It galled Evan to defend her, but she’d had every right to be pissed, and she’d shown more balls than all of them combined in saying so.
“We had the same tenure, and her book of business is impressive as hell. You know as well as I do why they passed her over.”
“Nonprofit, Evan.Nonprofit.”
Evan’s quick snort fogged his glass. “Yeah, yeah.”
Owen took a sip of his own drink, and gazed out the window with narrowed eyes. “Say what you will about her mortally wounded feminism, but I’m telling you, she had this planned long before this went down. You should’ve run.”
Evan cracked the knuckles of his free hand, curling the fingers into a fist at his side. “Really not appreciating the 20/20 hindsight, my friend.”
Had Lucy been acting a little strangely? Looking back, yes,she had, but the problem with blind ambition was the actual blindness part. Making partner by forty-five had been number one on his “Fuck You” list, so receiving the offer early had been one hell of a high. So good, he’d ignored the now obvious signs that things in his personal relationship were falling to shit.
He’d expected Lucy to be jealous, and he knew that it came with anger, but when you were on top of the world, you didn’t immediately notice the pool of piranhas at your feet. Sharing the spotlight didn’t bother him, because he still got to stand in it. Lucy preferred casting a long shadow, and he was the idiot for thinking her anger would blow over.
“You’ve always said she was smarter than you. Guess this proves it.”
Evan inhaled deeply and held it for a count of ten before answering.
“Have I ever told you how much I love the worddefenestrated?”
It didn’t matter that Owen was right. Heshouldhave run, fast and far, instead of pushing forward with his planned Christmas proposal like Lucy hadn’t moved her things into the guest room, and their conversations hadn’t become short, curt, and infrequent.
He’d told himself it would blow over, and she’d cemented the belief with a teary-eyed acceptance of the ring he’d put on her finger to the polite applause of her socialite friends.
A storybook grand gesture, fueled by an overweening, alpha-male ego that believes slapping your name on something fixes it.
Her words.
“She said yes,” he muttered, draining the glass and placing it none-too-gently onto the bar as he shed the tux piece by piece, en route to his everyday clothes still strewn across the bed. “Why the fuck did she say yes?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Or the half-million-dollar question, in this case, since that was what her father had shelled out for the occasion.
There was no question Lucy was capable of a villain-origin level of spite, but throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars just to make him look like an ass went above and beyond. Weeks of gaslighting, ending with him standing with his dick in his hand as hundreds of guests awaited some sort of announcement about the ceremony delay. It would be impressive if his reputation weren’t circling the drain.
The kicker was, she could have just told him she didn’t want to spend the rest of her days as Mrs. Evander Westin, old guard socialite cum nouveau, and he’d have walked away. Might have also suggested she get therapy, but he wouldn’t have stopped her from running off with some nameless artist from Somerville, if that was even the real story. It was a tidbit that tidily explained her newfound altruism, but one Owen and the partners would have to learn about on their own. His ego had suffered enough battering for one day.
Kicking off his perfectly buffed leather shoes, he stripped to his boxer briefs without a care for the tuxedo’s delicate tailoring and pulled his jeans on with a rough tug. His poker face was slipping, and he needed to get the fuck out of here before it completely fell apart.
Corey and Leo were the firm’s attack dogs, and he was their assassin. He kept his cool no matter the situation, and by the time opposing counsel figured out his angle, it was too late. He could bottle anything for however long he needed to, then take it out in the boxing ring during his and Owen’s weekly rounds.
Owen should count his lucky stars that they’d already gone a few the previous morning. Lucy was one of the few people who could stretch his restraint to a breaking point, and right about then, he could go for pummeling the crap out of something.
He hunched over, pressing his palms into the mattress, andtook controlled breaths until he stopped seeing red. By the time he’d finished dressing, he was back in control.
“Well, I’m sure you guys will have plenty of sick burns for me when I get back,” he drawled, exiting the bedroom with the bundled tux tossed over his shoulder. “You have a few weeks to perfect them.”
Owen paused with a newly filled glass pressed to his lips. “You’re not seriously thinking about still going on the trip?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s… a honeymoon?”
“Then I’ll bring my laptop, since I’m so happily married to my job.”
He pulled the glass out of Owen’s hand and drained it before handing it back. By that point, the announcement had almost certainly gone out to the attending guests, and though he hadn’t received confirmation of whether his family had bothered to show up, picturing the glee on his father’s face made his stomach turn. It was time for a hasty exit.
As if reading his mind, Owen chuckled and raised the empty glass. “Don’t worry about the crowd. We’ll take care of it. Here’s to you meeting some leggy blonde that you can bring to the charity banquet in December, because you know Lucy will be there to milk the donors.”
