Amara is making her way in, her eyes bright and wild, her red lips tipped in the smallest of frowns and the rest of her looking drop dead fucking gorgeous.
“You have to be fucking kidding me right now,” Jenica says.
“Who is that?” one of the Silverline reps asks.
“That would be Ransome’s secretary,” Jenica says.
“My assistant,” I correct her, unable to take my eyes off Amara.
“Jenica, dear, are you and that girl wearing the same dress?” the rep’s wife asks.
It would appear they are. Though it looks entirely different on Amara.
She stops in the middle of the room, her eyes finally finding mine, and the smallest hint of a smile plays at the corners of her lips.
But it fades immediately when Jenica turns towards me, linking her arms around my neck and pulling me into a kiss.
34
AMARA
I am thoroughly convinced there is only one thing that could possibly be worse than walking into a room full of millionaires all gathered for New York’s fanciest business dinner alone, specifically when you are in love with one of those men and he’s there with his wife.
Watching them kiss ices the cake.
I understand that they’re married. I understand that he didn’t want to marry her. But it doesn’t change the way I feel when I see her lips on his. Especially when the last time I spent time with him, he was finger-fucking me and refusing to let me come until I told himI’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.
I want to run. But I can’t do that. For one, I’d look ridiculous. It would be obvious that I am the other woman, though I think that’s pretty obvious, considering I’m standing here pregnant and she’s over there with her lips locked on his.
I make my way over to the bar, but not before Jenica’s dress sparkles under the chandelier, catching my eye.
We’re wearing the same fucking dress.
Of course we are. Except there’s one glaring difference—she’s in a size double zero and I’m in a size double wide. Because I’m a thousand months pregnant.
Okay, so I might be exaggerating a little bit. It’s only a size eight and it’s still a little loose, but that’s not the point. The point is I want to crawl under that bar instead of sitting at it. Especially considering the fact I can’t even have a drink right now.
Why the fuck did I even come?
“Buy you a drink?” a man asks. I turn to see a handsome blond in a navy blue suit smiling at me.
“Oh. I, uh…” I point at my belly, as if it isn’t obvious on its own.
“Right. Virgin, then?”
It takes me a second to realize he means the drink and not me. Obviously.
I also realize how this must look. He’s definitely with the other company and not Apex. If he was, it would be a death sentence to be talking to me. Though with the way Ransome is, it’s dangerous either way.
But when I look back at the main table, he’s not even paying attention. He’s engaged in a conversation with a man across the table who looks equally important. Meanwhile, Jenica is hanging all over him.
“You know what?” I say as I turn back to the man. “I’d love a drink. Something that tastes like margarita but without the stuff that makes it fun.”
The man laughs, another death sentence if someone across the room hears. “Looks to me like you’re plenty fun without it. Are you here alone?”
“It sure feels that way,” I say.
After a while, a couple other women join me, all wives of men whose conversations were boring their partners to tears. Rounds of drinks are ordered, including another margarita-minus-the-fun, compliments of Navy Suit Man who has lingered despite me turning my attention towards the women.
