expensive fabric of his shirt. I froze mid-motion, my hand clutching the fabric, half-pulling him towards me, half-pushing him away.
Samir’s voice deepened, grew seductive. “Why won’t you admit you want me? It was pretty obvious when your body was wrapped around mine.”
I flushed. “My body was never wrapped around yours,” I snapped, releasing my hold on his shirt. “It was a one-time, stupid, drunken thing. It’ll never happen again.”
“Sure it won’t,” Samir mocked.
Another worry clicked into my brain. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
His dimple flashed at me. “Told anyone about what?”
He was utterly impossible. “You know what I’m talking about.”
He tossed me a knowing smile. “I thought you didn’t remember. You might have to refresh my memory. A lot happened at Babel.”
“The kiss, you ass,” I hissed, careful to keep my voice low. That seemed like the safest way to describe it.
This time he flashed me a full-on grin. “I seem to remember a lot more than just a kiss happening. I seem to remember exploring you with my hands, tasting you, your body pressed up against the wall—”
“Did you tell anyone?” I bit out, cutting off his little monologue.
He paused, lingering over his answer. “Not yet.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between us. Something tumbled in my chest. His lips brushed against my cheek, pressing a swift kiss there. Just as he’d done at Babel before we’d parted ways.
I stood frozen, too surprised to move.
“See you around, Maggie.”
I stood on the steps, watching him walk away, hating the part of me that wished I were going with him.
Chapter 8
Walking into Cobalt I was struck by three things. First, as tacky as it sounded (and I only said it in my head), if Hugh really did own this place, he was loaded. Loaded in a very adult sort of way, in which I definitely didn’t fit. Two, I had no idea what I would even say to Hugh when I saw him. And finally, whatever else happened tonight, this “girls’ night” was something I never could have predicted.
I wouldn’t have gone as far to say Fleur was nice. She was less bitchy than expected, grudgingly accepting my presence because Mya wanted me there. I was just lucky Mya decided to take me under her wing. The fashion and makeup advice alone were life changing.
My long brown hair was the straightest it had ever been. They’d sprayed something in it that made it shinier than ever and my makeup was flawless. Clothing had been a bit of a challenge, since Mya was definitely a few inches taller. Luckily I was wearing something called a bandage dress that must have barely covered Mya’s mile-long legs, since even on me it felt ridiculously short. The color was a shocking red. Thanks to their help and the glass of wine they plied me with back in our room, I felt as good about myself as I ever would.
Samir’s reaction hadn’t hurt, either.
Fleur led us to a small table in the corner. She sat down first, crossing her legs. “Do you see him?”
I scanned the room. The decor was sleek and modern, the bar filled with well-dressed people, the majority of whom looked several years older than us. I shook my head.
“What’s his name?”
I hesitated, not sure I trusted her with anything. “Hugh.”
Slowly, whatever confidence the dress and wine inspired fizzled. If I looked my best, it didn’t really matter. There were at least twenty girls who looked better. There were exotic girls, girls dressed as if they’d stepped off a runway or from the pages of a fashion magazine. Girls with eye-popping jewelry and designer bags.
Mya leaned toward me. “Are you okay?”
I laughed shakily, the backflips in my stomach starting up again. “This was a stupid idea. He probably won’t remember me. Let’s just go somewhere else.”
Fleur frowned. “I’m not leaving,” she protested. “We just got here.”
“What’s up?” Mya asked. “You seemed excited on the way here.”
“I didn’t know what all the girls would look like on the way here.”
Fleur arched a brow. “It’s London.”
“I was talking to Mya,” I snapped.
Fleur shrugged, completely nonplussed by my angry face. “It’s London,” she repeated, her French accent creeping in. “There will always be girls. There will always be beautiful girls. You can either stay in and lament that fact, or you can go out and be one of the beautiful girls.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
Fleur ignored me, signaling to a waiter. “London is all about perception. Nothing else matters here. Some of the most beautiful girls in town won’t be able to make it on the club scene. Here pretty looks are meaningless. It’s what you make of your looks that counts. With the right attitude you can have any guy you want. You just have to play your cards right.” The waiter hovered near her side. “Now, what was the guy’s name?”
I gaped at her. It was strange to think she’d just given me something akin to advice. That I was inclined to take it was even stranger.
“Hugh. His name is Hugh,” I repeated.
Fleur turned to the waiter, a beaming smile on her face. “Is Hugh here?”
I had never seen her smile. She perpetually wore the same sulky expression on her face and it worked for her. She was so pretty she didn’t need to smile. But when she did? Her smile was dazzling.
The waiter nodded, clearly speechless.
“Excellent. Will you tell him Maggie from Babel is here to see him?”
The waiter scurried off to do her bidding.
My heart pounded madly in my chest. “We didn’t order drinks,” I protested, desperately needing liquid courage.
Mya grinned. “I don’t think we’re going to need to.”
* * *
The waiter came back with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. Fleur nodded her approval before turning her attention to a group of guys at the table opposite ours. My gaze darted back and forth around the room. I didn’t see any sign of Hugh.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered him on a busy night.”
Fleur rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to keep complaining, I’m going to leave you and go sit with those guys. Stop freaking out. He sent over a very nice bottle of champagne. He’s interested. This is just all part of the game.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know how the game is played.”
Fleur sighed; a wonderfully Gallic shrug accompanied the noise. “Let me guess. You’ve never had a boyfriend?”
“I’ve been busy,” I shot back defensively. “Focusing on school. Getting into a good college.” Trying to get into Harvard. “I didn’t exactly have time for boys and parties.”
“What a little saint you are.” Fleur’s tone was mocking. “And yet you’re here. So a part of you doesn’t just want to stay at home doing homework on the weekends.”
She had a point.
“Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”
“Flirt. Make eye contact. If you get nervous, ask him questions about himself. Guys love talking about themselves. You can make a whole date go by, saying practically nothing at all.”
Mya