“What do you think you’re doing?” I tried to nail him in the ribs with an elbow, but the snake adroitly grasped and pinned my arm between us.
“Acting like a man in love, Sunshine.”
“Save the pet names for your women.”
His mouth dipped close to my ear, the brush of his lips making my pulse race. “I don’t have women. I have one woman––an angry little wife. And this one’s just for you. Now be a good girl. We have a show to put on.”
Scott
My wife hated me. Which was a real bummer because I was starting to really like her. Leaning against a column, hiding away from critical stares of my parents’ friends and business acquaintances, I nursed my whiskey.
Across the room, Sydney was talking to Devyn and my brother-in-law, John, who had flown in from California for this godforsaken dog and pony act. The booze was top shelf, the food was five-star rated, and the flower arrangements ostentatious––rare out-of-season blooms pouring out of every available crack and crevice. This party had my father’s fingerprints all over it.
Speaking of the man, he was seated at a main table up front with a bunch of his cronies congregated around him. He looked a little worse for wear, which worried me, but I dared not bring up the subject. Dad detested any sign of weakness and would deny anything was wrong anyway.
I watched Damon Hastings approach Sydney and pull her aside. I didn’t like the way Hastings was looking at her. Like Sydney was chum and he smelled blood in the water. If he so much as moved a hair follicle closer to her, I was going to get up close and personal with the son of a bitch and make it clear he needed to go hunt in different waters.
“Hiding?” a voice called out from somewhere behind me, one that had the magic power to make my nuts crawl back into my body. I’d succeeded in avoiding any unpleasantness from my past all night. Unfortunately, it had finally caught up to me.
Meghan looking almost exactly the same as she did the last time I’d seen her eight years ago. Her long chestnut hair swept to the side and draped over her shoulder. Her dark eyes smokey. Her pupils as big as nickels. Yeah, exactly the same.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your sister and my husband went to business school together. They’re friends.” She sipped her champagne.
“Consider yourself disinvited to any future Blackstone events.”
“Eight years and you’re still a prick.”
I turned to face her because I didn’t need anyone to overhear what I needed to say to her. “What do you want, Meghan?”
“I want you to stop blaming me.”
“Why wouldn’t I blame you? What you did––” My words fell away when I noticed my voice getting louder. Shaking my head, I turned back around and swallowed the urge to verbally eviscerate her. I wouldn’t be goaded into making a scene that would embarrass Sydney.
After all these years, the anger and resentment was still there. This city did that to me: brought them up, opened old wounds and made them feel fresh again. I hated Manhattan. It reeked of dissipation to me, reminded me of all the promises I’d broken and bad choices I’d made. Of my past, of the man I was, the man I wanted to forget I’d been.
Sydney stood in the middle of the crowded room watching us with a frosty expression, Hastings still by her side. I’d left her alone tonight, and maybe I shouldn’t have. I still owed her an apology. She’d shut me down in the car and I didn’t push it, didn’t want to upset her right before the party, but it still had to be done.
“How long before she figures out what a selfish asshole you are? You think getting married is going to make anyone believe you’ve changed?” She smirked. “Not likely, Satan. Probably not ever.”
Bile rose up my throat as I watched her walk away, back to the poor son of a bitch who had married her. Pushing off the marble column, I headed across the room. Sydney stood next to her assistant and a tall Asian guy with tattoos on his neck barely hidden under a royal blue suit that looked straight off the runway. Our eyes met and she turned her back to me, exposing an abundance of naked flesh from the waist up. I nearly ran face-first into a group of people. It brought a smile to my face. As much as she fought it, the ice princess had a thing for me. Good. Because I had a thing for her too.
Chapter Thirteen
Sydney
A heavy arm landed around my shoulders. Scott pulled me close while I pushed him away, struggling to put space between us. Eventually, I had to give up or risk making a scene.
“Miller, right?” Scott said, thrusting out a hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Really?” Miller said, tone dry, expression more than a lot suspicious. Meanwhile, I chewed on my bottom lip to school a smile. Last thing I wanted to do was encourage Scott to do…whatever he was doing.
“Yes, really.” Scott’s outstretched hand shifted to Paul who stood next to Miller. “Scott Blackstone, Sydney’s husband.”
Miller’s hazel eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my husband. He wasn’t buying the husband-of-the-year act for a minute and looked like he was seconds from calling Scott out. I shot him a don’t even think about it glare. Every member of the board of directors was here and watching us closely. Meanwhile, Paul smiled, amused by Scott.
“Paul Smith, Miller’s husband.” Paul shook his hand.
“You guys mind if I steal my wife away?” It wasn’t a question. Scott intended to do whatever the hell he wanted (as he always did) and we all knew it. “We have something to discuss.”
“We have nothing to discuss.”
“Of course we do, Sunshine. Like…what the names of our five little Blackstones will be. I’m drawing the line at Thanos, so don’t get any ideas.”
Obligatory eye roll coming. And yet if I wasn’t still smarting from his mistreatment of me, I’d probably be hiding a conspiratorial smile. “You’re in luck then because there won’t be any little Blackstones––”
“Fine. Evans-Blackstones. You feminists and your labels.” He smiled, one of his pregnancy-inducing, dimpled ones, and I’m sorry to say that I succumbed like all the rest. I felt it between my legs and just about everywhere else, which then earned him a jab to the ribs. The grunt that came out of him was equally satisfying.
“Nice to meet you, Paul. Excuse us, guys,” Scott said as he began to tug me away.
“Only if you return her unharmed,” Miller shot back, all pretense of humor gone.
It sucked all the fun out of the last exchange. I watched Scott sober immediately, his face shifting to his customary default neutral. “Promise,” he replied, as serious as I’d ever heard him sound. Then he guided me away.
“Ladies and gentlemen––” Frank’s voice rose over the din of the crowd, the sound resonating against the marble walls, the shrill of an amplifier at the tail end of it. The announcement stopped us in our tracks.
Standing in the middle of the dance floor in a crisp tux, holding a mic in one hand and the opposite arm wrapped around Marjorie’s slender shoulders, Frank looked larger than life––like the magnate he was.
“Thank you all for coming to help celebrate something I never thought to witness in my lifetime…my impending retirement.” Chuckles from the gallery. “Oh, and some of you may have heard that my son’s a married man.” The band hit the punchline with a drum roll and Frank smiled broadly. “He married one of my favorite people in the world.” Gaze searching, the crowd parted and he found me. Our eyes locked. That’s when I understood what he was silently imploring…you promised. He raised his champagne flute and nodded.