Page 16 of Breach of Honor

I choked down embarrassment and shame as I ka-plopped on the couch next to Lily.

A stupid tear slipped out the corner of my eye. “He’s married.”

“I knew he was a douchebag,” Lily grumbled.

Married.

Will

There was nothing more I wanted to see than Miranda entering the restaurant in the red dress. The one I’d slip off her luscious body in my dreams, her sapphire eyes locked on mine and pouty lips taunting me.

Surprisingly, I didn’t take her as a fashionably late kind of girl. She didn’t seem the type. But then, tonight wasn’t work. It waspleasure. It certainly added some fun tension, like a little foreplay.

I’d never been enthralled with a woman before. Interested?Sure. Brain on autopilot doing what was expected?Absolutely. Fully engaged with every one of my senses on alert?Never.

The anticipation of waiting for Miranda to walk in might be the death of me.

“Mr. St. James, another scotch?”

I looked up at the server, stars in her eyes.

“Do you think your date is coming?”

I furrowed my brow; I’d only been waiting fifteen minutes.

“I mean, I’m off soon…” The brunette blushed. I’d heard that line a ridiculous amount of times.

“I’m sure mydateis just running late. Traffic or a broken heel.” I nodded confidently. Miranda wouldn’t flake out on me. “Yes, I’ll have another.” I lifted my empty glass with an air of indifference. She promptly took it and disappeared to fetch me another.

Drumming my fingers on the black linen tablecloth ten fucking minutes later, my second glass empty, I’d finally accepted the fact Miranda wasn’t showing. If I didn’t get out of the restaurant quick, the rage bellowing inside me would be unleashed.

Fuck! Miranda stood me up.

Why in the hell hadn’t I gotten her phone number!

I didn’t even know where she lived so I could bang on her door and confront her for dashing all my hopes and ruining the plans I’d made for a beautiful, romantic evening.

I’d secured five-star dining in one of Los Angeles’s most sought-after restaurants. Only those on the A-list could enter without a reservation and be seated promptly. I, however, called ahead the minute Miranda stepped into her office. I wasn’t an ass nor would I strut in exuding the elite St. James status as I’d done in the past. With Miranda, I wanted to do everything differently.Better.

What had my efforts gained me? Rejection. Seemed she wasn’t interested after all. There wouldn’t be flirty gazes, hand-holding as we strolled along the beach, or breathless kissing.

The valet closed my car door, and I barreled out of there. On the freeway, I weaved in and out of traffic in my Mercedes Roadster. I put as much distance as possible between me and the fucking restaurant. I hadn’t felt so goddamned crushed since my fifteenth birthday when I’d asked for ballroom dance lessons after watchingDancing with the Starswith my mother.

“You can’t be serious,” my father had said incredulously. His astonished expression had seared into my memory with the caption:A deranged Easter bunny.

Not that I was wearing a bunny costume at the time, but the look on my father’s face had been the same as Ralph’s dad in aChristmas Story.

To my disappointment, I was sent to a youth leadership camp instead.

Come Monday morning, I’d be in that conference room bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the first gala meeting. And I’d show Miranda she didn’t affect me in the least.

Her loss.

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