cardiologists, I can’t stand another minute of it.
“Hey, honey,” I say, pushing my way gently into his conversation. He looks at me and smiles, waiting for me to add something to his witty banter. “The whole package, here. Present and accounted for. I’m standing right here.”
He looks at me like I am trying to be funny and not quite succeeding. One of his asshole colleagues, James Galmoy, EMM-DEE , shakes the ice in his glass of scotch and gives a low whistle. “Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble.”
Give me a break. Seriously? Am I Landon’s mother? Now I’m really peeved. I look at James, try to bite my tongue, but he winks, the stupid bastard, and I blurt, “Hey, Jimmy, you know what? Someone’s being a prick.”
Landon puts his hand on the soft part of my arm above my elbow and squeezes. “Miki?”
“Yes?” I turn and give him my mother’s best megawatt smile. If he wants “the whole package,” he is damn well going to get it.
“Why don’t we go dance.” It isn’t a question. He leads me away from the jerk posse and then pulls me aside before we get anywhere near the dance floor. “What the hell are you thinking? James is about to set up one of the most important specialty practices in Los Angeles, and we might become business partners. What is the matter with you? Have you been drinking?”
I look down at the untouched champagne I’ve been carrying around for the entire endless hour. I have never felt more clearheaded in my life. “Barely a sip.” I stare into his eyes. They are perfect. Sparkly blue. And empty. In that moment, I know I would rather be alone than be with this man. “I think we’re finished here, Landon.”
“What? We haven’t even gone in to dinner yet.”
“I mean we are finished .”
“You’re going to break up with me at a fucking cardiologists’ fund-raiser at the Beverly Hilton?”
“Would you rather I call your receptionist and schedule a more convenient time?”
Turns out Landon might have a bit of a violent streak. Through clenched teeth he whispers, “How dare you make fun of me at a time like this?”
I shake out my long hair. I am the whole package, damn it, a 100 percent American woman. Well, technically half-Russian, but whatever. I’m channeling Lenny Kravitz.
“I’m not making fun of you, Landon.” I unhook the diamond necklace he gave me for my birthday and hold it out to him. He won’t take it, so I end up slipping it into the side pocket of his tuxedo jacket. I reach up to touch his upper arm. He isn’t really a bad guy; he’s just completely wrong for me.
He pulls away from my attempt at a conciliatory touch.
“Fine.” I shrug. “Think what you want.”
He looks around the party, probably to see if we’re making a scene. “We need to talk about this, Miki. How can you go from wanting to move in together to wanting to break up in the course of a month?”
I look up at the ceiling—absurdly ornate, fake Italian Renaissance rosettes— and count to five. I exhale and look him right in the eye. “I do not want to marry you, Landon. It’s just that simple. I’m sorry if you feel I led you on, but it has taken me until this moment to really know my own mind. I’m sorry, again, for what you see as a waste of your time.”
“You are such a cold bitch.”
Well, that pretty much seals the deal. I extend my left hand and ask for my lipstick.
“Your what?”
“My lipstick. I asked you to carry it in your jacket pocket because it wouldn’t fit in my narrow clutch. May I have it, please?”
“Miki, honey, come on. This can’t be over.”
“Landon. You just called me a cold bitch. Let’s not go down this road. I’ll call you in a couple of weeks, and we can go to a movie or something and try to be normal so we’re not awkward at our friends’ parties. All right?”
“I don’t even know who you are anymore. Ever since you got back from Saint Petersburg, you’ve been this judgmental, arrogant cun—”
I hold up
“Hey, honey,” I say, pushing my way gently into his conversation. He looks at me and smiles, waiting for me to add something to his witty banter. “The whole package, here. Present and accounted for. I’m standing right here.”
He looks at me like I am trying to be funny and not quite succeeding. One of his asshole colleagues, James Galmoy, EMM-DEE , shakes the ice in his glass of scotch and gives a low whistle. “Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble.”
Give me a break. Seriously? Am I Landon’s mother? Now I’m really peeved. I look at James, try to bite my tongue, but he winks, the stupid bastard, and I blurt, “Hey, Jimmy, you know what? Someone’s being a prick.”
Landon puts his hand on the soft part of my arm above my elbow and squeezes. “Miki?”
“Yes?” I turn and give him my mother’s best megawatt smile. If he wants “the whole package,” he is damn well going to get it.
“Why don’t we go dance.” It isn’t a question. He leads me away from the jerk posse and then pulls me aside before we get anywhere near the dance floor. “What the hell are you thinking? James is about to set up one of the most important specialty practices in Los Angeles, and we might become business partners. What is the matter with you? Have you been drinking?”
I look down at the untouched champagne I’ve been carrying around for the entire endless hour. I have never felt more clearheaded in my life. “Barely a sip.” I stare into his eyes. They are perfect. Sparkly blue. And empty. In that moment, I know I would rather be alone than be with this man. “I think we’re finished here, Landon.”
“What? We haven’t even gone in to dinner yet.”
“I mean we are finished .”
“You’re going to break up with me at a fucking cardiologists’ fund-raiser at the Beverly Hilton?”
“Would you rather I call your receptionist and schedule a more convenient time?”
Turns out Landon might have a bit of a violent streak. Through clenched teeth he whispers, “How dare you make fun of me at a time like this?”
I shake out my long hair. I am the whole package, damn it, a 100 percent American woman. Well, technically half-Russian, but whatever. I’m channeling Lenny Kravitz.
“I’m not making fun of you, Landon.” I unhook the diamond necklace he gave me for my birthday and hold it out to him. He won’t take it, so I end up slipping it into the side pocket of his tuxedo jacket. I reach up to touch his upper arm. He isn’t really a bad guy; he’s just completely wrong for me.
He pulls away from my attempt at a conciliatory touch.
“Fine.” I shrug. “Think what you want.”
He looks around the party, probably to see if we’re making a scene. “We need to talk about this, Miki. How can you go from wanting to move in together to wanting to break up in the course of a month?”
I look up at the ceiling—absurdly ornate, fake Italian Renaissance rosettes— and count to five. I exhale and look him right in the eye. “I do not want to marry you, Landon. It’s just that simple. I’m sorry if you feel I led you on, but it has taken me until this moment to really know my own mind. I’m sorry, again, for what you see as a waste of your time.”
“You are such a cold bitch.”
Well, that pretty much seals the deal. I extend my left hand and ask for my lipstick.
“Your what?”
“My lipstick. I asked you to carry it in your jacket pocket because it wouldn’t fit in my narrow clutch. May I have it, please?”
“Miki, honey, come on. This can’t be over.”
“Landon. You just called me a cold bitch. Let’s not go down this road. I’ll call you in a couple of weeks, and we can go to a movie or something and try to be normal so we’re not awkward at our friends’ parties. All right?”
“I don’t even know who you are anymore. Ever since you got back from Saint Petersburg, you’ve been this judgmental, arrogant cun—”
I hold up
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