Eric adjusted the lapels on his overly priced designer shirt, checked his reflection against the glass door, and complained about his hair, again. Distracted by his incessant rambling on styling products and a loose strand of hair refusing to cooperate, I took the opportunity to check my appearance.
Unlike Eric, my hair was correctly styled into a tight bun toward the back of my head, not a single strand out of place. The simple hairstyle suits this type of soirée—formal, with an elite guest list in a very fancy house.
And I’d only seen the front entrance.
Somehow, Eric persuaded me to attend his mother’s sixtieth birthday party. It was being held at their newly purchased East Hamptons estate. According to Eric, the house was a birthday present from dear old daddy for never being home and always traveling abroad.
Some birthday present!
And, of course, the invitation came at the last minute. Eric was supposed to bring his colleague, Emma, but she had some sort of personal emergency. Eric narrowed it down to being knee-deep in Italian dick, or Aunt Flow is paying a visit. Knowing I was his backup, I didn’t give in so quickly, making him practically beg for me to attend. In exchange for my presence, he promised to take me to this new restaurant I had been dying to try, but because of some waitlist, I could never get a table. He had connections, and I took advantage of those connections to finally taste the famous crème brûleé the chef is known for.
“Honey daddy?” I question while grimacing. “You mean sugar daddy?”
“Sweetheart…” Eric purrs in his over-the-top fake British accent, “… you need a man of age. Someone of maturity. Honey is sweeter than sugar.”
I don’t question Eric any further after he lost me at man of age. Most of the time, I let him do his thing while I blatantly ignore his quest to find me a man. Sometimes, it’s just easier to nod my head and sidetrack him with pointless gossip.
I’d been attending quite a number of these upscale events in the city, so I had the perfect dress to wear—a black off-the-shoulder maxi dress with a high slit stopping mid-thigh. The dress was gorgeous and was an impromptu purchase last fall when Charlie visited Manhattan, warranting a much-needed girls’ shopping trip and dent to my credit card.
Of late, I’d worn it to three separate events. My rule is if the guest list differs, a green light to recycle the wardrobe. Eric hated this rule, which is why I lied and told him it was brand new on the ride over here.
We stood in front of the large doors as the butler answered formally. The home’s sheer size was breathtaking, and only a few minutes ago, I was wowed by the front iron gates. In Eric’s exact words, the home was sophisticated and a meticulously crafted estate sitting only minutes away from the harbor. I swore he pulled those words from an architectural digest of some sort. His usual responses were, ‘this is a palace fit for a queen like myself,’ or in some cases, ‘what a shithole, I wouldn’t send my ex here, and that’s saying a lot since he’s pure trash.’
Once we had passed the gated entry and elegantly landscaped grounds, I knew Eric wasn’t joking when he said the house was enormous. He’d only been here once since his father purchased it. Yet he made it quite clear he planned to spend his summer vacation lounging by the pool while being served by a butler and eyeing the pool boy who happened to be a confused straight guy fresh out of college.
We took a step into the open foyer, and my eyes immediately gazed up toward the high ceilings and intricate detail. In proper Hamptons design, each room boasted high ceilings, massive windows, custom cabinetry, and bespoke leather accents. I loved architecture and design, wishing I’d studied it in school since it’s my passion.
“This house is... wow, that fireplace is stunning,” I raved, taking small steps while admiring the décor.
“I know, right?” Eric smiled politely at guests who walked past and kept his arm linked with mine. “My mother has exquisite taste.”
“Yeah, and Daddy has a nice checking account.”
Eric snickered as we continued to walk through the wide hallway toward the back French doors. Everywhere I turned, my eyes admired the detailed pieces from the chandeliers to the sconces. We strolled past the open-plan kitchen with marble countertops, so