The Other Girl

Chapter XXIV

"So we're flying out to Manhattan for the gala, staying the night, and flying straight back?" Jordan asked nonchalantly, checking his watch to make sure the plane hadn't missed its mark at 2:35 pm. It was the Friday afternoon after graduation, and we were off to the gala thrown in honor of my father's pharmaceutical being bought.

"Sounds about right," I replied, looking up from my phone to give him an amused glance. "What, did you want to stay and sight-see or something?"

"Yeah," Jordan admitted, eyes averted. "I"ve only been to New York once—when I was three. And I was barely old enough to remember anything, much less the most populous city in the United States."

"West coast baby, huh?" I noted, smiling. "It's okay—you'll get enough of the picture at the gala. Too much, almost."

"Not a fan?" Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't you grow up attending these things?"

"Experience doesn't make them any more enjoyable," I grimaced, rising as our flight was called. "It just makes you more enjoyable."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jordan grinned, smirking at the unplanned innuendo. I rolled my eyes as I flashed my ticket and passport to the attendant.

After this trip, I promised myself. I'll tell him on the way back.

---

"Stella!" Michael William Reyes said, wrapping me in for a hug in the doorway. "You've gotten prettier since you've been away—or maybe I've just been ignorant all this time."

"Dad," I smiled, happy to see the silvering man. The roots of his hair were just starting to grey, giving him a cultured look that added to his credibility rather than his age. There were new wrinkles—to be expected after such a big business transaction, but they fell into place when he smiled. "Congratulations on the deal! This is my friend, Jordan Brooks. He just graduated on Tuesday."

"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Reyes," Jordan said, extending a hand.

"Pleasure's all mine," Michael grinned. "Come on in. Your mother's in the kitchen making—what was it again?"

Laughing as I entered the house, I felt a wave of nostalgia roll over me. The rug was new, the paintings replaced, and flora rearranged, but the atmosphere remained unchanged.

"Ganache, Michael!" Sheila Teresa Reyes called from the kitchen. Even with an apron draped over her and an oven mitt on one hand, my mother looked as immaculate and polished as she always was. Platinum blonde hair cut into a stylish long bob and face clear of make-up other than a little eyeliner, Sheila looked stunning for a woman in her late fifties. "Stella! Come try some of the ganache."

"Mom!" I called, enveloping her in a hug. "You look beautiful."

"I don't want to hear it coming from you," my mother mother chided playfully, handing me a spoonful of the molten chocolate confection. "Heaven knows when I was prettier than my daughter, and it's not today. And who might this young man be? Boyfriend?"

"Not quite," Jordan smiled, shaking Sheila's hand. "Friend and classmate, Jordan Brooks."

"Jordan," my mother said, grinning. "Nice handshake, Jordan. Firm, strong grip. Speaks of reliability and character."

"Thank you," Jordan said, surprised.

"Don't mind her. She likes psychoanalyzing people's chances in the business world," I laughed, placing the spoon into the dishwasher. "Ganache is perfect, mom. Just needs something to drizzle it on."