Beautiful Stranger

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    “I’d like your number,” Max said, stuffing the money back in my purse.
    “Absolutely not.” I laughed.
    I had no idea how this had unraveled. Okay, that was a lie, I knew exactly how it had unraveled—he’d started whispering in that hot accent and then fingered me—but I knew better than to let myself get involved with Max. For one, he was a player, and in no way did I want to go down that road again. And two, my job. It had to come first.
    “I will eventually get it from Ben, you know. We go way back.”
    “Bennett won’t give it to you without my permission.Very few people want to punch my ex more than I do, but Bennett is one of them.” I kissed Max’s jaw, relished the sharp stubble, and got up. “Thanks for the appetizer. Delete the video.”
    “I’ll consider it if you go out with me again,” he answered, eyes shining with amusement.
    I exited and crossed back over Fifth, biting back a smile.

Four
    Three days after I’d given her an orgasm for lunch I wasn’t any less obsessed.
    “So who are you bringing tonight?” Will asked absently, eyes on the folded copy of the Times in his hand.
    The drive back to the office from the tailor had been silent up to this point, broken only by the sound of the engine and the occasional car horn or shout from the street. I continued to go over the files I’d brought—photographs from a new exhibit in Queens—as I answered, “Going solo, actually.”
    He looked up at me. “You don’t have a date?”
    “No.” I glanced over just in time to see his eyebrows inch up in surprise. “What?”
    “How long have we known each other, Max?”
    “Six years, I’d say.”
    “And in all that time, have you ever attended a social function without a date?”
    “I really wouldn’t remember.”
    “Perhaps we could check Page Six. I bet they’d know,” he deadpanned.
    “Very funny.”
    “It’s unusual, that’s all. It’s our biggest event of the year and you don’t have a date.”
    “It hardly matters, yeah?”
    He laughed. “Are you serious with me right now? ‘Who is Max Stella taking?’ is one of the first things people ask when there’s a party like this.”
    “I like how you play me up as the skirt-chasing wolf in contrast to you, all upstanding and virtuous.”
    “Oh, I never said anything about being virtuous,” he said over the top of his paper. “I’m simply suggesting that people might wonder if you’re meeting someone there, that’s all.”
    I turned back to my files as I considered this. In truth, I hadn’t made a date for the fund-raiser. I hadn’t made a date because I wasn’t interested in taking anyone.
    Which was weird. Maybe Will was right. Ever since I’d met Sara, other women seemed predictable and tame.

    Will was also right when he said the annual Stella & Sumner Charity Gala was our biggest event of the summer. It was held at the Museum of Modern Art, and everyone who was anyone in New York would be in attendance. With dancing, dinner, and the silent auction that followed, we managed to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for a pediatric cancer foundation every year.
    The dreary sky of the afternoon had cleared, but thesmell of a storm still hung in the air when my car stopped at the barricades in front of the museum. A valet opened my door and I climbed out, fastening the button of my tuxedo jacket as I stood. My name was called from several directions, the pop and flash of cameras erupting like a small lightning storm within the press area.
    “Max! Where’s the date?”
    “Max, quick photo! Quick, over here!”
    “Any truth to the rumor of a Smithsonian endowment?”
    I smiled and posed for pictures, waving as I made my way inside. I felt like I was on autopilot, glad that I’d kept the press from inside the event tonight. I simply didn’t have the energy.
    Guests were directed through the museum and out to the garden, where the majority of the party would be held, where crowds of well-dressed people mingled while sipping cocktails and champagne, discussing money and each other and whoever happened to be the gossip of the day. A series of white tents had been erected, each of them lit from below by pools of brightly colored light. An orchestra sat at one end of the garden, a DJ booth for the after party at the other.
    The air was heavy and humid, and the night clung to my skin almost uncomfortably. I crossed to a line of large tables dressed in white and dripping in crystal. Reaching for