Page 13 of Reckless Encounters

The Pierce family name comes with its perks, especially in New York City. She carries herself with the presence and grace of a Manhattan socialite, yet when she opens her mouth, I get nothing of the sort. Ava is an anomaly. Just when you think she is going to act or do one thing, she surprises you and does the complete opposite. Her ability to challenge me at every turn makes her even more intriguing.

“Alright, I think we’re about done here today. We’ve made great progress, and I can't wait to see the full samples next week,” Olivia says as she shuts her laptop. “I need to get back to the hotel and check in.”

“Oh, do you mind if I join you? I wanted to take some exterior photos so I can better plan for the awnings and railings,” Ava chimes in, packing up her materials.

“Of course!” Olivia replies.

“Care if I accompany you ladies? I have some time before I need to be on a call,” Logan asks, his voice filled with more charisma than usual. I can't help but roll my eyes.

His intentions are obvious, and I can’t say I blame him. But Logan has been working for me for a little over two years now, and his track record of running through women is longer than most men I know. If he were to do the same to Ava, it could jeopardize our working relationship and my project. Besides, there is no way he could truly give her what she needs.

Olivia must notice my annoyance because she adds, “Was there anything else you needed us for this afternoon?” She’s mistaking my displeasure for something she may have done.

“No, that will be all. Thank you for your work today,” I say curtly, then stand and walk out before I do something stupid like follow their trio to the job site.

Four

Fuck me.

Why did she have to wear something like that to a fundraiser? The sleek satin dress hangs perfectly off her slender frame, dipping just low enough that I get an impeccable tease of her chest. Her sky-high heels remind me of the pain they caused when they were digging into my back.

FUCK, stop thinking about her like that.

Ava’s boisterous laugh filters from the circle of people she’s been chatting with, and my hand tightens around my glass. She must be a real comedian since her surrounding group is all cracking up at whatever she has said. It’s a side of her I’m not well acquainted with and, for some reason, that pisses me off even more.

I remember that first night I met her here at Kings Hideaway, and how drawn I was to her. I also recall how quickly I dismissed her when I heard her last name. Just another entitled socialite, too spoiled to know the meaning of hard work, and too rich to care. I’ve dealt with my fair share of her kind before, and I had no intention of adding any more to my rich prick list. But the more I’m around her, I'm beginning to wonder if my assumptions were unfounded.

I need a distraction.

My gaze settles on a woman who’s been standing across the bar from me for most of the night. I nod and raise my glass in her direction. She responds with a shy smile and heads my way, tucking a piece of her auburn hair behind her ear. Shy, my ass, she’s been begging for my attention for the last two hours. I noticed her staring for a while now. At the time, I couldn’t focus on anyone else besides the brat, but now, after several rocks glasses full of amber, I welcome the distraction.

She sidles up next to me, and I’m immediately assaulted by her overbearing perfume. It's too sweet and sugary. “Hey there, I’m Molly,” she says, then bites her lip.

She’s beautiful, just not what I want at all, but the feel of familiar hazel eyes boring into the side of my face convinces me to play along.

“Parker Cole. Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand like the gentleman I was raised to be.

Placing her petite hand in mine, she shakes it softly. Her eyes travel to where we are joined, and she stares at my tattooed hand and forearm on display, thanks to my cuffed sleeve.

“Why don’t we find a place to sit,” she suggests with fluttering fake lashes.

I glance up and lock eyes with Ava for the first time tonight. Though her expression is neutral, the gleam in her eyes tells a different story.

“Sounds good.” I follow her to one of the booths across the floor of Kings Hideaway, and we situate ourselves in one of the more intimate seating areas.

“So what’s your connection to the charity?” Molly asks.

“I’m friends with Wesley, who Greg used to manage a few years back.”

“Damn, you and Wesley King… Could your circle of friends get any hotter?” she blurts unabashedly. Do I dare tell her my best friend is the heartthrob, star closing pitcher for the Carolina Bulls? Nah.

I smile politely, unsure of how to respond, before adding, “I'm here for moral support and to help out however I can,” trying to redirect the conversation away from my good-looking friends.

“That’s so thoughtful of you,” she purrs, her hand now resting on my arm. “I’m childhood friends with Greg’s wife, Claire.”

“Well, I hope nothing but good news for them over the next few months,” I say, then take a large gulp from my glass. I let my gaze roam over Molly as she inches closer. She’s an attractive woman, but she’s trying too hard. I can smell the desperation leaching from her mixing with the horrendous perfume she bathed herself in.

“Thank you… That is so sweet.”

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