“Yes, sir.” Flicking me another look, the man behind the bar reaches under it and produces a bottle. Spinning the top off, hepours a few fingers of Jameson over ice before sliding me the glass.
Dropping a couple bucks in the jar before taking my drink, I turn to find Declan Gilroy standing behind me in a tuxedo that looks like it was tailored to fit King Kong. While his younger brother isn’t small by any standard, Declan is taller than him by a solid four inches and outweighs him by at least fifty pounds. Taking a drink from his own glass he gives me a chin tip. “Hey, man,” he says like it’s been days and not years since we’ve seen each other.
“Hey.” Moving away from the bar, I’m not at all surprised when he follows me. Stopping, I scan the crowd. I spot Millie’s father right away. He’s standing by the exhibits chatting with Spencer Halston-Day while his wife ogles every painting before she furiously scribbles notes in her catalog. I remember Millie telling me once that her mother was a serious art collector and particularly obsessed with Cari Gilroy’s work. Uncomfortable because I know it’s only a matter of time before Preston Blackwell notices me, I decide the best thing to do is ignore him all together. “Where’s Con?” I ask, lifting my glass to take a drink. “He promised tostun mein his tux.”
“Jesus he’s so fucking annoying…” Declan makes a rough noise in the back of his throat that I think is supposed to be a laugh. “We booked a couple of suites upstairs for the night. Con and Tess are on bedtime duty,” he says, his tone making it obvious that putting his kids to bed is where he’d rather be. “We flipped for it.”
“I still can’t believe he’s a dad,” I say on a rough chuckle of my own. “Fuck—can’t believeyou’rea dad either.”
“You and me both,” Declan says while scanning the crowd of New England high society like they’re a bunch of rowdy Sox fans. “Rosie is a year and a half. Sophie and Conner just turned two and Istillcan’t believe it.” The awe I hear in his tone ishard to miss. A reminder that he and Tess very nearly didn’t happen. Were never really supposed to.
“Christ,” I groan. “You named your son after your egomaniac little brother?” Neither one of us are particularly interested in small talk but I know Declan. He approached me for a reason and he’s not going to tell me what that reason is until he’s good and ready to. “Way to feed the monster.”
“I don’t have to feed shit.” Laughing at my description of his little brother, Declan lifts his glass to take a drink. “Con’s ego is self-sustaining. The only person who’s ever been able to do it any sort of damage is Hen.”
Henley, Conner’s wife was another Gilroy near miss. Anotheralmost didn’t happen.I’m beginning to sense a pattern. “You come to a lot of these things?” Taking another sip, I watch the people in front of us float by, women in couture gowns and priceless jewelry. Men, who all look the same with their designer tuxedos and soft hands—all ready to spend obscene amounts of money on art they’ll probably hang in their bathrooms.
“Are you kidding?” He grumbles. “The only reason I’m here is because my last name is on the invitation. You?”
“More than my fair share,” I admit. “Usually working behind the bar but I’ve played arm candy a time or two.”
“For Paige Blackwell.” It’s not a question and the fair amount of distain I hear in his tone is enough to tell me his little brother has told him more than I’d like.
“Yeah.” I give him a nod, still watching the crowd. No… notwatching. I’m looking. Searching.
“She’s here, you know?”
“Who?” Still scanning the perimeter of the room, I catch a flash of strapless, dark green beaded silk and loose, tarnished gold hair.
Millie.
Backtracking, I spot her again. Standing in the corner, champagne flute in hand, a tall, annoyingly good-looking man standing next to her. The kind of man who belongs at these things. The kind of man who didn’t have to hunt up a tux, last minute and pray the charge went through when he swiped his credit card. He’s smiling at her. Has his hand pressed into the small of her back, like touching her is his right. Like putting his hands on her is the most natural thing in the world.
Staring at him, my vision narrows down to a dangerous pinpoint and I can suddenly feel my blood pounding against my eardrums. It’s a familiar feeling where Millie’s concerned. One I’ve felt every time I watched Allister put his arm around her. Every time he kissed her. Treated her like she belonged to him.
“Paige Blackwell.”
When Declan says her name, the sound of it tears my gaze away from Millie’s date, landing it on his face with a hard glare. “What?”
“She’s here,” Declan repeats himself, clearly irritated. “Henley almost had her tossed out on her ass but Con intervened—he loves a complication.”
Not understanding or maybe just not wanting to, I let my gaze rake over the crowd again, I spot Paige standing on the edge of a tight knot of socialites, laughing and talking like she’s right where she belongs.
Jesus Christ.
“The fuck is she doing here?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” Declan gives me a surly shrug. “How long were the two of you together?”
“We were never together,” I correct him, my tone sharp. Leaving Paige behind without a second thought, I find Millie in the crowd again. She’s looking up at the man who’s standing too close to her, smiling while they talk quietly.
“Oh, so youweren’tfucking her?” I don’t know many people who’d have the balls to say something like that to me but Declan Gilroy is one of them.
“How is Jessica, by the way?” I ask, practically snarling his ex-fiancée’s name at him.
Declan makes another rough sound in the back of his throat. This one with a lot less humor and a lot morefuck you.“Careful, Mercer.”
“Why? You don’t like being reminded that you’re no better than me?” I keep hammering at him while I watch Millie. She and her date are still talking. Whatever she’s saying, he doesn’t like it. “You fucked up. You fucked upbig time. The only difference between you and me is that you were forgiven.”
