“Brooks.”
“Well, Miss Amelia Brooks, it’s apleasureto meet you.” The bartender places her drink down beside her with a little more force than necessary. He tops off my champagne and steps back.
“And you are?” I ask, and her eyes flash.
“The fact that you don’t know who I am is really the most telling thing about you. I’m Megan Trebeck, and I know Lucas better than anyone.”
“Oh yes, you left him for his cousin, right?” I reply blithely, leaning my forearm lightly against the bar.
There’s a soft huff of laughter from the bartender, and he quickly turns away from us, rearranging some bottles on the shelf as Megan’s eyes narrow.
“Sinclair Kellerman. Do you know whoheis?”
“Yes,” I lie. “He’s Mr. Crawford’s cousin.”
Megan gives a little trilling laugh. “What a sweet little bimbo he’s caught for himself. Sinclair’s the wealthiest man in New York, and I’m his fiancée.” She holds up her ridiculously large engagement ring for my inspection while her eyes linger on my neck, dropping down to my shoes and back up again. “Killer dress by the way. It’s a shame you make it look second-hand.”
I stare at her, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass as my mouth falls open. I can hold my own in most situations, but I’m totally unprepared here.
“My goodness,” comes a silken voice from behind me, and my heart swells as Ambrose saunters up to us, standing close to me, his eyes fixed on Megan. “My English must be failing me,Megan. I thought I heard you say this lady looks second-hand, instead of better than every other woman in the room?”
My eyes ping pong between them. Megan’s claw-like nails slide over her neck as she scratches at her skin, her eyes narrowing at Ambrose, body language suddenly awkward and stiff.
She laughs, the sound bursting out of her as if forced between gritted teeth.
“Oh, I see,” she says, her eyes meeting mine as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Same arrangement, different girl, is that it? He does tend to get bored easily.”
I remain silent, ice rushing through my veins as I realize her meaning.
Ambrose used to watch Lucas and Megan fuck.
It seems so obvious now that she’s standing in front of me. I think back to that night as a weight drops into my stomach. Now that I focus on the details, it felt as if they were going through the motions.
They’d done it before. Maybe many times. Why did I ever think I was special?
I feel faintly sick.
“I’m surprised you’d lower yourself, Ambrose,” she continues coldly. “You were always so particular in your tastes.”
Ambrose’s expression doesn’t change, but he moves half an inch closer to me.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, darling. If by ‘taste’ you mean that I judge a person’s worth by their actions, their generosity, and their kindness, then you have me pegged. Where isSinclair, by the way? I haven’t seen him in such a long time.”
“Oh, he’s off making his millions,” Megan retorts.
“Well, I shall be sure to look out for him,” Ambrose says evenly. “Lovely to see you, as ever, Megan. We really mustn’t leave it so long next time—fifty years or so should be sufficient.”
She doesn’t even dignify that with a response, muttering under her breath and spinning around, clicking away over the highly polished floor and back to a group of men who all greet her with charming smiles.
As soon as she’s gone, Ambrose comes to stand in front of me, leaning one elbow on the bar, his irritated expression fading into a genuine smile.
“You look quite breathtaking,” he murmurs as the bartender hands him a drink without Ambrose even having to order it. Ambrose winks at him, and the bartender winks back.
“I am sorry,” Ambrose says as I stand there trying to process what just happened. “I should not have interfered, perhaps, but I won’t stand by and watch her insult you.”
I glance around the room, my insecurities bubbling up.
“She has a point. I’m not like these women.”
