pained smile. “Experience tells me that, sir. And now the bad news.”
My phone rings before he can finish, and it’s my best friend Nico’s ring-tone. If he’s calling me from Italy it must be serious. I pick up the phone.
“Nico? How are you and your lovely wife? Everything okay?”
“Not from where I’m sitting. You’re getting married and you didn’t tell me? Bro!” He sounds deeply wounded.
“You are too old to say ‘bro’. You were born too old to say ‘bro’.” We were roommates at Harvard. “Wait, what? Who’s getting married?”
“You’re not marrying Sloane?”
“Oh, thank God,” I hear his wife Renata say in the background. “That would have been awful. What do you buy for an engagement gift for a human-viper hybrid? Where do you even find a terrarium that big?”
“Babe!” Nico crows delightedly. His howls of laughter are not appreciated.
I look at Henry, who raises his eyebrows politely.
“No worries, bro,” I say sourly. “It’s all under control here. I don’t know why you thought that about Sloane, but you got some bad information. And by the way, the Hell’s Kitchen project continues to proceed nicely; construction’s ahead of schedule. You’re welcome. Bring me back a cannoli or something. Gotta go.”
I hang up and glower at Henry as if everything’s his fault. “I’m marrying Sloane, am I?”
Henry shrugs. “Someone has informed the gossip columnists that you and Sloane are engaged. It’s hit the online publications already.”
The hell? I’d marry Medusa first and look her right in the eye. “Why would anyone think that?” I splutter furiously.
“Well, the gossip pages received several pictures of her wearing the diamond tennis bracelet and earrings you sent her for her birthday. Apparently she received them this morning and wasted no time in letting everybody know. She’s hinting that these aren’t the only diamonds in her future.”
“I did no such thing!” I roar. Henry just looks at me.
“Sorry.” Tension pounds at my temples, and I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “But even if I sent her a bracelet and earrings, which I didn’t, why would anyone think we’re engaged?”
“You could call her and ask.”
I groan. “Or, I could just take a swim in the East River and drink some of the water while I’m at it.”
“Bit chilly for that this morning, sir. Also diphtheria wouldn’t be a good look on you.”
“Hudsons do not get sick,” I inform him loftily. “It’s our superior constitutions.”
Grimacing, I call Sloane. She answers immediately.
“Good morning, sweetie! Thank you sooo much!” she gushes.
“It was not an engagement present,” I say tightly.
“Of course not!” she giggles. “I don’t know why the media thinks that. So silly, isn’t it?”
“Maybe because you told them?” I snap.
There’s a moment of silence. “Who says?” she asks nervously.
“You sent them pictures of yourself wearing the bracelet and earrings. Obviously you also hinted that we were getting engaged.”
“A man who sends a woman that kind of present is obviously planning a future with her.” Her tone has turned pouty.
“Sloane, you cannot publicly speak for me. Ever.” I put a snap in my voice, because I need to shut this shit down immediately. “Even if we were together, which we are not, this wouldn’t have been okay. When you spread false rumors like that, it makes me look like the kind of man who makes promises and doesn’t follow through with them. That was a goodbye and good luck present. If you took it the wrong way, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you don’t mean that. You’re right, I shouldn’t have talked to anyone without checking with you first. When should we get together so we can work on our correction to the press? I’m free tonight.”
What crazy land of denial is she living in?
“We aren’t getting together, because we’re not dating anymore and I’m extremely busy.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a dull headache hammering at my temples.
“Of course you are!” she says brightly. “That’s what I love about you, your amazing work ethic. I’ll see you at the gala and we can talk about it then.”
“There is no ‘we’, and you need look up the definition of ‘goodbye present’!” I bark at her. I hang up before she can find any more ways to try to draw me back into her clawed clutches.
Sweet Jesus. If I wasn’t the one hosting the annual Hudson Helps Charity Gala, I’d be tempted to skip it. Actually, I’m still tempted.
I shove my phone in my pocket and massage my temples. “Okay, next crisis. Do you