The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,22

in Rome and Florence, and had even walked up every one of the 295 steps of the Leaning Tower of Pisa at night.

Fascinating factoid: the tower has 296 steps, or 294, because the seventh floor has two fewer steps on the north-facing staircase.

When he spoke in what sounded like fluent Italian, Simone lapped it up and ten minutes later, Carl and the senior partners had pledged $25,000 to Vince’s event. I could only stare at him in awe. How did he get to be so smooth? Where was the goofy, accident-prone guy that I knew and sort of hated?

Eventually, our group broke up and headed to the buffet table.

Carl walked away looking very pleased with himself, and Simone cast several backward glances at Vince. He passed me another glass of champagne and winked at me.

“Why aren’t you like that all of the time?” I blurted out.

Vince didn’t even pretend that he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Because it’s fookin’ fake,” he said seriously. “I can brown nose and kiss arse for a good cause. Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I like it.”

“And you can speak Italian!”

“Not really.”

“But I heard you speaking to Simone!”

Vince eyed me with amusement.

“I learned a few phrases for pulling birds, that’s all. I just told Simone that her backside was as beautiful as a pig in muck. It sounds better in Italian.”

I shut my eyes. “You didn’t! Oh my God, what if she’d understood you?”

Vince laughed, “It was a compliment.”

I huffed angrily then sighed.

“You were amazing,” I admitted. “Honestly, I’ve never known Carl to pledge that sort of money before.”

Vince shrugged. “Maybe he’s a dog-lover.”

He took my arm as we wandered through the bar and inspected the buffet—the usual fare plus mini vegan shroom-burgers as a nod to Vince.

He stuffed a whole one in his mouth then reached for another.

“Tastes like crap,” he said cheerfully, coming close to spraying me with crumbs.

I took a step back, faintly disgusted with his eating habits. I wondered if he did it on purpose.

We sat at an empty table as Vince wolfed down several of the bite-sized amuse-bouche, as Carl McCray insisted on describing them. Vince pulled a face with every enormous mouthful and I got the impression that they weren’t amusing his big bouche very much.

“Oh, gee, sorry to bother you but can I have your autograph, pl— ?”

I glanced at up at one of the junior members of staff, then watched in complete horror as Vince stood up so quickly, his head clocked her under the jaw, and the poor girl staggered around looking dazed.

“Oh, gosh! Are you alright?!”

I rushed toward her and we grabbed an arm each as she tottered about, then Vince brought a chair for her and a class of water.

“Sorry about that, luv,” he said. “When I come up, I come up fast.”

Then he winked at me.

“Noted,” I deadpanned.

He didn’t get much chance to eat after that because it seemed like everyone wanted to meet him, and the girl he’d nearly knocked out sat next to him, her eyes glassy with champagne and a mild concussion.

Vince lit up the room and behaved like everyone was his new best friend; he made them laugh, he made them want to spend time with him. They barely said ‘good morning’ to me and I’d worked with them for seven years. How did he do it? Well, no one could accuse Vince of being shy. Not like me. I hid behind my suits and smarts. I wasn’t a networker and I envied his ease in his own skin.

I was good at my job; Vince was great at being Vince.

After we’d made a complete circuit of the room, I’d had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and I was feeling ashamed of feeling sorry for myself. Vince had done a good thing here; it wasn’t his fault that people liked him more than me. Did that make it my fault?

Vince was concentrating hard and staring at his phone. Huh, probably updating his IG feed again.

“What are you doing?” I asked crossly.

“Just deleting me Tinder account,” he said without looking up.

I was surprised. “Oh, right. Why?”

He pressed one more button and winked at me. “I’m upgrading.”

“Is that a new app?” I asked, a little confused.

“Yeah, no. Not exactly.”

Yes, no, not exactly! What did that mean? Vince always said what he meant. Why had he chosen this evening to go all existential on me?

“What’s up, Gracie?” he asked quietly. “You look as happy as a