Page 100 of The Invitation

“Oh?” I ask, interested, moving in closer. “Two that may feature heavily in some of my recommendations?”

“Indeed. I’m just throwing it out there, and they are just whispers at the moment, but you know there’s no smoke without fire.”

“Do I need to be reserved?”

“It could propel things, depending on how the banks’ boards handle PR. Or it could sink.” Which means one of the banks is struggling. “Just keep your ear to the ground and be ready to make some changes.”

“Got it.” I nod, my increasingly fuzzy mind wondering if Gary’s shared this information with anyone else. Like my adversary. “I appreciate your ...” My words fade, my mouth dries, and I slowly rest back in my seat.Shit.Jude’s sitting at the end of the bar, his hand wrapped around a short glass, and he’s looking this way like he wants to kill someone.Fuck.His eyes pass over to Gary.Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I return my attention to my boss, who’s now chatting with some of the others. What the hell should I do? I can’t let Jude come over here. He doesn’t have a very good track record when it comes to dealing with me talking to other men. He could completely fuck up my entire night. And career.

“Excuse me,” I say, standing and collecting my clutch bag, breathing in deep and heading over to Jude before he can go all caveman on my boss. His fiery eyes follow me the entire way, and I don’t shy away, crying on the inside at the unholy perfection of him in some jeans and a black slim-fitted T-shirt, the material clinging to his toned torso and biceps. His thick hair is its usual beautiful mess. His face its usual gorgeous ruggedness.

I shake away my awe and get back to the matter at hand.Remember why you’re here, Amelia. Remember that he lied to you.I’ve had too muchto drink to take on Jude Harrison, but just you try to stop me. “You said you hardly ever come here,” I say, my voice strong.

“I don’t.”

“So who told you I’m here?”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“Like you sleeping with Katherine is irrelevant?” God damn me, I did not want to fire that bullet, but as I stand here looking at him, struggling for reason and strength while also fighting off the inevitable effect of Jude on my senses, I’m getting worked up. Angry. He should have fucking told me, and, actually, he owed me that. Ididdeserve that information, so I could have at least been prepared when she inevitably warned me off.

His jaw rolls as he lifts his drink and takes a casual sip. He’s having his own battle, clearly working hard to keep himself in place rather than spinning off the handle. He looks stressed past his stony facade, his pissy glare constantly moving to the group I’m with. Did he just come here to be all passive aggressive? Stand there and make me feel awkward and uncomfortable? Anxious of what he might do? The least he could do is fucking apologise to me.

“Fucking talk!” I snap, my blood beginning to boil. He remains silent, unresponsive. I want to bash into his chest with my fists. Scream at him for giving me the time of my life, making me believe in something that isn’t real, and then shitting all over it.

“What does it matter?” he asks, his face straight. “You’re not looking for anything serious anyway.”

I recoil, injured. But he’s right. I said that. And this, my reaction, is revealing. Feeling my control slipping, my anger rising, tears forming, I throw back my drink. “Fuck you, Jude.” I slam down my glass and escape before my emotions get the better of me, shoving my way into the ladies’, yelling my frustration, startling a poor, unexpecting woman who’s applying some blusher. “Sorry,” I murmur, throwing my purse on the sink and bracing my arms against it, my head hanging, my eyes low.

I think I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago.

Last night felt pretty fucking serious.

Flashbacks assault my woozy head, images of his face as he blew my mind in bed, our limbs entwined, his smoky eyes as he maintained eye contact throughout the most intimate and explosive experience I’ve ever had with a man.

A man I hate to admit I’m mad for.

Wasmad for. Now he’s just a good-looking guy who is guaranteed to play me. A man to be avoided.Dangerous.Just as I initially thought.

I’m so fucking stupid. Just seeing him, I’m trembling. Hot. My body’s reacting in ways I’m not comfortable with, even though I’m mad with him. I need to remember the aftermath, the turning of my stomach when Katherine messaged him. The panic that hit me when I considered what the uncomfortable sinking of my heart could be. The friendly visit she paid me at work.

The information she shared.

It could be easy, no strings, a bit of fun. No commitment, no distraction.

But that changes the moment feelings happen, and after just one night together—fucking hell, evenbeforeour night together—I felt those feelings creeping in.

My reaction to Katherine is prime proof. I can’t do this. I can’t risk free-falling into a mess.

I breathe in deep and exhale, looking at my reflection. I’m alone now.

Then . . . not.

Jude pushes his way into the ladies’ and lets the door close, standing with his back against it. Our eyes meet. The universe shifts. My whole world tilts.

Did I think he would come? Yes. Did I want him to?

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