Page 89 of Tender Offer
“Of course not.” Her expression is a mask of stone. “We’re professionals. We have a business to run. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”
“My relationship is for me to worry about. Understood?” I’ve never meddled in who KD was or wasn’t fucking. I didn’t care one way or the other and assumed the feeling was mutual.
She nods. “Understood. We still have a lot to cover.” Gold bracelets chime with a flick of her hand. “Why don’t we order in and give it two more hours?”
“Thirty minutes. I need to make a call.” I’ll take Madison out tomorrow and try to fix the strain taking root in us.
I’m halfway to the door when KD calls my name.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful,” she says. “Some women don’t appreciate feeling strung along.
Chapter 44
Madison
Liquid courage does wonders when you have nothing to lose.
Emma cuts her eyes at me for the fourth time tonight. The warning in her grimace deepens when I grab my clutch and my French 75 and move to sit next to her. We were only three seats apart, but it was close enough for the ire in her moss-green sneer to burn my exposed shoulder. It stings, but if I only get one chance to address the elephant tap-dancing in the room, I’m taking it.
My “Hi” mimics the Joker when he was pretending to be a nurse after blowing up Harvey Dent’s fiancée. How no one knew it was him inThe Dark Knight, with that hideous wig and face full of white makeup, is as ridiculous as I look now. I glance at Emma, whose brows are about to touch her top lip, and slide onto the barstool beside her. My bodycon dress hugs my knees, and it takes a second to get the memo that we’re sitting before I can breathe.
I want to compliment her strapless floral number, but I can’t gauge if her scowl will come with a drink in my face or a slap. Notthat I’d blame her. I’d hate myself too if I were the monster she thinks I am.
“Are you going to eye-fuck the side of my face all night, or do you have something intelligent to say?”
Okay then.
My nails drum over the champagne flute I’m looking into like a crystal ball. Worst-case scenario, Emma causes a scene that lands me in the hospital and both of us on the news. Or maybe she ignores me. She owes me nothing after the way I’ve treated Justice.
I drain my glass. Liquid courage. “Can we please talk?”
Emma is so silent I peek to see if she heard me.
It’s confirmed with a glare she tosses back with her martini. “Let me save you the trouble: ‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake.’”
My snort at her nasal taunt catches us both off guard. I don’t mean to laugh—it’s a dig at my expense—but hours of cocktails and loneliness will make you a glutton for punishment.
At the after-party for the photo shoot I styled, Emma was a cameo I didn’t expect. A handful of crew and models stayed behind to celebrate haute looks in high fashion.
It was clear Emma knew Jonathan, the photographer who brilliantly captured styles I curated, by their hugs and air kisses. She floated through our section of the bar with her mahogany hair and a smile that faltered when she thought no one was looking.
Who or what was the reason behind her blank stares into the distance remained a mystery. Keeping my mask in check has been a battle since I left Paris.
Preston hasn’t stopped calling or texting since. It took him a day to pull his head out of his ass from whatever had his attention for a week straight.
Her.
I gotta admit, Bellamy schooled me in our silent game of chess, tipping the board in her favor. Preston was nonexistent, tucked away in her office and wherever else they conducted “business.” With William back in London, I conjured images of every position Preston had Bellamy between their late nights and private meetings.
Spread over her desk.
Against the window.
Facedown in a pile of documents saturated with their sweat.
Alone in a penthouse day after day, I couldn’t stop the thoughts or the silence. So I left.
