Page 12 of One More Kiss

“There are always canapés at these things, but nothing filling,” he said with regret as he helped me into the back of the town car.

I pouted as he joined me. “Can we stop at a drive-thru? I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“Probably because you haven’t. And then you were sick this morning, from what a little birdie told me. Someone mentioned that Nash carried you up to your room because you were so ill.”

“Who told you that? Winston?”

Sam shrugged. “Doesn’t matter who told me. Are you feeling better?”

“Sleep helped.”

He tilted his head as he assessed me. “You definitely have a new sparkle to you. Not nearly as wraithlike as you were over the weekend.”

I hummed an agreement. “Probably because I made a decision. This morning, I told Winston I’m leaving. I emailed the resignation letter before I left my room, effective immediately. At first, I thought I should work a notice, but when I woke up earlier, I realized something.”

My friend clasped my hand. “What’s that, bunny?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything. Except for myself.” I straightened my shoulders, lifting my chin higher. “I deserve better. No more scraps of affection. No more working myself to the bone because everyone else thinks I’m a slacker. Or undeserving. Or a diva.”

He kissed my cheek. “It’s about damn time.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

delilah

Light jazz music played in the background, softly mixing with the cadence of voices having private conversations in an openly public setting. This was where a hundred different deals took place, the kind where you had to know someone who knew someone who, in turn, introduced you to someone else. And with a handshake, and a glass of expensive whiskey or decadent champagne, they laughed and moved on to the next acquisition.

For the majority of the women in the room, they had a role to play. Be seen but not heard, decorate the arm of the man they were with. Show off the expensive things their husbands or sugar daddies could provide for them. No one wanted to do business with a person who couldn’t provide all the necessary sparkly baubles a woman deserved.

Gag.

Every person in the room thought I was just that, however. A pretty decoration on Sam’s arm, without a single original thought in my head other than wondering when I needed to get my nails done again. The men liked to look at me, and the women enjoyed gossiping behind my back. But not a single one of them, aside from Sam, knew I understood their business jargon.

Sam kept his hand at the small of my back, a glass of wine in his hand, as we stood in a group of five other men and three women. I leaned into my friend, holding my own glass, but only to keep up appearances. Every now and then, I would touch the rim to my lips and pretend to take a sip, but I’d had the same glass of champagne for the last hour. As opposed to the other women around me, who were on at least their fourth glasses in the time we’d all been standing there listening to some old man prattle on about his latest hobby—which he wanted financing for.

The other three women in our group were older than me, two of them wives, the other a fiancée. From the way she kept lifting her hand to show off the newly acquired diamond on her finger, she expected everyone in the room to be envious of the news. And for the most part, they were. The tight smiles and fake gushes of congratulations from the other women were nauseating.

She was discussing wedding plans with the other two women while the men had their work chat. I tried to tune them all out. The hobby that needed funding was boring, but the wedding details were even more so. This was Vegas. Thousands of people got married every day in creative and unique ways. Her vision for her big day required a few million dollars but was tacky and clichéd.

Weddings were not something I thought were all that special. Too many people didn’t respect what marriage stood for. Divorce was an easy out. But if someone was celebrating a milestone anniversary, then I would be genuinely congratulatory.

There wasn’t a couple in the room, perhaps the entire building, that had been married for more than a handful of years, however. And all of them were on at least their third spouse. From the forced smiles and scowls from the wives when they thought no one was looking, I was fairly sure Sam had drawn up many of their prenuptial agreements.

“There she is now,” the wife on my right murmured, causing the other two women to direct their eyes across the room. They stepped closer, lowering their voices to whispers, but as close as I was, I could still hear them. “Could she get more desperate?”

“We saw her at Halo last night. Alone,” the second wife murmured, taking another gulp of her champagne. “Until she wasn’t.”

“Was Phoenix there? We know how thirsty she is for him.” The first wife shushed the fiancée. “Am I lying? We all know she followed him home after making so many scenes in LA last year. Joseph was the consolation prize because Phoenix wouldn’t take her back.”

Curious, I discreetly followed their gazes to the newcomer, and I tensed. Nicole and my father were in a small group of men. Joseph was wearing a tux and his smile was smug, while Nicole hung off his arm, showcasing the diamonds he kept her dripping in, along with a good amount of cleavage the other men were practically salivating over. My stepmother was basking in the attention, her glow enough to light the room as she flashed her megawatt smile and nodded at whatever one of the men in the group said to her.

I shifted closer to the other three women. “I heard she was still with Nash Phoenix. Joseph doesn’t mind sharing. I guess she’s too good on her knees for either of them to care.”

Their gasps cut off the conversation the men were having, earning them frowns from everyone but Sam. He covered his laugh with a cough, telling me he must have heard what I said.

Not paying their men the least bit of attention, two of them grasped my arm and tugged me forward. They knew who I was, who Nicole was to me, but that hadn’t stopped them from gossiping about her in front of me. Possibly because they wanted to see how I would react. Or maybe because they wanted me to join their conversation. Most likely, a little of both.

Old Delilah would have ignored them, but new Delilah was emboldened and a teeny bit petty.

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