5:47pm - Two Fridays later
Lizzie didn't see Will on Wednesday, as he'd originally threatened. Nor on the Wednesday after. A little disturbed by her anticipation, she filed it to the back of her mind. She did, after all, have bigger things to worry about. Things like -
Arnie Collins. Her phone lit up with his incoming call. Ugh.
Arnie - or Colin, as he liked to be called, nevermind that it wasn't his name - was the son of one of her mother's "best" friends from high school. Despite the lack of shared genetic material and despite the single visit in their entire existence, Fran had always insisted in calling him the girls' "Cousin Colin." Updates came in the form of a holiday newsletter, which their mother would relay as a series of questions: Did you know your Cousin Colin won Honorable Mention for his magic routine in the 6th grade talent show? Have you seen the picture of your Cousin Colin shaking hands with the city councilor? As they had gotten older, Lizzie had turned it into a private game with Jane. Did you hear that Cousin Colin won Most Mediocre in his graduating class? Did you know that Cousin Colin was picked last in kickball again? Jane, predictably, had always admonished her to be nice.
As of the last holiday letter, Cousin Colin had moved from his childhood home of Tempe, Arizona to Santa Barbara, California for work. Lizzie wasn't entirely certain what it was that he did for a living, although his job had brought him to New York for the next two weeks. Which meant that, at present, he was meeting her for an after work drink. One had to be polite, after all.
She picked up her phone and tried to inject some enthusiasm in her voice. "Colin! Hi!"
He sounded vaguely annoyed. "Where are you?" No greeting.
"It's nice to hear you." She was sure the sarcasm was lost on him. "I'm at the Smith, as we planned. Where are you?" A dirty martini, extra olives appeared at her elbow. She smiled her thanks to Charlotte, then scowled dramatically at her phone.
"You must be mistaken. I'm also at the Smith, and I don't see you. Are you sure you're in the right place?"
Lizzie rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure that we agreed upon the Smith on Broadway - it's just around the corner from my office."
A pause. "I'm at the Smith on 3rd Avenue. Can you just come here?"
She resisted the urge to throw her phone across the bar. "I'm with a friend. Why don't you come up and meet us? A cab will take 10 minutes. We can wait."
"Two beautiful women. I'll be there." Click.
Lizzie turned to Charlotte, who was sipping on her own drink. "He's an inconceivable mix of social awkwardness and slime."
Her boss friend shrugged. "I'm sure he's not so bad. Why is he here again?"
"Work, but don't ask me what that is. All I know is that he's in town from Santa Barbara for a bit."
"Beach life. Nice."
"Trust me, the sun, sand, and surf is entirely lost on him."
"Still, must be nice."
Lizzie didn't feel like pursuing the topic. "Seems like your prediction about Jane and Charlie is coming true."
Charlotte's eyes lit up conspiratorially. "Not too boring after all?"
"I haven't seen her this happy in a long time. She's positively giddy."
"Good. She deserves some happiness. As do you."
Lizzie couldn't make out Charlotte's meaning. "How's that?"
"Will Darcy asked about you."
She groaned. "What now? My expense reports? My programs budget? I swear that man has an adding machine in place of a soul."
"Nothing like that, actually. He just asked if you were in when he came by the office last week. You were out at that site visit."
"Thank goodness I had a reason not to be there."
Charlotte gave her a disbelieving look. "Lady, what I wouldn't do to have the founder of Pemberley Capital chasing after me."
"He's not chasing. He's circling like a school of disapproving, judgmental sharks. Did you know a school of sharks is also a shiver? That's what he makes me do."
"Lizzie."
"What?! He was rude to my mom. He looks down on women if they're not some unattainable combination of Gwyneth Paltrow and Amal Clooney. And he disdained my cats."
"I find that hard to believe. The part about women, that is. You have to admit that having a cat named Kitty is pretty silly."
"I know that. He has no sense of humor. And I'm not kidding about his views on women. His expectations are so high that they set us back. How can we move forward if no one will acknowledge the struggle?"
"I don't disagree about the struggle. But I'm not sold on the idea that he has it out for women."
"Whatever. I don't have to deal with him regularly."
"But he's Charlie's best friend. And if things with Jane and Charlie go well…"
"Yeah yeah, christenings and birthday parties. I can handle that, along with the occasional board meeting."
Charlotte's face was unconvinced, but she chose not to say anymore. Luckily, they were interrupted by a waft of cologne. "Beth!"
Lizzie grimaced. "Please, call me Lizzie." Wanting to avoid hugging him, she stuck her hand out for a shake. "Colin, it's nice to see you. This is my boss and friend, Charlotte."
He waggled his eyebrows. It made him look like a cross-eyed, pale Groucho Marx. "Sucking up to the boss, good move. My boss would never be caught in a place like this. It's far too informal. She only drinks port in the evening, and she has impeccable taste. This place probably don't have a big port collection."
That said more about his boss than about their location. "Not on the drink menu, no. But there's an extensive cocktail menu. Can I get you a drink?"
"A woman buying a man a drink? It'd be improper. Please, allow me. My boss gave me a very generous per diem, so it won't cost me anything."
Lizzie was amused by his obtuseness. His female boss was most definitely buying his drinks. But her friend swooped in before she could mention the contradiction. "And what is it that you do for work? Lizzie mentioned you were traveling on business."
Colin brightened. A favorite topic, apparently. "I'm Catherine DeBourgh's personal assistant. You recognize the name I'm sure. She's currently in New York for the Met Gala and other appointments."
Charlotte's eyes went round. "She was a huge stylist in the 80s and 90s, right? My mother used to love her work with Steven Meisel."
"She only styles as a personal favor to friends these days: Cindy, Naomi...you know. But she's very busy with her line for QVC, writing her memoirs, and her many charitable engagements. The Real Housewives are desperate for her cameos." His chest puffed up as he spoke. "I manage everything for her and her daughter. They couldn't do without me, as she tells me all the time."
Lizzie allowed her eyes stray to the door as Charlotte and Colin continued to chat. She watched as a couple came in, the man gallantly helping the lady out of her light spring jacket. A gaggle of twenty something It-girls entered next, tottering in heels too high, clutching bags easily worth a month's rent. Then He walked in.
He was tall - a few inches over 6 feet, Lizzie guessed - with a thick head of hair a shade between sand and caramel. His broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist, reminding Lizzie of a swimmer's build. He had an almost Roman profile with a strong nose and a confident cleft in his chin. The grin he flashed at the hostess revealed laugh lines punctuated by twin dimples. In short, Lizzie found him breathtaking.
She surreptitiously monitored his progression toward a group of men gathered around whiskey neats at the other end of the bar. As he exchanged a few hearty back slaps, his gaze roamed the crowded bar. They made eye contact. Caught red-handed, Lizzie immediately feigned deep involvement in what Colin was saying. "...it's 1,500 square feet and the perfect space for a bachelor or, you know, a young couple."
"Sounds lovely," breathed Charlotte. "And how generous of Ms. DeBourgh for allowing you to live there."
"Oh, it's nothing compared to the main house. Every room there has a theme, and it's all done with the utmost authenticity. They imported the bricks from Naples for a wood burning oven in the Tuscan kitchen. Anne - that's Ms. DeBourgh's daughter - has her room entirely done in 18th century chinoiserie. And the settee in the English formal living room was said to be owned by Wallis, Duchess of Windsor herself."
It all sounded very disjointed to Lizzie. "Well, there's nothing like cultural appropriation and Nazi sympathy to accompany afternoon tea."
Colin's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"
"What Lizzie means to say is what incredibly complex history there must be in every room," her boss hastened to add. "Right, Lizzie?"
"Sure. Complex."
He seemed mollified. "The DeBourghs have impeccable taste." Colin seemed unaware that he was repeating himself. "And discerning judgment of people. I would never consider dating someone seriously if Ms. DeBourgh didn't approve."
"And are you? Dating someone?" Surely that wasn't curiosity in Charlotte's voice? Lizzie held back a shudder.
"Not at the moment, no. I'm waiting for the right woman to sweep off her feet. I have a lot to offer, you know. Ms. DeBourgh has high expectations for me."
"And what about Aunt Carole? How does she feel about it?"
"What?" Colin seemed genuinely confused by the question.
Lizzie felt compelled elaborate. "Surely your mother must want your happiness, too."
He unconsciously scrunched his nose in a gesture of distaste. "Of course she does. But she would be happy with anyone I brought home. Ms. DeBourgh has higher standards."
Lizzie's head spun from the inanity. And Charlotte wasn't catching her eye to revel in the joke with her. But then, in the middle of this crowded bar, came her saving grace… "Another round, please!"
The bartender nodded in reply.
7:38 pm - Outside the Smith
Lizzie was tipsy. Almost two hours with Colin and three drinks on an empty stomach meant that she needed food, fast. She contemplated going back inside and ordering at the bar, but everyone had just gone their separate ways. Lizzie hated the thought of eating alone surrounded by the Friday night crowd. She'd call Jane.
As her thumb hovered over the little green phone icon, a throat cleared behind her. "You're not leaving, are you?" It was Him - the dimpled Roman swimmer.
"Do you use that line often?" She pretended to wince.
"Only on pretty ladies who look way too interesting to sit bored at a bar on Friday night."
This time, she did wince. "That was terrible. I should report you to the pickup police."
With chagrin, he held out his hand. "Greg. Sorry about the bad intro."
"Lizzie Bennet. I can forgive you if you can tell me your last name and your favorite pizza nearby."
"Wickham. Greg Wickham. And surely not pizza, when chicken and rice is only an avenue over."
"Are you offering to join me? That's bold. We've only just met."
"How else would we get to know each other? We can keep it public. And anyway, I've had enough of the meatheads in this place."
Lizzie raised a brow. "Friends of yours?"
"Not exactly. Just a group of finance guys that I used to hang with. I'm between jobs at the moment. Networking, you know."
She nodded. "Networking is a job in and of itself. I never knew how —"
"Lizzie." They both looked up at the interruption. Will Darcy?
Caught off guard, her only response was, "Hi."
Greg was a little smoother. "Will Darcy. Fancy running into you here."
Lizzie glanced at him in surprise. "You two know each other?" What were the chances?
"You could say that," Greg responded cheerfully.
"I should ask the same thing."
His blatant disapproval irked her. "We just met, but yes, we're getting to know each other. In fact, we were about about to go get dinner."
Greg's hand came to rest on her shoulder, solid and reassuring. "So, you'll have to excuse us," he said. "Have a nice night, Will."
As they walked away, Lizzie felt the tension drain from her shoulders. Greg must have felt it too. He gave her a light little squeeze and let go. She immediately missed the warmth. "Not a fan of his? There are women all over town swooning at his feet. Wealth and influence together are a powerful cologne."
She grimaced. "Then I must be immune. I work for the Bingley Foundation, and he's on the Board of Directors. Finance Committee Chair."
"Ah yes. Charlie Bingley's attempt to curry favor with the unwashed masses."
"Not so fast," Lizzie cautioned. "I'm one of those masses. I wouldn't work there if I didn't believe in what they were doing. Will just seems to pop up and glower at all the wrong times, is all. The night we met, he was rude and insulting. And without the benefit of knowing me or my family."
She gave him a sidelong look as they crossed the street. "How do you know him?"
Greg dug his hands into his pockets. "You sure you want the whole story? It's a long one. And it might impact how you view him."
"We have two blocks to go, and there's always a line at the cart. We have time."
He gave a little humorless smile. "To start, he's the reason why I'm unemployed at the moment."
"No!" She couldn't believe it. "Did you work for Pemberley?"
Greg shook his head. "Will and I actually grew up together in the Hudson Valley. My dad was the estate manager at his family's home, Pemberley. Which is where the fund name comes from, by the way." Lizzie nodded in recognition.
Encouraged, Greg continued. "I grew close with Will's dad. Called him Uncle John and everything. Will was a little jealous of our relationship, I think. He's been a bit snobby since birth. Uncle John pushed Will really hard to make friends, but it was kind of a lost cause. I think Uncle John and I shared the same outgoing nature, so we bonded a little closer."
"From what I know of Will, it makes sense. Poor kid, though."
"Poor kid with all the resources in the world at his fingertips, you mean." Greg rolled his eyes. "Anyway, my dad died when I was in 7th grade. He didn't have any siblings, and there was nowhere for me to go. So Uncle John took me in until I finished junior high with Will. And when Will went off to Exeter, so did I."
"You're a prep school kid too, huh?"
"I was an Exonian for exactly one term, until Will and his merry band of entitled rich kids decided I wasn't good enough to be there with them. They framed me for tampering with school government elections. I was thrown out because the school needed their parents' money more than they needed me."
Lizzie felt for the young Greg and his lingering bitterness. "What happened then?"
"Uncle John was livid. But there wasn't anything he could do; the decision was final. So I went back to Pemberley and finished at the local high school. In some ways, it was a blessing. I got to live with Uncle John while Will was away - our relationship grew stronger. I think Will's jealousy got deeper and deeper over time.
"So anyway, when Will's dad died about 15 years ago, he actually left me a pretty nice inheritance, with one huge stipulation. Will was just getting on his feet with Pemberley Capital, and Uncle John decided that my portion should be invested in the fund and held for at least 10 years. After that, I could choose what I wanted to do with it. But after the tenth anniversary of Uncle John's death, Will didn't honor his part of the deal. When I asked to withdraw my inheritance, Will refused. He claimed that the cost to manage it had eaten into what I was owed. I only received about a third of what he owed me."
"You couldn't extract the remainder?"
"Not without a huge scandal. And," he gave a small self-deprecating smile, "I had some other reasons not to make a fuss. You see, I was actually involved with Will's sister at the time. Have you met her?"
"Georgie? No. What's she like?"
"A lot like Will, actually. They both share a particular - distance - from those around them. But I thought I could be good for her, break her out of her shell, you know? Will was livid. He thought I was too old, and she was too young. He started a huge campaign to break us up."
"And it worked?"
"He threatened to cut her off from her inheritance. She was just out of college, trying to make it as a photographer. It was a pretty effective threat for a struggling artist, especially one who was used to a certain lifestyle."
Lizzie rolled her eyes. "You don't have to hold back with me. Is she totally spoiled?"
Greg gave her a conspiratorial grin. "You didn't hear it from me."
They had reached the front of the line. Ordering took Lizzie's attention away for a moment - chicken and lamb combo, extra white and hot sauce for her; chicken, extra hot sauce for him - but as they settled on nearby benches, she dove back into the matter at hand. "So Georgie was coerced into breaking up with you?"
He swallowed his bite. "It took very little convincing. But as insurance, in case I could convince her that I could support us both - I was in M&A in private equity, and doing okay - he had me blacklisted from all the firms he knew around town."
Lizzie was astonished. "That's insane! Surely not everyone does what he tells them to do."
"Everyone who matters. Money talks."
"I can't imagine why Charlie is friends with him. He's such a kind person. I just don't get it."
Greg shrugged. "In any case, I haven't been able to work regularly for the past five years. I can cobble together a contract gig here and there - hence tonight's networking. It's enough to make ends meet, but I won't pretend I haven't thought about leaving New York entirely."
"Why haven't you?"
"I'm too settled here. Even with the way things have turned out, I still rely on my connections to keep me afloat. I couldn't do that if I moved to Pittsburgh or somewhere."
As she took a sip of water from her bottle, Lizzie's mind was working a mile a minute. How dare Will interfere with Greg's life in this way? And his poor sister, completely under his thumb. She recalled how he had leaped to take control when Georgie had texted about her daughter at dinner. What a piece of work.
He interrupted her building anger. "Anyway, that's enough about me. What about you? Who were you out with tonight?"
She laughed. "Let me tell you all about my 'Cousin Colin'..."
9:14pm - Just around the corner from where we left them
Lizzie was having a great night. Period. Greg was an entertaining conversationalist and handsome to boot. They had decamped from public benches to a cozy bar nearby where the beer list was stellar and the pretzels were free. She sighed, knowing that Jane was probably home and waiting to commence their usual Friday veg session in front of the television. It was likely time to head back.
And then, she had a stroke of brilliance.
"Hey. I have to go soon, but I wonder… do you want to be my plus one at Charlie Bingley's birthday party next week? It's a shindig on their yacht. He's been seeing my sister, and he invited me to bring someone. Do you want to come?"
Greg gave her a skeptical look. "Those are some rarified circles. I mean, I'd like to. You think I'd be welcome?"
"Charlie won't mind. And I'm welcoming you. Plus, can you imagine the look on Will Darcy's face when you show up? It would serve him right for all the trouble he's caused you."
Greg chuckled. "I get to spite Will, and spend another evening with you? You have me this close to saying yes."
"What will put you over the edge? More pretzels?" She pushed the little dish closer to him.
"Your number, for starters." He wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.
Lizzie chuckled as she took the offered phone and sent herself a text. "You're a huge flirt, you know that?"
"Is it working?"
"Meet me next Friday at Pier 5 in Brooklyn. I'll give you an answer then." She gave him a coy smile.
"Just for that, I'll let you pay for the last round."