“Oh, I’m sure I will.” Belle waved his concern away, a slight blush telling him she didn’t want to talk about her anxieties. “Is there anything else you need?” She dropped her voice. “Has anyone been mean to you about your past?”
He patted her back and pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “No, Aunt Belle. Everyone’s been really nice so far. I’m good.”
Annabelle’s nose wrinkled before she lowered her veil. “You return to the party if you truly want to, but I’m retiring for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m so proud of you, darling. Thank you for all your help.”
Warmth spread through his chest. He accepted a hug and kiss from Annabelle and watched her walk away before he turned to head back to the ballroom, a smile pasted on his face. No one would be able to guess how fake it was.
He was here for a reason. He had a purpose. And it had nothing to do with the beautiful, furious woman who had run from him. Again.
Chapter Three
HE’D SMILED at her.
That motherfucker.
Rhiannon fought the urge to curl her lip, for fear that the makeup artist might think it was directed at her. The poor girl didn’t deserve snarling, especially when she was working so hard to disguise the dark under-eye circles that were a testament to how little Rhiannon had slept the night before, tossing and turning in her posh hotel’s luxury bedding.
Lakshmi appeared at her elbow. Today, Rhiannon’s tall and sturdy assistant was bright and cheerful in a yellow crop top and high-waisted black pants with rainbow suspenders. Her black hair was swept up to the side, revealing an undercut that was dyed purple and dotted with glitter in the shape of a star. Her brown skin glowed with good health and the effects of her daily ten-step skin care regimen.
They were in a different hotel from the one Rhiannon had been in last night, in a small room near the ballroom and the stage where Rhiannon and Annabelle would be interviewed live in front of a huge audience of CREATE conferencegoers. Tech people bustled right outside the door.
“Do you need another coffee?”
Since Lakshmi considered fetching drinks way below her pay grade, Rhiannon figured she must really look a mess. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Lakshmi waited for the makeup artist to finish and leave the room and then used two fingers to swivel Rhiannon’s face toward her. She critically examined the makeup job, then reached for the blending sponge. Rhiannon waited patiently while Lakshmi redid her face with slightly darker foundation and powder. Lakshmi understood makeup and hair far better than most artists, especially when it came to brown and black skin, and Rhiannon trusted her implicitly to make her look her best. “How was the party?” Lakshmi asked.
“Fine.”
“I heard Annabelle didn’t speak.”
“No, she was ill.” Rhiannon studiously avoided thinking about who had come out on the stage. Or how he’d smiled at her, like he was thrilled to see her.
The sense of outrage wasn’t bad, actually. It distracted from how much she was low-key disgusted with herself for bolting from the room.
Retreat isn’t weakness.
Rhiannon curled her fingers around the arm of her makeup chair. She’d have to keep telling herself that.
Lakshmi dabbed powder over her nose. “It’s no big loss if she doesn’t show up today for the interview. With Helena killing it on her late-night talk show lately, it would be good for her to see you wrap an audience around your finger.”
Rhiannon didn’t pretend to play humble. When she was on, she was on and could easily wrap a crowd around her finger, even many of those people who might be poised to snub her on the basis of old rumors. “Yeah.”
“Except, of course, Annabelle is your white whale. Meeting her here would be a lot easier than camping out near her beach house.”
Rhiannon flinched, but she recovered as quickly as possible. Lakshmi was gently teasing her. She had no idea how little Rhiannon wanted to think of that weekend.
Katrina, Rhiannon’s best friend and business partner, and Lakshmi had both been skeptical about her plan to rent a place a few houses down from Annabelle’s beach home for a long weekend, but it had seemed like a great idea at the time. Despite Matchmaker’s L.A. headquarters, Annabelle was reportedly rarely in the city, Cayucos the closest she came when she ventured off her Northern California estate.
Rhiannon had killed two days playing spy, and by the third, with Annabelle’s house remaining dark and empty, she’d been climbing the walls in boredom. So she’d sat down with her own app, and, well, that night with Samson had been the result.
See me again.
He’d still been inside her when he’d whispered that in her ear. Dawn had been breaking, sending fingers of blue and pink over her rented bedroom walls. They’d wrecked all the bedding, the white ruffled duvet hanging off the bed, the pillows on the floor.
Normally she would have shuffled a man out after the first time they’d had sex or after she’d gotten off sufficiently, whichever came first. He’d lasted four times. Or had it been five? He’d merely had to kiss her or touch her, or look at her, and she’d dragged him back on top of her.
She blamed her dick-drunk brain for not shooting down his suggestion for another night immediately. Instead she’d skated her hands down his sweat-slick back. I’m heading home to L.A. in a couple of days.
Silly her, she’d held her breath, unsure of whether he’d say something that would mean she’d have to kick him out. Something long term, like L.A.’s not so far, even though a four-hour drive might as well be the moon as far as an Angeleno was concerned.
But he was smart and only replied, Then we have a couple days.
When he hadn’t shown the next night, she’d felt—
She gave herself a hard mental shake. Nah. She was done with feelings. Shove them down.
She’d spent last night tossing and turning, marveling over the coincidence—horror?—of Annabelle’s newest employee being her one-night stand, but it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Whatever freak chain of events had led to him now working for the company she hoped to buy was irrelevant. She only had to avoid him for the next two days. This was a big conference, and he was her competitor’s spokesman, not upper management. She’d be fine.
“Are we done?” Rhiannon asked.
Lakshmi finished painting her lips and stepped back. “Yeah.”
Rhiannon checked her face in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction. “Thanks. I look good.”
“As usual.”
Whoa. “Thanks.” Lakshmi must really be picking up on odd vibes from her if she was complimenting her this lavishly. Not that Lakshmi wasn’t kind, but Rhiannon wasn’t the type of woman who seemed like she needed complimenting.
Sweet. Kind. Loyal.
The funny thing was, Rhiannon could be sweet and kind, and she was loyal to death, if she loved a person. But no one would have ever described her as sweet, kind, and loyal. Because the world had decided long ago what a sweet, kind, and loyal woman looked like, and it wasn’t her.
Rhiannon carefully picked a piece of lint off her black hoodie. When she’d found herself heartbroken and alone four years ago, she’d made a promise to create an alternate universe for herself. One in which she didn’t spend hours and days and weeks and months losing time mourning people who treated her poorly. In the other universe, with her time reclaimed, she owned the world.