Page 33 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“Ex-wife.”
“Yes, but it’s not like he’s a widower. You know she’d be around, all the time, breathing down your neck.”
“And then you’d have to consider if you’d make it through your engagement,” one woman laughed. “He’s friends with James Martin, of course.”
I froze, my phone forgotten.
“He’d never try anything with the fiancée of afriend.”
“Actually, getting kissed by James Martin might be reason enough to get engaged to Ryan Walker, ex-wife or not. That smile…”
“Devastating.Did you ever read those books he wrote?” A pause. They were all apparently shaking their heads, because this voice continued, “Me neither. Who cares about his books when he has looks likethat…”
“And the Martin money, of course, I’m sure that’s what his fiancée’s after–”
“God, she’s young–”
“Pretty, though–”
“If you like brunettes–”
“Last year’s fiancée was brunette, right?”
I remained in the stall long after their titters had faded away, back out to the party. The deep breath I took smelled like hair spray and face powder. Expensive floral perfume. Cleaning supplies.
I’d known what he was like when I agreed to be his fiancée. He wasn’tevenmy fiancé, just my… We had an agreement, theentire purposeof which was to rehabilitate his image.
Who cares about his books when he looks like that, and the Martin money…
I did,I thought, frowning.
Ihadknown who he was when I agreed to be his fiancée: not the man splashed across the society pages or standing at the head of a boardroom table, but the man in the front of the classroom, offering insightful critiques on my writing. The man who’d asked again to read my work.
I straightened my spine as I touched up my own lipstick in the mirror, a natural pink shade I’d had for years.
Pretty, if you like brunettes.
And literate, too, I smirked, leaving the close, perfume-scented lounge behind and heading back towards the silent auction tables.
CHAPTER17
James
It was all welland good that Barrett and I had promised not to speak of last year’s fundraiser, but of course, that didn’t stop the other attendees.
“Here with yourownfiancée this year,” joked an acquaintance, slapping me heavily on the back. I nodded, my smile tight.I am here for my image,I reminded myself. I could not start a fight.
“That’s right. I’ll have to introduce you both,” I said. I had absolutely no intention to do so.
“And Ryan, he brought his daughter so your date will look old in comparison, did he?” he said, laughing at his own joke.
The fucker.
“Please excuse me,” I mumbled, and didn’t bother thinking of a reason for my sudden departure. I couldn’t very well tell him if I had to spend another minute with him, I’d start throwing punches.
My heart sank–was Edie hearing the same jibes? I searched the crowd, searching for her brown head among the sea of fake blondes before spotting her near the silent auction once again. In her plum gown, she looked like the queen Maddie imagined herself to be: it hugged her waist, accentuating her hips and chest. I let my eyes trail over her shoulders as she tucked a stray curl behind her back. It had been my favorite of the three dresses I’d sent over, and it looked even more beautiful on her than I had imagined.
I’dimaginedquite a lot, usually ending with the dress crumpled in a heap on the floor.
