Page 42 of One Billion Reasons

“No. I’ll see you in a bit.” I pull away and weave through the room, my heart thundering. Why is it always like this with him? Miles makes me crazy, like a volatile teenager instead of a thirty-year-old woman.

I reach the bar and suck in deep breaths while I wait. I need a drink, and fast. And not champagne, which will make me silly and lightheaded. And then I need some real food.

I snag a glass of wine and head for the food table. Miles is across the room, talking to another stunning woman in a blue suit. Good riddance. I load up on cheese and olives and crackers and grab a high-top table all to myself. Right as I’m digging in, I hear, “Can I join you?”

I swallow the hard lump of cracker and cough slightly before turning to a tall man with shiny black hair falling over his brow, framing his warm brown eyes.

“Harold Landon.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake and introduce myself.

“And sorry for making you almost die. I usually don’t have that effect on women.” He smiles faintly, and wow. His teeth are really white, and he’s really handsome.

“Oh, yeah? What effect do you normally have?” The flirty words pop out before I can think. Stupid, Lane. If Miles finds out you’re undermining your story, you’re in big trouble.

“Well, I like to think it’s a my heart beats faster when he walks into the room feeling, but I think it’s more of a Harold’s late again, and why did he spill on his shirt feeling.”

I laugh. “So you don’t take yourself too seriously. I see. I don’t either.”

“Sounds like you’re my kind of girl.” He winks, and I wait to feel something, but I don’t. So I settle for a small smile and a sip of my wine. “What do you do, Lane Overton? You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who works in finance or something.”

There it is. These people can spot an outsider a mile away. “How did you know?”

“Well for one, I don’t either. And like recognizes like.” He cocks his head, and that shiny hair spills over his brow, making him look like a broody heartthrob. “And you seem more interesting than that.”

Oh. He means it as a compliment. “I’m a photographer. I do a lot of weddings, but I also do fine art photography.” Time to own it.

“That’s great. I’d love to see your work. Do you have an Instagram?” He says it casually, but my stomach clenches. This is one step from asking for my number. If I give it to him, am I going back on my word with Miles? I think back to his cutting words earlier. Whatever. This is business. He should be glad I’m taking steps forward.

I give Harold my Instagram handle, and he pockets his phone.

“So I saw you’re here with Miles Becker.” He winces sympathetically. “It’s a little awkward being at his ex’s wedding, isn’t it?” His eyes are warm and concerned.

“Yeah. I guess it is. They didn’t seem serious, though. I mean, at least from what I can tell.”

“I don’t think they were.” He gives me a questioning look. “Are you and Miles serious?”

“Very serious,” Miles says from behind me. He pulls me back against him and rests his chin on my head. His heartbeat thumps against my back. His warm heat envelops me. I shiver and tense to step away.

Harold takes a step back. “I see. Well, have a nice evening. It was lovely to meet you, Lane. I’ll be sure to check out your work.”

Miles stays stock-still while my heart races.

“What the hell was that?”

20

Lane

I spin in his arms. “Are you mad at me?”

“You’re putting everything at risk.” His jaw clenches, and those grey eyes are bright with anger. He’s way too close. I can see the little lines fanning out from the edges of his eyes. The scent of man and expensive cologne fills my nose.

“No. You are. Look around you. Everyone can see us.” He scans the room, and his eyes widen. People are taking peeks, eager to see the great Miles Becker brought low at his ex’s wedding.

“Come with me.” He loops an arm around my waist and drags me down the hall. We pass gilded mirrors and flower arrangements until he pushes open a wooden door into a dark room. It smells like old books. Picture windows face the ocean. He spins me so I’m facing him. His eyes are wide and wild, and his breaths are coming fast.

“Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying the destroy my chance at buying the property? We only just saved that conversation with Catherine from disaster. Don’t give her any reason to question me.”

Frustration bubbles up. “He wanted to look at my work. He was being friendly.”

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