“People have affairs. Camilla isn’t a…thatword,” he spat. “She was stressed from the wedding. You could have made things a little easier for her.”
“I tried. She did not want my input,” I said brusquely. “Color me shocked when it turns out she just didn’t want me at all and would prefer to sleep around with half the wedding party.”
“You need to forgive and forget.”
“I do not. I didn’t make my money letting people walk all over me, especially some woman who is still, as we speak, living in my house, using my vehicles,” I told him.
“She’s moving out. She just doesn’t want to give up on you two as a couple.”
“Except that I already have,” I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. “As it is clear that you are not going to sell me that property, I’ll be on my way. I will have to make other arrangements.”
“Now hold on. I didn’t say that,” Sutherland said, gesturing me to sit down. “Why don’t you two go have a drink and dinner and clear the air?” He held up a hand against my protests. “You don’t have to get back together, but at least hear her side of the story. Then we’ll talk about the property.”
I would rather tear out my fingernails than go to dinner with Camilla. I did, however, want to go to dinner with Ivy.
“I’ll think about it,” I told Sutherland.
“Good man.” He stood up and patted my shoulder. “And call your father. He misses you. Family is important. Besides, you can’t blame that one on Camilla. She thought he was you! You take after him with your roguish good looks!” Sutherland laughed jovially, and I managed a grimace.
All I was thinking about as I rode down in the elevator was Ivy. As much as I loathed the wannabe billionaire girlfriends who threw themselves at me, Ivy was something else. To be fair, though, she did deal with the wealthy and powerful of Manhattan on a daily basis and had a front-row seat to all our drama. That would probably turn anyone off of obscene displays of wealth.
As I walked out of the Sutherland tower, I saw an advertisement for some of the luxury condos being sold by the Greyson Hotel Group.
I think I know how to impress Ivy… and get her alone.
19
Ivy
“That was some serious sexual tension with Evan—excuse me,Mr. Harrington,” Amy said when we met up for a business drink session to discuss our various brides.
“There isn’t anything going on between us,” I retorted, sipping my drink.
“Except you stayed at his house after everyone left.”
“To clean up after our bridezilla.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I couldn’t just leave the mess in his house.”
My friend leaned in and tapped her straw against her glass. “You like him.”
“I don’t! He’s insufferable,” I protested.
“Men like that give the best head.”
“Amy!” I shrieked then clapped a hand over my mouth. “He’s our client.”
“Yes, but a delinquent client.”
“Well, not anymore. He gave us a check,” I admitted.
Amy raised an eyebrow.
“But he’s still paying for Imogen’s wedding. It would be unprofessional to sleep with him. Not that I would ever want to,” I insisted, taking a sip of my cocktail and absolutely not thinking of sex with Evan.
“You so want to.”
