This again. “I’m happy. What do I lack for? Nothing. I have an incredible life. Just look at our kid.”
“She isliterallythe best child in the world, but you need to have fun and cut loose once in a while. You’re so...” She shakes her head. “Controlled, Tate.”
That’s because when I get out of control, bad things happen. I drink. I drink way too much.
“Thank you for your concern, but I promise I have a very full, happy life.” I look at my watch. “I should get going. Bea,” I call upstairs, “I’m leaving.”
Bea runs back downstairs and gives me a big hug while I kiss the top of her head.
“Love you to the stars and back,” I tell her. “Have fun.”
“Love you to the stars and back,” she says.
“Have fun with Jordan,” Holly sings with a smile in her voice.
CHAPTER 28
JORDAN
As the carpulls up to the event, my stomach knots.
There are a lot of people here. Alot.Is that a red carpet? Tate never mentioned that.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, from the hair and makeup team Tate sent to my guesthouse this afternoon.
I smooth my palms over my dress, the wine-red one. The stylist included six gowns, all floor length and in various jewel tones to flatter my cool, peachy-pink skin, but this one called to me.
It’s fitted in the bodice and hips, drapes off the shoulder, and dips low in my minimal cleavage. Deeply sexy. The bangs the hair stylist insisted on giving me tonight? They look incredible. Curtain bangs, he called them. My dark hair has a slight wave, so they look undone yet deliberate, kind of seventies and cool with my long hair around my shoulders. My makeup is subtle except for a black liquid liner, a little flick at the corners of my eyes, and my skin glows.
I do look good. The winged liner and false lashes make me look like one of those old Hollywood stars. I’m torn between feeling self-conscious in this elegant costume I’m wearing and supremely attractive.
My hand goes to the base of my neck, where I’m wearing myblack velvet choker. Just something to make me feel like me. An anchor.
The car pulls up to the event, someone opens the door, helping me out, and I come face to face with?—
“Jesus Christ.” Tate blinks at me, stunned and frowning, and my stomach drops through the floor.
Tate Ward, wearing the hell out of a tux. Dark hair styled neatly, his clean scent making it hard to think. Tall, so tall, and broad, with a thin layer of stubble across his jaw like he’s a model in a cologne ad.
Tate Ward is so disgustingly handsome that sometimes, I forget I don’t like him.
Currently looking at me with a weird expression, like I’m roadkill.
His eyes move from my hemline a couple inches above my ankles, up the slim fit of the dress over my hips, to the structured bodice and off-the-shoulder neckline.
He sighs, still looking at the dress with a mix of resignation and worry. “That’s what you’re wearing tonight,” he says, like he’s disappointed, his hand on the back of his neck.
And I actually thought I looked good.
I suddenly become too aware of my exposed decolletage. He probably dates women with elegance and class, women who never say the wrong thing and are impeccably dressed without professional help. Women who have thousands of friends and can walk into any room and make a thousand more.
Not that I care who Tate Ward dates, nor do I care what he thinks of me.
“Yep. This is what I’m wearing.” There’s an edge to my tone as I scramble to regain my confidence.
“You look very...” His gaze lingers on my choker.
I wait a beat. “Yes? What?”
