Page 2 of One Wealthy Wedding

I nod again, but I make no move to stand. I need to stand, because Daryl can’t handle the bar for more than a few minutes on his own.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly. Blair and I might put on brave faces most of the time, but she knows when I’m struggling, just like I know when she needs a shoulder to cry on.

“This is my life, B. Mine,” I say fiercely. “This is the one place that belongs to just me, even if it is crappy and smells like old Amstel Light. And now he’s here and he’s so successful, and I have nothing.” My voice breaks on the last words. “He was my friend. For years. My only friend until you came along. And he left me. He kissed me, found me lacking, and never looked back. We were young, and I don’t blame him, but running into him when he’s so rich and powerful, and I’m like this? I can’t handle it.” I let my lids drop shut. I can’t bear the sympathy in Blair’s eyes right now.

“Do you need me to get you out? The back alley is pretty fucking gross, but it connects to 34th Street. I have the key to the gate in my purse.”

I love my friend for this. No questions, just solutions. Just like when I called her six months ago, panicking and asking for money for a train fare from Connecticut to New York City.

I draw in a shaky breath. “I can do this.”

“You can do this.” She nods. “You’re Catherine fucking Peterson. You escaped from your family. You got yourself into NYU Stern. You recently learned how to open a checking account. Don’t let him make you feel small.”

I laugh. “Thank you. You’re right. This is my bar. Not his.”

I rise off the floor, and when my gaze lifts, I’m staring right into Theo’s bright green eyes. “Hi, Theo. What can I get you?”

2

Cat

“What are you doing here?” Theo’s brows tug together. “Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Am I being pranked?” Even in his confusion, he’s still handsome. His face is all angles and planes—strong jaw, high cheekbones, finely arched brows over light green eyes. I forgot about the eyes. Foolish of me. A brokenhearted pop star wrote a song about his eyes.

“I work here,” I say calmly. Great job, Cat. I’m keeping it together. My hands only shake slightly when I grab the vodka bottle next to me.

“You work here?” The derision is heavy in his voice.

“Would you like to order?” Do not yell at paying customers. Don’t do it. You need this job. Sylvia will fire your ass so fast you won’t even have time to ask for your final check.

Theo’s dressed in all black. He looks just like he does in the tabloids—a bigger version of the boy I knew, right down to the broad set of his shoulders and his insufferable way of standing. Relaxed and elegant without even trying. His sandy hair is slightly too long to be professional. He’s annoyingly hot. As beautiful as he was when I realized boys were interesting at age fifteen and he was the guy I imagined kissing. Fucking Theo, with his perfect face and his perfect body. He’s on top of the world these days, and, of course, I’m meeting him again right as I’m about to be crushed like a bug.

“Why are you—” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Hey, babe, let’s order.” A manicured hand lands on his shoulder. I freeze. My stomach churns uncomfortably. Babe. Babe. I stare at the hand. Red nails in Essie shade Rock the Runway, professionally done. A delicate bracelet. I used to have the same one. It costs $1800 in gold, but hers is rose gold, which makes it more like $2000. The bracelet and the slim wrist that houses it connect to a stunning woman with box braids and a friendly smile.

“Yeah, babe. What do you want?” I cross my arms and give him a cool stare. At least I hope it’s cool. Theo makes me feel itchy and hot.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “Twelve cosmos,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, definitely twelve. You can bring them over when you’re done. We’ll be at that table.”

He strides away, loose and confident. I stare at his perfect hair, his perfect ass, those long legs and broad shoulders, and I want to scream.

“What just happened?” Blair asks from next to me.

“I think he’s on a date. As I suspected.”

We watch him sit down at the table with two square-jawed guys in suits, a blond woman, and his date.

“She’s pretty.” Blair’s voice is unamused.

“I know,” I say. “They’re always pretty. It’s fine.” His date leans close to him, whispers in his ear. Her hand rests on his shoulder.

I watch the blond woman laugh at something Theo says. The guys are grinning too. Theo’s face is creased with a real smile. This is the Theo everyone else sees, and suddenly, he’s unbearably magnetic. Women are sneaking glances from across the bar, and I can’t blame them. He’s a walking wet dream. Six feet and three inches of bedroom eyes, tousled hair, and an easy smile for everyone but me.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Blair says.

“I don’t know how to make a cosmo,” I respond. “He ordered twelve.”

“Prick,” she mutters, before shouting at Daryl to pour beers while she helps me. “Two ounces of vodka, then equal parts Cointreau, cranberry, and lime. Use the Tito’s. You don’t need anything fancier. Certainly not for him.”

---