Page 64 of Seductive Scoundrel

“The last one was definitely worthwhile.” The waiter sets eight different appetizer plates in front of us with a flourish. “I assume I’m paying for this spread?”

“Another penalty for being late,” Mike agrees.

I’m not complaining. The food here is amazing and it looks like Mike ordered us two of everything they have.

He gives me an update on his current workload, and it never ceases to amaze me that he can sound perfectly cultured and articulate talking about intricate case law, and then scream filthy profanities at the television while watching college ball in the next breath. He is the opposite of a dumb jock, but it’s always fun when people underestimate him.

I update him on Dean’s Shark Tank, the deal with Dex, and the annoying as fuck audit, finally relenting and telling him the selling price of Seneca after he badgers me for a good ten minutes.

“But you didn’t answer the million-dollar question. Did you decide to invest in the curling irons or the dog treats?” he asks.

“It was organic dog food, curlers you sleep in, and an online-only insurance company. Asshole.”

“How has sleeping with the curlers been going?”

I let out a longsuffering breath. “I went with the insurance company.”

“Boring as fuck. Sounds about right. But I guess you can’t sleep with curlers when you’ve been too busy fucking April.”

I pause with a forkful of beets halfway to my mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“No need to be sorry. I saw you two on the patio, and have been meaning to ask you what the deal is. She’s exactly your type, so I figured you’d hit it off.”

My pulse slows as a new puzzle is put in front of me. I rarely get mad – I just get quiet and contemplative while I try to piece things together. And I don’t like the picture that’s being painted for me now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say slowly.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, man.”

“I wouldn’t.” There hasn’t ever been bullshit between me and Mike. “But surely you meant to sayMia?” I never drink enough to forget my decisions, and I sure as shit didn’t hook-up with two girls at the same party.

His face goes slack while he tries to determine if I’m fucking with him. “I don’t know anyone named Mia.” He looks dead serious, and now I’m trying to figure out if he’s fucking with me.

What the hell is going on?

“The girl I hooked up with at your party is named Mia,” I explain, hoping that saying the words will make them true.

“It was an invite-only event, dude, and I had four security guards at the door manning the guest list. You know how I run my parties.”

Mike Boyd throws epic parties. It’s been that way since his grade school birthday bashes that morphed into insane frat parties on Greek row. Now politicians, professional athletes, and celebrities fight to attend his events…

And Mia.

Now that I think about it, none of it makes any sense. Why was she there? How would Mike have even met her to “go on a few dates” when she doesn’t run in any of our social or business circles?

And I like her so much that I pushed all the inconsistencies out of my mind, like her body shape, especially because I preferred the real thing to my memory.

Mike scrolls through his phone and pulls up a Facebook profile for me to scroll through. As soon as I see the full body shot of April in a bikini, my heart stops because Mike is absolutely fucking right.

It’s April who I had my hands all over at his party.

Mia wasn’t there.

And that means she’s been lying to me from day one.

But why?

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Mike says.

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