Page 5 of The Invitation
“Good, because that’s impossible.”
“Just play nice. I need you to do this for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, sipping my martini.
Sutton leans to the side, her smile growing. I start to turn to see what she’s looking at but stop in my tracks.
The hair on the back of my neck stands abruptly on end. Goose bumps ripple across my skin. Whiffs of expensive cologne—cedar and vanilla, if I’m not mistaken—nestle around me, trying to lure me into a false sense of comfort.
I set my jaw and brace myself.
Speak of the devil …
“Hey, Sutton,” Ripley says from behind me.
“Hi,” she says.
A long, heavy pause settles across the table. I hold my breath, refusing to break the ice.
“Hello, Georgia.”
Oof.
His voice is warm—rich, and smooth. My name rolls off his forked tongue as if it’s being caressed. The two syllables are blurred and lazily sexy, and I hate that as much as I don’t want to—he’s only putting on a show for Sutton—I like it.
Bastard.
I affix an aloof look on my face and turn slowly. I’m not fully pivoted in my chair when a pair of ocean-blue eyes snatch my gaze and hold it hostage.
Ripley smirks. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, you aren’t interrupting,” Sutton says, warning me with a lilt to her tone. “We were just chatting.”
“Looks intense,” Ripley says, his gaze still trained on me. “What was it about?”
I narrow my eyes back at him. “The devil.”
Chapter Two
Georgia
“Here we go,”Sutton mutters, her shoulders sagging.
“The devil?” Ripley’s smirk grows. “How is your family, by the way?”
“You’re such a riot,” I say, my voice edged in sarcasm. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Hell, presumably?”
He grins. “I just entered the pits of hell. You always provide such a lovely welcome party. Don’t they give you days off?”
A bright mockery invades his stare. My lips part to fire back a sharp retort, but I catch Sutton’s silent plea. It begs me to play nice.
The thought of letting Ripley win this exchange is almost painful. If I stay quiet, he’ll gloat—quietly, of course, because we’re in public. But he’ll know he won, and I’ll know he won. And he’ll know that I know he won, and living with that is unbearable even to consider.
Yet Sutton’s hopeful eyes stab me in the heart. Ididcome to The Swill to spend time with her, and to celebrate her newproject and engagement. And she doesn’t ask much of me.Andshe is important to me; Ripley is not.
Ugh.
I sit back, take a deep breath, and adjust my features into a contrived serenity. The relief in Sutton’s posture is immediate.
