Chapter 2: New York
Remington swirled the cabernet in his wine glass from where he stood leaning against the railing of the sizeable balcony attached to the suite Laura had reserved for them. The suite was… impressive. Accommodations he would have selected for them himself, but the normally sensible Laura would quash the very idea of.
This trip marked a couple of firsts… for himself, as well as they as a couple. Worldwide traveler he might have once been, but he'd never enjoyed the offerings of New York City before. There was a certain familiarity to city in its congestion, reminiscent of his years in London, and he hoped they have time to enjoy opportunities this city offered that LA did not.
As for he and Laura? It was the first trip they'd taken together not only for purely personal reasons, but as a couple. A glorious four days and nights during which part of their time would be consumed by wedding events: dinner this evening; rehearsal dinner tomorrow evening; and the wedding, itself, on Saturday. Part of their time, but not all. He mused over what type of trouble they might get themselves into.
"Are you ready?" Laura asked, from behind him. He turned to face her with a ready smile, his face showing his unconcealed approval as his eyes traveled down her form which the short skirted, long sleeved, sequined dress that clung to her like a second skin did little to conceal. He whistled low.
"Exquisite," he praised, his grin widening as her skin pinkened at the compliment.
"If you like the dress, then you'll love what's underneath," she answered, with a saucy lift of her brows, as she hooked her earring through her lobe. His blood heated at her words, and his imagination took flight. She laughed throatily when he stepped to her, and drew her into his embrace.
"Perhaps a hint, hmmmm?" he suggested. Bending his head down, he captured a pair of willing lips beneath his. His lips teased hers, as a set of long fingers dragged up her silk-clad leg, sneaking beneath the hem of her skirt. He groaned in thorough appreciation when those fingers encountered the top of a stocking, a garter. She slinked from his embrace, leaving him clutching air. "You may well be the death of me, woman," he called to her retreating back. Her lyrical laughter trickled outside as she retrieved her coat from inside.
"Merely giving you something to look forward to, Mr. Steele," she smiled up at him, warm brown eyes glimmering with amusement. Taking her coat, he helped her on with it.
"And that you have, Miss Holt," he complimented, then added, "Although I doubt I'll be capable of intelligent conversation this evening." She laughed softly, then turned and pressed up on her toes to lay a lingering kiss on his lips.
"Shall we, Mr. Steele?" she asked, smoky brown eyes meeting his when their lips parted.
"Let's."
"Hi, Murph," Laura greeted, drawing out each word in fondness. She brushed her lips against his cheek as they embraced.
"You're looking good, pal," her tall, blonde, former partner greeted in turn.
"We shouldn't let so much time pass again before we all get together," she suggested, patting his arm before stepping back.
"Can you believe it's already been three years?" he remarked.
"I can," Bernice answered, hugging Laura. "You look great," she complimented.
"You look happy," Laura countered.
"Steele," Murphy greeted, reluctantly holding out a hand to his former competitor, as the two women spoke. With a forced smile, Remington returned the greeting.
"Michaels," he returned, as he lay a hand on the small of Laura's back when she moved back to his side.
"I am," Bernice confirmed Laura's assessment, reaching for the arm of the man standing silently nearby. "Laura, Murphy… Miles Weill." Miles exchanged handshakes with both, while Remington's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Bernie has spoken frequently enough of you over the years, I feel I already know you both."
"And Sk… Remington Steele," Bernice added. Her husband-to-be offered a hand to Remington as well.
"Any relation to Nevil Weill?" Remington wondered, as he released the tall, beefy, pony-tailed man's hand, while drawing a curious eye from Laura.
"I'm impressed, Mr. Steele. It's not very often someone connects me to my grandfather."
"Yes, well, as a connoisseur of art myself, I've a great appreciation of the collection he amassed in his time. Monet's Dans la Prarie and Chardin's Soap Bubbles, alone…"
The two men continued to talk art as the party was led to their table. Laura had only made it a few steps when Murphy's hand reached out and grasped hers. With a look towards Remington, Bernice and Miles's backs, she allowed Murphy to lead her back to the lobby.
"Laura," he drew the word out warningly as he was oft inclined to do. She looked at him questioningly.
"What?" she asked, her chin ticking up a notch, already suspecting where this conversation would lead.
"Come on, pal. You can't possibly think it's just a coincidence that he knows about some obscure art collection and its connection to Bernice's fiancé," he replied in a censorious tone. She yanked her hand from his, and crossing her arms, tipped her chin up another notch, her eyes lit with fire.
"What is it, exactly, you're trying to say Murph?" she asked, a hard edge in her voice.
"If he's trying to get the lay of the land from—"
"Enough," she cut in, firmly. Taking him by the arm, she led him towards a more private spot near an alcove. "You and I both know, Mr. Steele is well-versed in art and why that is. But, yes, I think it's 'coincidental'. Before tonight, he knew precisely two things about Bernice's fiancé: He was a saxophone player and from New York."
"Are you actually trying to tell me he didn't know the guy's name?" he protested.
"Believe it or not, he and I don't sit around discussing Bernice's romantic life," she countered in a snotty tone
"Come on, Laura, you're smarter than this. Do you really believe he's not up—" She held up a hand to stop him.
"That's enough," she ordered, wearily. "Murph, I know you care for me…" she nodded her head, and gesticulated with a hand, "That you worry about me. But thishas to stop. That man in there has been my partner for four years, has been more than that to me for nearly as long. Four years, Murph. Yes, you and I both once believed he had an angle, that he wouldn't stay. He's not—"
"He did leave," he argued.
"Because of something I did, a decision I made. The question is not why or if he left, it's what did he do while he was gone," she argued, vociferously. "He could have chosen to return to his old life, but he chose not to. He chose to come home with me, to the life he's created here!"
"Look, pal, I know you think he's changed, reformed, whatever you want to call it. But—" She let out a puff of frustrated air.
"Murph, I need you to listen to me," she interrupted again. "You mean a great deal to me, you know that. How couldn't you? You are one of my oldest and dearest friends, have had my back more times than I can count. But I can't do this any longer. Every time you put him down, warn me he's up to no good… tell me I'm too smart to believe whatever game it is he's playing…." She shook her head and rubbed at her arms, "You're asking me to make a choice: him or you." When Murphy seemed prepared to speak, she held up her hand again, and he fell silent. "It's partially my fault. I know that." She gesticulated with a hand."I don't want to lose your friendship." She raised her eyes to meet his. "I choose him, Murphy." Murphy looked as stunned as he would have if she'd slapped him.
"What are you saying, Laura?"
"Your friendship means the world to me. I don't want to lose it. And I hope you don't want to lose mine. But it has to stop. No more warnings. No more doubts. No more accusations. I choose him."
Unwittingly, Remington walked in on the last, having come looking for Laura when she and Murphy still hadn't come to the table. He looked back over his shoulder toward the dining room, considering retreat, when her brown eyes met his, and a soft smile lifted her lips. It was all the encouragement he needed.
"People are looking for us," she told her old friend. "Let's go enjoy our dinner. Huh?" she suggested, laying a hand on Murphy's arm for the briefest of moments, then stepping away from him and reaching for Remington's hand, smiling when he automatically weaved their fingers together.
"Is everything okay?" he questioned, ducking his head down to speak close to her ear.
"Everything's fine," she assured, accompanying her words with a squeeze of his hand. "Let's just enjoy the evening."
The meal had gone well, Murphy joining the other two couples shortly after Remington and Laura sat down. Throughout the meal, Murphy had let innocuous comments pass, openings he'd normally use as invitations to take a shot at Remington. After the meal was finished and plates cleared, Laura and Remington took to the dance floor while Miles excused himself. Seeing her opportunity, Bernice propped her chin in a hand and gave Murphy a hard but amused look.
"Alright, give," she demanded. He grinned at her in answer.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Uh-uh. Spill," she insisted. "What's the deal with that little tete-a-tete between you and Laura earlier?"
"A warning, I guess you could call it," he answered ruefully. Her brows peaked and her eyes widened with interest.
"What kind of warning?"
"To back off Steele." She gave him impressed look.
"Laura said that?" she verified, then smiled wide at his nod. "Well, good for her."
"Good for her?!" Murphy sputtered. She turned her head to watch the couple on the dance floor.
"Mmmm. Good for her," she repeated. "Look at her. She's happy Murph. Happier than I've ever seen her. Maybe it only lasts a few weeks, maybe it lasts forever. It doesn't matter. She deserves to be happy, for however long it lasts."
"Until he leaves her life in pieces," he protested.
"I don't think that he will," she pondered aloud. "He seems as wrapped up in her as she is in him." She returned her eyes to the man across from her when he snorted in derision. "Take my advice, Murph: If you wanna keep Laura as a friend, listen to whatever it was she said to you. If it comes down to you or him, you'll lose."