CHAPTER FORTY TWO – AN OLD RIVAL

The leather booth was buttery soft beneath them, the dim lighting and crackling fire casting a warm glow over the intimate space. Charlotte took a sip of her bone-dry vodka martini, the briny olive doing little to palliate the dryness of her mouth. "So," Julian began conversationally, rolling the MVP of his whiskey between his palms. "Are you ever going to explain what turned Manhattan's most celebrated It Girl into such a world-traveling gypsy? Last I heard, you were burning the Europarty circuit with Paris and her little crew." Charlotte pursed her lips, debating how much to reveal. "And abandon the Upper East Side to galling social-climbers like yourself?" she rejoined archly. "Perish the thought. I simply...needed to stretch my wings, so to speak." Those kaleidoscope eyes gleamed with a knowing look. "Indeed. And it had nothing to do with a certain...domestic disaster some years ago?" A hazy recollection of the humiliating tabloid headlines clouded Charlotte's thoughts, though