Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 02

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A night on the town doesn't go as planned.
11.2k words
4.71
34.2k
8

Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 10/07/2022
Created 03/13/2009
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—To the comeback kid in all of us.—

*

Hair blow-dried into submission. Check. Gold, smoky eyes; baby pink lips. Check.

Sascha stared at the two piles of clothes on the bed. The first one was too casual for a dinner with the boss and co-workers; the second, too professional for the night of dancing to follow. She had to hurry; Liya would be here soon. The white belted jacket could work with dark jeans. She rushed into the back of the closet and pulled the pair with the trouser cut. They did something they hadn't done since she'd Ben & Jerried her way through the months before and after the breakup: They fit!

"You look good," she told her reflection, loosening her curling-iron curls into a bombshell waves. Better yet, she felt it. Mama's advice on dressing your best when you felt your worst worked yet again; the rigors of her fifty-hour workweek lightened. Her cell phone belted out Alex's ring tone as if he'd sensed her mandate to have fun tonight. She muted the volume and threw her makeup back into the cosmetics bag. The home phone rang as she cleared the bed. She buzzed Liya in and hurried to get her bedroom back in order.

Liya's dark eyes lit up when she opened the door. "Hi—oh, look at you!" Sascha beamed. A compliment from a woman as gorgeous as Liya Bekele was a huge ego boost. "I think someone in F and B is going to approve." Her British accent made the statement sound like a royal decree. Despite vowing to play down her interest, she warmed at the veiled reference to Stavros Dimitriou. Liya was the only one at the office who suspected she had a tiny crush on him.

"Thanks—come in, come in!"

Liya presented a small Godiva bag. "A little token of appreciation."

With Sascha's place within walking distance of the hotel, changing there had spared her a drive across town. Tonight she could fully enjoy herself at the club since Sascha would cover tomorrow's wedding.

Sascha eyed the bag with longing. "Oh, you're evil."

"There isn't enough in there to do any damage, I promise."

"Your place is fab, by the way," Liya said, amazed. Maybe because the space had a bohemian kitsch in contrast to the professional she knew Sascha to be. Her home was a mix of beiges, hits of daffodil yellow and deliberately mismatched patterns.

"My best-friend Ana is a designer and she helped me decorate," she said as she gave her a tour.

The eight-hundred square foot apartment was her fresh start—albeit different from the one she planned. Thankfully, the ghost of Sascha and Alex didn't haunt this space; even the bed was new. Her best memories were of the weekends with Ana and their almost nightly pajama parties during the short time she stayed here before moving to California.

Liya was still fidgeting with the bow on her tangerine dress when they rushed out the door forty minutes later.

"I bet the Ogre would love it if we showed up late just to have something else to complain about."

"Balty's not that bad. You'll see that tonight," Sascha reassured her.

Since their hotel manager Gavin Balthazar only tolerated excellence, criticism was always a daily staff meeting away. But every quarter he'd apologize for his reign of terror and acknowledge the very achievements everyone thought he overlooked. Liya hadn't seen that side of him during her seven weeks as the meeting services' wedding coordinator so while everyone called him Balty, Liya had invented a nickname of her own.

"No, he has it in for me."

"Corporate's been busting his butt about the sales figures is what it is plus he gets held to a higher standard because of his father."

The slow, heavy thud of boots grew louder as she spoke. Sascha recognized their pitch and cadence as if they belonged on her personal soundtrack and tapped the already lit-up down button. She'd heard those boots stomp pass her doorway many a Saturday night while she lay in bed reading. On the nights he didn't come in alone, she kept still while her ears strained to catch an encore of the sound show she'd heard months back.

Like most people, Sascha harbored her own dirty secrets behind her ordinary-neighbor façade —two actually. One had started innocently when even as a little girl, she'd been drawn to the naughtiness of seeing and hearing things deemed off limits.

"You girls heading out for a night on the town?" His voice had a boom to it, like distant thunder yet every word was crisp, his American accent vague.

"We have to get through an office party first," Liya answered.

Sascha dropped her keys into her red hand-sized clutch and turned to look straight up into Noah Jameson's unusual green eyes. He always watched her as though he knew she couldn't control her awareness of him. She fidgeted with the strands of hair on her shoulder to remind herself that she hadn't transformed into the bleary-eyed mess he'd seen months ago.

It took her a moment to say hello because she was processing the fact that his blond-brown waves were gone—buzzed off. Not that it changed him much. He was still unfairly good-looking. His new beard made him appear rugged instead of regular. Only the front panels of his red plaid shirt were tucked into his faded jeans. That he never seemed preoccupied with his looks added to the injustice of it all and robbed her of a valid reason to remain indifferent about him.

He grinned as his gaze skipped from Liya to Sascha. Its conspiratorial nature should have made the smile she offered him more authentic. "Kind of an oxymoron, isn't it?"

"Precisely!" said Liya as if they'd become part of a friendly circle. He extended his hand to make it official, introducing himself with an unexpected chivalry Sascha noticed since the weekend she moved in.

She'd stepped off the elevator, balancing two boxes stacked high in her arms when an offer of help came. "An angel must've sent you," she'd told the stranger from behind her cardboard wall when he lifted the top box. Then she saw his face and realized her words hadn't been that far off target, leaving her, well, self-conscious if only for a second. And that was saying something because back then nothing roused any sort of opinion, interest nor emotion in her. Nothing except Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and Chunky Monkey...and Alex.

The elevator chimed and they all shuffled in while chatting about which clubs had the best music and which crowds were overly pretentious. Sascha's gaze paused several times on Noah's face. She'd gotten so used to seeing him with waves of unfussy hair near his collar that the buzz-cut's visual impact remained strong. That, and the fact it made his features more obvious. The straight lines of his light brown brows set off the downward slant of his deep set eyes. Eyes that were preoccupied with the six-foot plus Ethiopian stunner between them. Who could blame him?

He would have noticed Liya due to her choice in shoes: stilettos. They were a bold selection given her height, and that kind of confidence held an allure far more seductive than physical beauty. But the combo made for an incredible package.

He asked questions and listened while Liya told him about London's nightlife. Her classic looks and chic accent made Sascha feel ordinary while Noah's interest rendered her invisible. Suddenly, she reverted back to the lanky teen who'd watched her mom's gorgeous-and-curvy gene skip her in favor of her kid sister, Sage. Back then being the 'cute one' seemed like a poor consolation prize until she realized that cute girls didn't have to deal with beauty envy the way women like Liya had to. But every once in a while she longed to trade her second-place sash for the actual crown.

The elevator door flew open but she reacted a second too slow, still caught up in her thoughts. Noah's eyes whispered "gotcha". Whenever they crossed paths, he made her wish she could tack on an additional four to six weeks between sightings. Things might have been different if the weight of her residual embarrassment didn't press down on her every time. Knowing the sounds he made when he came didn't help matters.

"After you." Her ears caught the smug undercurrent in his tone. God, he was sly in a sneaky manner difficult to point out to other people. It was as if they shared a private language, only she wasn't sure if it was all in her head.

"You girls have fun tonight—nice meeting you, Liya," he said before he headed to towards the front entrance where a car waited.

"You too!"

"Thanks, you too." Sascha replied at the same time.

"Are all the guys in your building that hot?"

"No and you have a hot boyfriend, remember?"

"It never hurts to look. I'd be doing more than that if I were you."

"Nah, guys like that never go for girls like me."

* * *

"So what's the deal with you and Stav?" The music in Mimosa Twenty-Seven was so loud, Helena had to yell.

"What do you mean?" Why is it your business?

Sascha did her best to be discreet as she scanned the sea of undulating bodies swaying beneath the lightshow downstairs. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Liya kissing her look-alike, buff but much shorter boyfriend, Ben.

Helena cast her a "girl, please" look. "The two of you've been hanging out all night."

She always had an agenda so Sascha considered her response, knowing the odds of it being tossed around the office like a baseball then embellished at each handoff, were high. Helena was deceptively nondescript with her demure clothes and pixie haircut. But she relished being the center of attention too much to be a girl's girl. She probably saw this as a chance to get some dirt on her boss. "I don't know him that well but he seems like a nice guy."

It was true. Despite the flirting before and after staff meetings she'd never spent quality one-on-one time with Stav. He only attended the morning line-up when the Food and Beverage manager couldn't. The fact that Balty frowned upon employee fraternization made Sascha tentative about encouraging more contact. Still, the idea of running into her office crush perked up her mornings.

"I saw him chatting up some slutty-looking blonde down at the bar so I wondered what was up with you guys."

She had the nerve to call someone else slutty? Sascha covered her mouth and resisted the urge to mirror Helena's "girl, please" simper. She took a sip of her drink instead of taking the bait.

"Just be careful, he's not the sweetheart you think he is." Helena nudged her. "Here he comes."

"Why are my ears burning?" Stav shouted as he leaned against the balcony railing, his Bambi eyes full of mischief. He had the face of a poet and gave off a fun-loving vibe, nothing like the brooding intensity Sascha usually associated with Mediterranean looks.

"Because you've got a huge ego?" she told him.

Stav hooked his arm around her neck and tugged. "How do you put up with her?" he asked Helena, whose laugh failed to reach her eyes. That all changed the instant a preppy Latin guy came up to her. Stav sent Sascha a loaded gaze after Helena slipped into that special zone where her friends and fiancé didn't exist.

He took a swig of his beer and grabbed her hand. "C'mon, let's dance."

Sascha got lost in the pulsing rhythms as one song blended into the other. The music took her to a carefree, sensual place. Stav drew her into his body when the beat slowed. His arms circled her waist and they moved together as one. A slow grind began with just the brush of thigh against thigh. The bodies floating around them made her claustrophobic. He pressed closer, rubbed harder, making her stifle an unexpected jolt of unease. A frenzied slideshow of facial expressions flashed by. The excitement and revelry on the dance floor was spinning on a different axis. Suddenly the music became noise, jangling her nerves. Stav's lips were on her neck and she didn't know what to make of her reaction.

"I'm going to the ladies room," she said under his ear while she pushed at his forearms.

He pointed left. "I'll be at the bar!"

She swerved around the crowd and made her way to the ladies' room. The line inside the door provided a welcome delay while she regrouped. She rubbed her arms, trying to soothe herself. The Stavros who existed in her daydreams, the one she looked forward to seeing at staff meetings didn't leave her this...weirded out.

One of the bathroom stalls flew open and released a giddy brunette who was tugging on the hem of her black sheath dress. Her yellow wristband tagged her as under twenty-one.

"Guess what Aaron and I just did?" she asked her friend, another dark-haired coed, while she washed her hands.

The friend's eyes and mouth went wide, the tube of lip gloss in her hand forgotten and their exchange got muted when the door opened, letting music filter in. But a hand gesture ended the mystery.

"No way—where?"

"Under the stairs," came the reply, full of pride.

"No way! No freakin' way."

After several "no freakin' ways" the entire line of waiting women got treated to the details of how it—well, how she—went down. Some rolled their eyes in derision while others grinned in camaraderie. Dark admiration taunted Sascha, made her feel old. She'd always found a cavalier attitude towards sex to be the opposite of female empowerment and didn't appreciate it in men either, yet a part of her longed to be like that girl: fierce and unapologetically sexual. She longed to know the kind of abandon that overruled logic and propriety. She went back out into the crowd with a new attitude.

She scanned the bar, looking for Stav's curly head. By the time she got a few feet away, it was too late to turn back. She plastered on her best carefree expression as she approached him and his new friend. His platinum blonde, midriff-baring friend—maybe not so new after all.

"This is Mila—Mila this is Sascha."

"Nice to meet you," Sascha said and flagged down one of the bartenders. She had to do something, anything, to appear cool while she felt like she had a billboard above her. One with bright, flickering lights and an alternating message that read: Third Wheel. Dummy. Third Wheel. Dummy.

"We work together," Stav explained, tilting his beer towards Sascha. Oh, they were suddenly co-workers again after he'd turned into an octopus on the dance floor? "They just shuffle paper in her department, we do the real work."

She shook her head and focused on Mila. "What a team player."

"She loves me."

Sascha grinned and rolled her eyes. "Ri-ight."

Mila's scarlet lips moved into an unsure smile.

Stav drew Mila back into the conversation by asking her opinions on music, places to visit in Moscow and her astrological sign. He stood between them and maintained a pattern of playfully criticizing one while agreeing with the other, stoking a competitive undercurrent between Mila and her. By the time he purported that Capricrons were uptight and only boring, fat girls liked Maroon 5, Sascha had stopped caring whether she may or may not be the beneficiary of his weak attempt at player-style seduction.

She'd always considered herself a good sport; didn't mind a good-natured ribbing, but damn... Is this what the dating game had become during her six-year absence? Trying to gain someone's approval after they'd treated you to several rounds of backhanded insults? Was the club scene was nothing more than an adult sandbox?

Stav tipped his head towards Sascha while he focused on Mila. "She looks a lot like Gwen Stefani, doesn't she?"

"No," Sascha replied, causing Mila's face to close up while Stav watched, all self-satisfied now.

She paused a moment to give Mila a quick once over. Her bustier's shell colored lining matched her skin, making her appear nude beneath the black lace and delicate beading. A band of pale skin separated the top from her low riding black trousers. The style was a mix of modern day meets retro-glam.

"I can see why someone would say that because your hair and eyes are sort of similar," she explained, speaking with her hands, "but you remind me of a Hitchcock blonde."

Mila's cat-lined eyes lit up. Touchdown. "My dad loves him!" she shouted in her thick eastern European accent. "Me and my sister, we watch Rear Window together with him many times."

That started a lively exchange about Kim Novak in Vertigo while Stav clutched his beer as if it were the only familiar object in a foreign land. The rivalry shifted from the women from that point, just as Sascha intended. Unfortunately, Stav hailed from the love-to-dish-it-out, but-can't-take-it tribe.

When Sascha met his subtle attacks on her appearance and her being too professional with unflappable cool and humor, he froze her out; entertaining Mila with stories about the famous guests who stayed at the hotel. Sascha got relegated to sidekick status as she verified each tale. By then his veiled hostility had butchered the flirtatious mood and judging by Mila's wandering gaze, there was no celebrity sighting grand enough to save it. Sascha swirled her drink and suppressed the urge to throw it in his face. Helena had been right about him. Now that was a scary thought.

"I'm going upstairs."

Stav quirked a brow and pretended to care... for all of five seconds. "Catch you later."

She found Ben and Liya huddled together in the middle of the booth that had become the group's rendezvous point. Natalie, her office mate, sat in Seth's lap at one end. Sascha and kissably-cute Seth had started out in guest services together and they'd become close over the years. Even though he now headed up Concierge Services they made it a point to run into each other at the cafeteria.

He was the first person at work she had told about the breakup. He'd been supportive while telling her the hard truths she'd needed to hear from an objective male. And he'd been the first person to make her laugh about the whole ordeal, saying he'd planned to wait the appropriate three months before he made a move and risked his job. She invited him to join the group after the sales staff dinner so they could catch up. He looked like he was having a very good time. And it was great to see Natalie laughing and flirting again after the mess with her husband. The odd-man-out was Ben's co-worker, Ty Crawford.

Natalie asked, "Where's Stav?"

"Downstairs."

Ty patted the space next to him. The designer crest on his crisp white shirt and his neat low fade haircut whispered: metrosexual. She sat down and kept her back erect when he dropped his arm on the backrest behind her.

"Looks like the kid dropped the ball," he whispered at her ear. His Roman nose and toffee-and-cream skin suggested that like her, he had a mixed heritage.

"What about you? You had your hands full all night—or did you drop the ball?"

"Nah, I'm picky." A guy with his fresh-faced good looks could afford to be. His onyx brown eyes were slow and deliberate as they traveled her face. "Or maybe something else caught my attention."

Player. He had the smile and confidence to match.

"You're admitting to having a wandering eye? Way to score points, Ty."

"Discerning is more like it. We can save the score card for later—when the game really begins. Do you like games?" The question sounded deliciously naughty. That kid downstairs could use a few lessons from this one.

She shook her head while returning his sexy smile. "Someone always has to come out the loser."

Ty's eyes sparkled with humor. "See, I was thinking about the kind of game where we play as a team and work together to make sure everybody's satisfied."

"You have a line for everything, don't you." Sascha relaxed into the seat, liking him more and more, despite her resolve not to. The moment would've been better if the vibrant, woodsy scent on Ty's skin didn't remind her of another man.

"There's only one way for you to find out for sure."

She studied the ceiling. "I wonder what that could be?"