Hard Sell| ETHMA

32

EMMA
Saturday Evening, October 21

Dressing up's a regular part of my job—jeans are a luxury, sweatpants almost unheard of.

Black-tie, however, is a whole other ball game and one I secretly enjoy.

The Wolfe Gala is one of maybe a half dozen annual events I attend, and I've got a handful of dresses that meet the black-tie criteria.

A sleek, classic black. A low-cut red ball gown when I need to own the room. A demure light-purple dress with lace overlay to play up the ingénue effect. A borderline dowdy emerald-green dress for when I need to fly under the radar.

When I thought I'd be attending with Ethan, none of my usual dresses felt quite right. So before the weekend in the Hamptons, before everything imploded, I went out and splurged on something new.

I picked out a dress with zero agenda beyond my wanting to feel pretty. I settled on one that's strapless and fitted up top, with a flowing A-line skirt.

The cut is simple. The color is not.

The dress is several shades of shimmering, silvery blue that create an almost ombré effect. The saleswoman had compared it to a moonbeam, and as whimsical as I thought the comparison was at the time, she's exactly right.

I've let my hair down and styled it straighter than usual to mimic the sleek lines of the bodice, a small discreet set of diamond studs my only accessory.

The entire finished look is everything I hoped for.

All for the wrong man.

"More champagne?" Jarod says, touching a hand to my back and nodding at my nearly empty glass.

I smile. "Please."

He exchanges our glasses for new ones from a passing waiter, then hands me one. "I've been to my fair share of fancy parties, but I'll admit I'm impressed."

I take a sip of champagne and survey the room. The Wolfe Gala's been at the same museum on the West Side for the past couple of years, but they changed it up this year. It's at a stunning mansion on Park Avenue, one only recently converted to an event space, and I'd have to agree with Jarod's assessment.

The combination of bright-white walls, black marble floors, and chandeliers gives the room a timeless elegance, with the dark-red accents scattered around the room adding a bit of richness.

"I haven't seen your Boy Wonder around," Jarod says, scanning the crowd.

I take a sip of champagne to swallow back a retort that though Ethan's brilliant, he's hardly a boy.

He's not mine to defend.

He's not mine at all.

"I wasn't surprised to learn he agreed to my terms, but I'll confess I'm glad he did," Jarod says, his gaze returning to me, drifting briefly over my dress. "I appreciate your coming with me tonight. And if I haven't said it already, you look lovely."

I'm relieved that the compliment seems more matter-of-fact than anything, the way one might compliment a sibling or platonic friend. In this regard, Jarod's been a perfect gentleman all night.

I'm still not entirely sure what his agenda is, but I'm not even sure I care. Jarod Lanham is the least of my worries these days.

"How did Dolan handle the news?" Jarod asks, furthering my suspicion that his game has more to do with Ethan than it does with me.

"You don't know?" I ask, tilting my head.

Jarod's tuxedoed shoulders shrug. "Honestly? I haven't heard from him. I wasn't even sure he got the news until you called to tell me you'd go with me tonight."