Page 95 of Dirty Boss

THIRTY-SIX

VAUGHN

Speaking with Leif—anddrinking down my glass of champagne—succeeded in settling a lot of my nerves. If things with Arlo fell through, I had other options.

Alba had been right: all I had to do was act like I belonged, like I had investment opportunities to choose from, and options would open up right in front of me.

Leif had excused himself a few minutes earlier, and I scanned the room for Alba. There was a growing murmur in the room, and a few people seemed to be moving toward the dining room, as if some innate sense told these people that dinner would soon be served. An innate sense that I didn’t have.

The hallway where Alba had disappeared showed me no hint of lavender, and the itchiness beneath my collar returned. She was taking a long time. Would I stand here until everyone had moved to the dining room, looking as out of place as I felt?

I closed my eyes and shook my head, regretting that last glass of champagne.Deep breaths. I heard Alba’s voice in my head, calming me, and wished she were beside me to steady me.

In one corner of my mind, I knew this was just some fancy event, and it was ridiculous to feel as deeply uncomfortable as I did.

But to me, it wasn’t just an event. It was everything my father had chased during his lifetime. Everything I’d rejected—or thought I rejected. I was vying for a spot at a table that I’d previously scorned. My early memories were peppered with instances of watching him dress in his tuxedo, my mother frantically clipping stray threads and hiding worn linings. My father would transform into a man I didn’t recognize.

Kind of like the man in the mirror, in his white tie and coattails.

And in the end, my father’s efforts had meant nothing. We still lived with the instability of near poverty. I still watched my mother pick up the pieces and make sure I had enough.

So, standing at the edge of the sumptuous ballroom, I didn’t just feel anxious about not fitting in. I felt guilty for even trying. I felt like a hypocrite, a liar. I felt like the core of my identity as a hard-working man who sacrificed for the people he loved was laughably false, because in the end I was as fake as my father had been, driven by the desire to fit into societies that wanted nothing to do with me. I was pathetic. A fraud. A cheap excuse of a man, standing here exposed on the fringes of a society that would never accept me.

For what?

A familiar refrain started up in my mind: I was here for my business. This was my one shot, the chance to make a good impression and bag an investor. An investor meant growth, and growth meant success. Success was the antithesis of everything my father had been.

As long as I was successful, I was not my father. As long as my business ventures worked out, I was better than him. I provided for my family instead of draining their resources.

That’swhat mattered. I could stand here and pretend to belong as long as it pushed me toward that ultimate goal.

That was the moment Alba’s ex walked up to me. Her other ex—the one we’d seen in the lobby of the French restaurant.

“So you caught her,” he said, his lips twisting in an ugly smile. “I should be giving you a round of applause. I tried to reel her in for months, and she didn’t give it up until it was too late.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you’re wasting your time, though. She’ll never end up with a guy like you.” He delivered the words casually, but in the sharpness of his eyes, I saw that he knew the blow had landed.

I licked my lips. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look.” He jerked his chin toward the restroom hallway. Alba was there now, her shoulders hiked up, tension visible across the room. An older couple stood in front of her. I could only see their backs, but judging by the look on Alba’s face—the upturned chin, the ice-queen expression—I guessed they were her parents.

When she brushed past them, they both turned, and I saw Alba’s features in the man’s. Her parents stared after her in shock.

“She won’t slum it with you for long.”

“I think you should leave,” I growled. Alba had disappeared behind a clump of people, so I speared the man with a glare.

“Don’t believe me? Look.”

Then his phone was in my face, and I had no choice but to read the messages on the screen.

James

Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we saw each other.

Miss you.