Fiona

I love parties. I love the noise and the chatter and the chance to talk to new people. I love free booze and sampling cute little appetizers. I love dressing up and looking at other women’s dresses—I always find myself envying at least one outfit. But this party? Kind of blows.

Oh, the food is stellar. Champagne flows, and the decor is as impeccable as the view. Janice Mark’s penthouse is incredible, with views of the entire city spread out beneath us like a sequined dress, glittering and twinkling in the night.

By all accounts, I ought to be loving this. Dozens of top interior designers are here, giving me the chance to network. And the energy in the room is high.

I just don’t feel it. Because Ethan isn’t here. The sad part is I’m equally sure he’d hate this party. I can imagine him now, tugging at his collar and finding a nice corner to prop up. Now that he holds all my attention, memories of him before we were together come flooding back. He was always in the corner, nursing one of his water bottles, talking to a few guys—or listening, rather, and saying little.

But what he said always seemed to count for more. Ethan chooses his words carefully, never giving up useless spares. I remember that now and how it fascinated me then, because I usually have words enough for two people.

I remember that he used to watch me with those deep-set hazel eyes. It hadn’t made much of an impression then because I was loud, and people usually glanced my way when I was in a room. Never really bothered me. I’d assumed Ethan was doing the same—giving crazy Fi Mackenzie a onceover before going back to his life.

Now I know it had been more. Strangely, this makes me warm all over. He saw when I wasn’t “on” or trying to impress him, but as myself. And he’d wanted me anyway.

But now he’s in New Orleans, and I’m stuck fifty stories over Manhattan, surrounded by the type of people I grew up around. And it all feels foreign and off. Nothing is right anymore.

“Fabulous party, isn’t it?” Jackson is resplendent in a shiny, sapphire blue Zegna suit that would look ridiculous on most men but he pulls off with aplomb.

“Yes.” It is. Even if I’d rather be somewhere else, I can admit that much. “Makes me wonder why Felix isn’t here.” My boss should be all over this.

“As I said before, Janice, our lovely hostess, is mortal enemies with his current client, Cecelia. The very notion of letting a potential spy into her nest would enrage Janice. Which reminds me…” He drops his voice. “Let’s not tell anyone you’re working for Felix, eh?”

My lips quirk. “Don’t want to be kicked out on your couture?”

“Don’t even jest.” He fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt, a silk peacock print that somehow works with the outfit.

“Fine.” I set down the glass of champagne I’ve been holding for the past half hour. It’s warm and flat now. “I’ll keep quiet.”

“What’s wrong?” Jackson looks me over with a frown. “Missing your big football player?”

I give him the side eye. “How did you know that?”

“Because Benedict Cumberbatch just walked by, and you didn’t even blink.”

“What?” I whip my head around, searching the room. “Where?”

“I’m kidding.” He laughs when I glare at him. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“You dickweed.” I give his side an elbow. “That was beyond low.” Jackson knows I have a thing for Cumberbatch—with that deep voice and quiet way of his that you just know hides a total perv in the bedroom.

Jackson fends off my attempt to pull the perfectly folded aqua handkerchief from his coat pocket so I can bat him with it. “Hey now, pixie, easy with the outfit. I give. I give. I was a dick.”

“Damn right you were,” I say with a sniff. “I’d like to see how you’d handle it if I said I saw Fassy.”

He makes a look of mock horror. “You wouldn’t. My love of Fassy far exceeds your high-school-girl-crush on Sherlock.”

“Actually, I liked him better as Khan.”

“Oh, me too. I think if I ever met him I’d have to shout it a la Captain Kirk.” Jackson makes a face as if he’s silently screaming out, “Khaaahhnn!” and I laugh.

Smiling, I lean my head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around me, giving me a squeeze. “So you’re missing your man?”

“Seriously, Jax, how did you know?”

“I’m fairly certain I had that look on my face when I first met Hal and he decided he had to live in Milan for a summer to learn about textiles. The bastard.” Jackson takes a sip of his white wine as he strolls me over to the wall of windows facing downtown. “It was misery. But at least I had the comfort of knowing he was miserable too.”

“Cold comfort. I don’t want Dex to be unhappy.”

Jackson gives the top of my head a kiss. “Sweet girl.”

“It hurts, Jax. I actually hurt.” I press my fist against my chest where the pain is centered. “I don’t like it.”

He stares down at me with solemn eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

With a ragged sigh I stare out the window. The old me would have run, ditched the troublesome baggage and moved on. It hits me that there is an old me, because I’ve changed. I don’t think Dex has changed me, but being with him, caring about him, has. And the new me does not run.

Unfortunately the new me did not come with a set of instructions on how to handle a long-distance relationship. Which would have been awesome. So what am I going to do?