“So do I, as a matter of fact,” Bryce replies, winking at me. “It’s been great meeting you.”
“You, too. Kick ass next season.”
“I will.”
There’s a beat. During which I feel like I’m going to pass out. Or barf. Or both. And then, both men say, “Georgina?” at the exact same time—a strange turn of events that would be comical, if it weren’t so damned mortifying.
Of course, it’s Reed, the man used to being king of the world on a whole other level than Bryce, who fills the awkward beat. Reed says, “Are you ready for our midnight date, my beautiful Cinderella?”
At Reed’s comment, Bryce’s face falls, full understanding crashing down on him—and I have to press my lips together to keep from giggling at his cartoonish expression. Not because I’m taking any pleasure in this awkward, embarrassing moment. But because it’s now clear Bryce assumed I’d been taking Reed’s drink order when he first walked up, not getting ready to head to Reed’s house to bone him. And seeing him figure things out is genuinely amusing to me. But, also, simultaneously, rather unpleasant.
“I need a minute,” I say to Reed. “Bryce? Can we chat for a second?”
Bryce looks like a deer in headlights. But he nods and follows me to a corner.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, before Bryce can speak. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. And I didn’t know Reed would be here, either. I had no intention of humiliating you.”
“You said you’d be getting off work at two thirty,” he says dumbly. “It’s only midnight.”
“I wasn’t lying,” I say. “Without my knowledge, Reed arranged with my boss to get me off a couple hours early.”
“What?”
I flinch at his sharp tone. If I felt like giggling at his reaction earlier, I don’t now, as his shock seems to be morphing into anger before my eyes.
“I met Reed earlier today,” I say, my heart pounding. “At that event I was running to when we bumped into each other. But that doesn’t matter. Even if I hadn’t met him, I was going to call you tomorrow to tell you I don’t think we’re compatible.”
“Not compatible?” Bryce says, like I’ve just said I think the world is flat. “But... we’ve got amazing chemistry. I told you—you’re stone-cold wife material.”
“But, see. That’s the thing. I’m not. I mean, I might be one day. But not now. I’m not looking for a relationship, Bryce. And it’s clear to me you are.”
He looks disgusted as it dawns on him:if she’s not looking for a relationship, then she must be headed off with Mr. Music Mogul for a meaningless night of fun... which therefore means she’s not even close to the wife-material kind of girl I thought she was.“But isn’t he, like...forty?” he blurts.
My jaw sets. “He’s thirty-four.”
“What the hell, Georgie? I know he’s rich and connected and all that, but?—”
“I don’t care about Reed’s money or connections. And screw you for implying that. We’ve got chemistry, plain and simple.” God, I hope I’m telling the truth about that. Is it possible I’m being blinded by Reed’s power and money and the fact that he has the ability to make Alessandra’s dreams come true? I don’tthinkthat stuff is what’s attracting me, and making me look past some kind of dickish comments, but I can’t deny Reed’s star power is part of his appeal. But only because he’s soconfident and sure of himself. I mean, if Reed weren’t “Reed Rivers,” but equally confident and commanding, I’m sure I’d still be willing to traipse off to his house tonight, for what’s almost assuredly going to be the best sex of my life. Wouldn’t I?
“Yeah, well, we have great chemistry, too,” Bryce says. “And I’m not forty fucking years old.”
“Okay, this is pointless. Like I said, I never intended to humiliate you. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time or embarrassed you. I’ve got to go now.”
“Withhim?” Bryce grabs my arm to keep me from leaving, his dark eyes on fire. “He’s not going to give a shit about you after tonight, Georgie.”
Before the “fuck you” in my throat escapes my mouth, Reed appears at my side, anger wafting off his muscled frame. “Release,” he says sharply, like he’s a dog trainer ordering the obedience of his pit bull. “Now.”
Instantly, Bryce obeys Reed, like a good doggie. But in one final show of defiance, he leans into my ear, right in front of Reed, and whispers, “I can do casual, if that’s what you want. I just didn’t think a girl like you would want that.”
I don’t acknowledge Bryce’s insulting comment. Or his implication that “wife material” girls can’t enjoy casual hook-ups, just like anyone else.
Reed’s dark eyes are hard and his jaw clenched. He puts out his arm to me. “Ready, Cinderella?” He levels Bryce with a glare that makes my spine tingle. “It’s time to go.”
Relieved, I take Reed’s arm. “I’m ready,Prince Charming.”
I meant that last thing as a joke, of course. And Reed’s smirk tells me he’s taking it that way. Clearly, this man is nobody’s Prince Charming. Least of all mine. Indeed, if there’s such a thing as Prince Charming for anyone but my mother, I can’t imagine he’d be a guy who brazenly cops to having no interest in doing anything but “seducing” women.
After I’ve linked my arm with Reed’s, he puts out his free hand to Bryce, daring him not to shake it—daring Bryce to snub him because he’s feeling territorial about a girl he barely knows—and thereby mess up his sister’s chances at possible musical stardom.
