Page 153 of Bona Fide

A body rushes past me and jumps right into his arms as he picks her up. Her legs wrap around him, possessive and knowingly, making my heart wretch at the sight playing out before me.

Her lips crash into his, and he openly accepts, hands adhering to her ass like an anchor. She clearly could’ve given two shits about me, and everything else, because he was all she saw. I can relate to that feeling wholeheartedly because he sucks up the room like a Hoover, and I'm the speck of lint on his T-shirt that just got thrown around by the bristles and dumped with the dust and dirt.

She slides down his body, arms still wrapped around his shoulders as she peers up at him—probably with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“I’m so beyond happy that you made it,” she beams softly. “Thank you. It means the world to me.”

"I'm happy I was able to," he replies, placing another kiss to her lips. When they break off, after what seems to be all four years of high school to me, the female turns around, sending me a "sorry" look with her eyes and a beautiful smile.

However, that’s not what has me gaping at her like I just legit ran into Kevin Creekman.

This bitch is me.

Dark, long hair that waves slightly, perfect bone structure, decent sized tits, and her toned legs covered in black jeans with a matching leather coat—This. Woman. Is. My. Doppelganger.

“I apologize.” She steps forward and extends a hand that I want to slap away. “I’m Indie.”

I peer over my shoulder at the painting I was admiring before. “This is your gallery event.”

“Yes, thank you so much for coming.”

I hate you, girl, don't thank me.

“You’re talented,” I practically growl before bringing her back into my view. “Everything is unique and perfectly done.”

She blushes slightly, which irks my nerves even more. She's modest, gorgeous, brilliant, and is on a level with Wade that I don't want her to be. That I have no right wishing for.

“Not everything in here is mine,” she retorts. “I brought in some local artists to help fill the space. I didn’t have enough pieces.”

“Regardless,” I gripe through a forced smile because I’m already done complimenting her. “You should be proud.”

She bows her chin into her chest. “I am. This is a dream come true.” She peers over her shoulder. “And I’ve had some support.”

I could almost slap her for being so damn sweet just to see if she can quickly get pissed off.

It's not her fault.

It's not.

She's fallen under the same spell I did over a year ago. Wade is gorgeous, accomplished, has the broody bit down, and he's every girl's fantasy.

I got out, keep it that way.

However, I wonder if she knows or read that he’s married. If he’s given her a disclaimer that if his wife finds out about her that she better not like any of her family or have a car that she minds getting blown up.

As if she can read my mind, a frown suddenly appears on her face before Wade steps to her side to push away whatever it is that she's worried about.

“This is Reagan Shelton,” Wade voices, gesturing at me with his hand while the other one disappears behind her back. “She was my event planner when I was governor. She knows the importance of privacy.”

I perk a brow. "Do I?" Wade chuckles, a little too pitchy because he just threatened me, but now I'm supposed to be quiet about sucking his dick last week?

‘Ole boy obviously needs a reminder.

“You do,” Wade insists, relaxed next to his new side piece. “When you know the lengths I’d go to make sure you remember.”

The corner of my lips quirk because I’m so fucking pissed I can’t do anything else but that. “I do remember. And all the things you left out in between.” I salute Indie with a finger along my forehead. “Have a great night, Indie. Congratulations on the opening.”

Without a second glance in Wade's direction, I begin making my way back to Enzo, who's still cornered by Wade's men. He's signing paperwork that one of the suits is holding up for him on a clipboard.

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