Nothing but a single layer of silk, held together by a few strategically placed, entirely too thin straps, between me and the elements.
Losing my nerve as soon as I walk through the door at Davino’s, I veer immediately to the right, heading for the cocktail lounge instead of the main dining room. I’m already late, so what’s a few more minutes?
Twelve hours ago, just the thought of being late to anything would’ve given me a stroke. Now look at me—not only am I ten minutes behind schedule, I’m also dressed like I plan on hitting the clubs after dinner. Nevermind that I’ve never seen the inside of a nightclub in my entire life.
Drink.
I need a drink.
Approaching the bar, I note that it’s empty, save for the bartender and a single man, sitting at the bar in a nicely tailored suit hunched over his drink. Sliding onto a stool, careful to keep my gaze straight ahead, I set my beaded, black clutch on the empty seat between the two of us. The way I’m dressed, he’ll take one look at me and think I’m for hire.
Ignoring him, I discreetly check my watch. I’m creeping up on fifteen minutes late and fighting a case of the hives while the man sitting next to me takes notice that he has company and blatantly stares at my legs. Giving my hemline a discrete tug, I pretend not to notice.
When the bartender sees me, he walks the length of the bar, in my direction. Setting a cocktail napkin in front of me, he gives me a flirty smile. “What can I get you, Doll face?”
Doll face?
“She’ll take a glass of the most expensive white you have,” the man says, still staring at me. “She’s picky. Make sure it’s chilled.”
I know that voice.
Better yet—I know thattone.
Breath caught in my throat, I turn to find Dean Mercer looking at me, that asshole smirk of his, tugging at the corner of his perfectly shaped mouth. Insolence sparking in the impossible blue of his eyes. “Hey, Milton—how’s it hangin’?”
That’s it.
I’mabsolutelygoing to have a stroke.
Tearing my gaze away from his, I focus on the bartender. “Don’t listen to him—as usual, he has no idea what he’s talking about. I’ll have a martini. Extra dry—two olives.”
“Anything you say, Doll face,” the bartender says, shooting Dean a smirk of his own before he starts making my drink.
As soon as he’s occupied, I turn on my stool to look at the man sitting next to me, gaze narrowed into a glare. “What areyoudoing here?”
Something darker than insolence flashes behind Dean’s gaze, there and gone before I can catch it, replaced by a lackadaisical amusement that I remember. “Nice to see you too, Princess.” When all I do is keep glaring at him, Dean gives me a quiet laugh while lifting a bottled domestic to his mouth. Taking a long pull, he sets it down before giving me an eye roll. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve been conscripted into service.”
Which means he’s Paige’s date.
Not only is she screwing my fiancé, Paige also had the audacity to invite this egotistical manchild to my rehearsal dinner.
“I thought Paige was bringing Curt.”Curtis Curtis Horne, my brother-in-law’s older brother. He’s who she drags to family functions when she doesn’t want to listen to lectures on propriety and decorum from her mother on the limo ride home.
“Is that his name?” Dean gives me another laugh, this one coupled with a shrug. “All I know is she texted me an hour agoand told me her date cancelled. Asked me to meet her here in a suit and I was bored and hungry enough to say yes.”
Grasping at straws, I shake my head. “Last I heard, the two of you broke up.” From the corner of my eye, I watch while the bartender sets my martini on the napkin in front of me before making himself scarce.
“It never seems to stick with us,” Dean tells me, that asshole smirk of his—the one that haunts my nightmares—tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Besides, she promised me a bathroom blowjob if I showed.”
Down the bar, the bartender chokes on what sounds like a laugh.
I can’t.
Icannotsit through the next three hours. Not when it means having to deal with Paige, Allister, andthisinsufferable asshole.
And suddenly, it becomes obvious that was her plan. Curt didn’t back out on her.Paigecancelled onhim—I’d bet my life on it—so she could bring Dean instead because she knows that having to sit through a dinner, one I’ve been planning, down to the last detail, formonths, while having to stare at his irritatingly smug face would drive me crazy.
“Of course she did.” Turning away from him, I reach for my martini. Swirling the skewered olives through the shallow pool of almost straight vodka, I pull them from the glass before tapping them on the rim. Placing them on the napkin, I lift the glass to my mouth, swallowing its icy cold vodka in a few hard gulps. Setting it down, I fight the sudden tip and sway of the stool I’m sitting on—a reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since Alice shoved half a bagel in my hand over twelve hours ago on my way past her desk this morning.
