I don’t give him the opportunity to finish; he has already rubbed me the wrong way, and I don’t trust myself to deal with him fairly.
The email, when it reaches me, offers no explanation. It’s a generic resignation notice, one that she would send to any boss she no longer wanted to work for.
Did it mean anything to her? DidImean anything to her? What does it even say about me that I’ve never second-guessed a one-night stand before?
I call her cell number from my office. If she didn’t want any contact, she’d have omitted her number from the bottom of the email, wouldn’t she? Perhaps this was her last attempt to poke the bear-boss and see what happens.
My pulse is racing. My shirt collar feels too tight. And the world tilts slightly when the call goes through to voicemail. I end it without leaving a message and instantly regret it.
I try a second time. It doesn’t even ring, and the voicemail option has been canceled.
Third time, when the number is unobtainable, I understand that she doesn’t want to speak to me.
I fill a tumbler with brandy and knock it back.
Great job, Bash. You totally fucking blew it because you didn’t think she’d live up to the fantasy, and now you might never know.
I’m past happy-drunk by the time I join my brothers and their wives at a gala charity event in the Wraith. Cash and I have dates. For appearances’ sake. Wealthy eligible bachelors wear a sign on their foreheads that the media have a fucking ball with,and it still blows my mind that our mafia status seems to add to the appeal.
My date is stunning. A curtain of pale blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a natural smile that could never be manufactured. Her dress has been poured over her curves, and her breast rubs my arm as we enter the ballroom.
In any other circumstances, I’d make her feel special. Sure, she’s getting the kind of attention from journalists and the other guests that will keep her current and open doors, and perhaps that’s enough for her, but this whole fucking scenario sticks in my throat. She’s a human being. She deserves better than clinging to my arm and pretending that we’re attracted to one another.
I don’t even remember her name for fuck’s sake.
“Look…” I extricate my arm from hers.
“Ruby.”
“Ruby.” I’m a shit person, but I can at least try to do better. “I appreciate you being here tonight, but please don’t feel that you have to be by my side all evening.”
The smile doesn’t falter. She’s a great actress; I’ll give her that.
“Oh, believe me, I don’t.” She leans closer and whispers in my ear. “You’re not my type either. I’m a lesbian.”
She wanders off, and I watch her take a glass of champagne from a passing server and raise it to toast me.
“Did you breathe on her or was it something you said?” Cash appears beside me, smiling widely.
“Not now, Cash.”
I peer around at the guests in their evening gowns and crisp suits. They all have well-practiced smiles, a distraction while they note who else made the guest list, and who is most likely to claim the best-dressed prize.
Most—not all— attend events like this, not because the charity is close to their heart but because it gets them recognized as a philanthropist. It’s simply the way it is. Money doesn’t always talk the same language as compassion. It’s something that I’ve learned to accept and ignore, even though it scratches on my nerves all the goddamned time, but tonight, it seems, my cup of patience has run dry, and Cash is going to bear the brunt of my foul temper.
“Am I supposed to know what’s wrong, or are you going to share the burden before you slaughter your other hand?” He smiles at his date across the room. She’s gorgeous too, with a mane of jet-black curls and olive skin.
My brother wears charm the way other people wear cologne. But it’s a front, a façade beneath which a sensitive soul rarely gets to make an appearance.
“The fact that you even need to ask the question, is your answer right there.”
“Okay,” he says. “How about I give it a shot?”
I love my twin brother more than life itself, but he never knows when to tone it down. He rolls out of bed in the morning, reaches sixty miles an hour before his first coffee, and keeps accelerating until he runs out of road.
“You’re worried that you didn’t recognize a mole when she was right in front of you. You don’t like that your dick overruled yourhead, and now you think that she’s going to make a fool out of us.”
I turn sharply to face him. “Us?”
