bit me. Breathing deeply, I reached for the note, grasping it and dropping to the floor, sitting cross legged. I was equally excited to read the note and investigate the bag, as well as terrified over what my friend did and dreading the contents. Biting the bullet, I pulled the small card from its envelope.

“
Ryen, you just flew to New York with your clothes *folded* and intend to wear one of the items tonight. I thought you could use something *prettily* wrinkled for tonight, instead of stressing to find the steaming iron. Love, E.  - P.S. Look on the shelf.”

Okay, I was planning to wear one of the dresses in my suitcase. And, if I’m being honest, I was probably going to be running around like a chicken with my head cut off in about ten minutes to find the stupid steamer iron. But, that didn’t ease the anxiety I felt looking at that bag. Something that cost at least four digits was in that bag, something that my best friend purchased for me because she wanted better for me and because she knew me better than I kn
ew myself. I
really
wanted to look on the shelf, but I schooled myself, instead focusing back on the bag just waiting for me.

Forcing myself to my feet, I stood and moved back toward the gift. Gritting my teeth – what do you want from me, I’m not good with gifts – I zipped the entire thing down, much like you would rip a
Band-Aid off.
Just get it over with,
I chanted in my head. Words could barely describe what I found resting inside.  A gown, the prettiest color of light and dark pink, greeted me.

No, pretty
doesn’t do the garment justice. It was
gorgeous
. Inspired by Greek style, rouching covered the top and accentuated a jewel-cut top that I knew would accentuate my shoulders. One side had a darker pink ruffle to add a splash of color, the same as the belt that adorned the waist of the dress. Below the belt the chiffon fell to the floor in an elegant trumpet style. It was everything I would have chosen for myself, had I picked it out. The only flaw to the precious dress was the fact that the price tag was still attached. Four thousand, five hundred, and fifty-five dollars. Was that woman crazy?! But it was so soft, and flowy, and silky, and girly. Alright, so every part of girl in me did a little dancing jig, pretending the closet was Saturday Night Fever.

I stilled my feet, remembering her
post script instructing me to look at the shelf. Doing so, I found a white box, complete with a black ribbon. Oh man, I was going to have a heart attack. I knew the brand, had drooled over plenty of them in Elle’s closet while she demanded I buy my own. Yves Saint Laurent. The greatness that awaited me in that box was going to make me squeal like a little girl. Maybe I should wait?
NO,
shouted the voice in my head, so hypothetically loud that I flinched. I better not be becoming a schizophrenic, the last thing I needed was more noise inside of my head. The minute one of the voices answered one of my questions, I was going to be pissed!

Standing on
tip-toe to reach it, I inched the box off the shelf, cradling it to my body when I almost dropped it. I practically pet the box and crooned sweet nothings to it as I set it on the floor and pulled the ribbon to unwrap it. Realistically, I knew I had the money to buy these things myself, but the prices always made me cringe. I was completely content with my clothes from Macy’s or even Target; I shopped in the
normal
mall with
normal
people. This was like Christmas or something for me.

“Shut.
Up. No she didn’t!!” I exclaimed loudly, clapping my hands like a loon. Nestled inside was a pair of silver shoes, sparkling like Dorothy’s, except not red. A three-inch heel and peep toe, they were a complete work of art. Unable to help myself, I crawled to my purse and pulled out my cell phone. The minute she picked up, I started talking, fast and excitedly.

“
Shhh, Nick, I’m assuming she found the shoes,” Elle said, obviously to her husband, while laughing at me.

“You
… I …. Can’t … What … Oh, God…” I stammered, completely unable to finish any clear thought.

“I did, you can, you will, He’s in Heaven,” she addressed my words and I shut my mouth, once again admiring the shoes in my hands.

“But –”

“No buts. Something fabulous is going to happen to you tonight, and those, both the dress and the shoes, will contribute. I can feel it and I wanted to be a part of it,” she cut me off, but I could hear her smile. “Ryen?”

“Yes?” I croaked
, slightly hoarse.

“Don’t be cynical tonight, okay? Be cynical tomorrow.”

“Ugh. You and that word! I’m not cynical. I’m just … cautious,” I said, finding my tongue and self. I knew what she meant though; she was actually telling me not to be a jerk like I’d been in the airport bar earlier today. I sighed and spoke again, “Okay. I’ll try to not be … cynical.”

“Good. Now stop petting your shoes and rubbing your face on the dress before you get them dirty, and go get ready. You’re going to be late,” she scolded, sounding like the mommy she was. Granted, I wasn’t the age she was used to dealing with
, but seeing how I
was
petting my shoes and how I
may
have been rubbing my cheek along the bottom of the gown, she had a point.

“I love your freaking face,” I told her, smiling as she hung up while chuckling. I
didn’t know what I did to deserve that girl, but I was so glad I had her in my life.

I took, quite possibly, the fastest shower I’ve ever taken in my entire life. Staying under the water for literally the amount of time it took to
wash my body, I bypassed washing my hair. There just wasn’t enough time. The process of washing my hair and drying it was a long, long, long one, especially since it is so long and thick. Elle always bitched about having thin and fine hair, but me? I’d give some very important parts of me to trade her. I’d tried the salon thinning treatments they have, but they only lasted until I washed it again.
Que sera, sera.

Pinning
a final strand of hair up in an elegant chignon, I pulled a couple tendrils down to frame my face, curling them. Pleased, I finished my eye makeup and washed my hands thoroughly, terrified to dirty the work of art now hanging on the bathroom door. I stepped into the gown and strained to zip the side, moving the zipper as delicately as possible so as not to snag the fabric. Once secure, I swished – yes, I swished – delighting in the feel of the material against my skin. Because of the cut of the dress, I was going sans brassiere and only wearing a pair of lacy VS panties. I felt exposed, yet covered and beautiful. I’d worn some pretty nice things in my years, most of them admittedly belonging to Elle, but this topped the charts. Plus, it was mine all mine.

I applied the finishing touch, a matching soft pink lip color that was guaranteed to last the night – thank god
for that since I wasn’t the kind to run and touch up my makeup. I’d saved it for last so I didn’t accidentally get some on my dress. Was I being paranoid? Absolutely. I was wearing what was akin to gold in my world, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

Dropping the gloss in my silver clutch I’d brought from home – no designer, but no one would be looking at it –I was ready for my new babies. I’d already put some sheepskin in the bag too, just in case a blister tried to develop on my heel; I
was going to wear them regardless of the cost to my feet.

The buzzer system rang, and I rushed over to press the button, informing the driver I would be down in just a moment. God, being in New York was great – a car service that calls up and waits on you, fantastic. Slipping my feet into my beautiful shoes, I admired myself for only a moment in the mirror, feeling like an absolute princess. I’d worn no jewelry except for my Harry Winston watch that had been a gift from my father for my sixteenth birthday, and I was the picture of elegance. Keys in hand, I hesitated for just a moment before snatching a condom out of my travel bag and putting it in the clutch – I wasn’t planning anything, but Elle had a ‘feeling.’ I didn’t want to be caught unaware.

Finally ready, I made my way back down the building. I was nervous, excited, and completely out of my element. Only a small inkling of doubt entered my thoughts, that maybe I was crazy for coming here by myself, and planning to attend these events alone. I quashed them quickly. This trip was for me, and if I felt like I did every night the way I did this very moment? It was worth every penny I’d spend and every stag entry.

Chapter Eight
 

Lights flashed brightly, completely illuminating the night through the dark tinted windows of the car. Snow-white carpet, surprisingly clean despite the foot traffic, greeted me the moment the driver opened my door. I’d been surprised when the car that greeted me turned out to be a freaking Bentley, rather than a standard town car. Talk about living the life of luxury over here.

Pulling on all my previous experience, I schooled my face and did my best to step out gracefully. I felt elegant and beautiful, but I was nervous. I wasn’t a girl who often voluntarily indulged in the unneeded extravagance of a life where colored carpets were the norm.

At least I’ll fit in,
I thought, beaming as my gown fell to gently pool at my feet.

Photographers continued snapping their cameras, their bulbs flashing and almost blinding me. There was no time to think, only move forward, and I held my clutch bag tightly, hoping no one noticed the white my knuckles were turning. So my grip was a little tight, it was better than having a panic attack, or tripping and falling.
Shit, don’t let me fall
. I smiled brightly, posed when asked, forcing my face to remain relaxed instead of turning to a grimace like it wanted to. The men and women around me shouted questions, asking my name, and I inwardly cringed. I could just see the articles now:

**
Ryen Macek: back on the scene**

**Watch out bachelors,
Ryen is back in the
City of Dreams**

**We caught
Ryen attending the
same charity event as…**

It wouldn’t be my first time being featured in the tabloids, but that didn’t make me dread it any less. After my father died, and I subsequently inherited his money, I became a hot topic for quite a
while. Everyone had been speculating, wondering who I ‘was’ and what I would do now with the resources that ‘normal’ people would do anything for. Unfortunately for them, I was a rather boring conquest, especially since I didn’t care about fame or fortune. I never got in trouble, so they never got juicy tabloid drama to spread around that ‘OH EM GEEE’ moment with my name in big bold letters. I never spent lavish amounts of money, buying out Hollywood homes and closing stores like Versace for a day’s shopping spree. Hell, I wasn’t even involved in a love scandal – a pity, that…

Eventually interest in me faded, only being bothered while I attended this event or that one. Elle was expected to go, at that point because of her family, and since she didn’t want to go alone, I volunteered. By ‘volunteered’ I mean she often brought me kicking and screaming
… Well, grumping and fake smiling like an A-list actress at least. Rumors that we were lovers circulated once, but we’d merely laughed and done what any college girl would do. We played it up to the best of our abilities, of course! Don’t look at me like that – you were young once, too, right? No? Okay, moving on.