Well, in this regard, she knows more than I do about my ex-fiancé. I shift the conversation away from me. From him. “Do you go to many of these?”
“Every single one,” she says frankly, eyes flitting to the doorway and the room behind. “It can get so staid. It’s nice to meet fresh blood.”
Is that how she sees me? My eyebrows don’t go up, but it’s an effort. I give a light chuckle instead. “How often do they happen?”
“Every quarter.” Her gaze returns to me, eyes penetrating. “You don’t know much, do you?”
I choose to take that as a reference to the current situation, and not as a personal insult. “I’ll catch up quickly.”
“Well, perhaps I can fill you in.” Her arm loops through mine, and she walks us to the doorway, themusic growing louder, her voice dropping low. “Here, you have the crème de la crème of the Company. Powerful, wealthy men that would sell their mothers if it reflected well on the balance sheet. Then you have their spouses. That’s where the real fun lies. Some of them are browbeaten, timid things. They’re easy to pick out. Others are here just because of the money their husbands bring. Also very easy—and very shallow. The ones that arefun”—she draws the word out, giving it a kick—“are the dangerous ones. The ones that will do anything to help their husbands. And I mean anything.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, letting my playful tone infer what she wants to hear.
She lays her hand on her chest as if flattered. “Why, me? Oh, I’mtotallyhere for the money, dear.”
Making that absolutely not the case.
But I’m not here to make chit-chat. I have someone to find. “Is there anyone in particular you think I should—” My voice stops abruptly as my eyes find the broad shoulders and straight back of a man I know only too well, even if I can’t see his face.
He’s on the dance floor with a woman in his arms. They’re both moving with more grace than anyone around them, drawing not only my eye but those nearby. Other dancers give them space. Even those on the stairs are watching.
And I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
They look like they’ve been dancing together for years, and perhaps they have. They flow with the music, crossing the marble like they’re skating.
She clings to my ex-fiancé, not through the hand on his shoulder, but with her hips, glued to his. This is more than dancing; it’s sex, standing up. No one who saw them could doubt they’re sleeping together. Not with how close they’re pressed, the way his hand cups her back—her bare back, as is obvious when he turns her. There’s no way she’s wearing anything under the dress.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’s beautiful. Late-twenties, olive skin, a spill of lustrous, dark hair. Her makeup’s immaculate. Her dress is liquid black satin, molded to curves I don’t have, slit high enough to make dancing possible, and to ensure everyone notices when she does.
My face heats with shame and humiliation, for the worst of it all is the sheer sensuality she exudes. She owns it, shelivesit. It’s obvious with the way every man watches her. It’s something I could never aspire to. No wonder she’s in Alex’s arms, and I am not.
Now I know why there was no invitation, no name on the list. Why I haven’t seen him for the last week.
A week? Hell, the woman in his arms is the reason he’s been absent from my life since—what, two weeks after he proposed? Seven months ago? That’s when he began to fade from my life. That’s when… whateverthisis… must’ve started.
I stare at her, yet so many of the women are watchinghim, for Alex is in his element. Perfectly controlled, effortlessly competent, infinitely graceful. Immaculate in a tuxedo that’s at its best against his dark hair and warm skin, tailored to show hisphysique. And there’s a lot to show.
“Rita Lucero,” Maria provides. “An extremely competent Chief of Staff, by all accounts.” She glances sideways at me. “But of course, you must know that already.”
“Yes,” I reply dully, aware that Maria’s goading me. SheknewRita was here, in Alex’s arms, as his date. Just like sheknowsI couldn’t have picked her out of the crowd if she hadn’t been draped all over him.
The music comes to a stop, the dancers striking poses, a polite round of applause passing through the crowd.
“They have such a successful working relationship,” Maria continues her commentary, while on the dance floor Rita’s eyes find mine over Alex’s shoulder, his back to me again. I see the moment she recognizes me, even though we’ve never met. The moment she calculates, very deliberately. Then her hand comes up, cupping Alex’s cheek, drawing his head down. She rises to meet him, her other arm sliding around his neck, and in front of everyone, she kisses him.
And he kisses her back.
“…Acloseworking relationship,” Maria amends, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
But I’ve turned away, heading for the door. Unable to watch any longer, or to hear Maria’s pointed comments, enjoying my naivete, my humiliation. Myfresh blood. Like she’s a vampire, or a leech.
Screw Lucy’s case. Screw Alex’s twenty grand. It’s not fuckingworthit.
I’ll give up the business. Get a job again. Pay him back if it takes me six months. With interest.
So long as I never have to see him.
“Vicky, wait.” Maria’s voice follows me, cutting through the quieter entrance hall. She’s only a few paces behind me.
