Page 30 of Ms. Fortune

The determination and intensity in his eyes are so powerful that I want to believe him. I want to believe he would actually try. But that's all I can do, is want.

“I'm sorry if I gave you the impression things would go farther than they have today, but they can't. Hopefully, you've gotten what you needed from me. And I think our fake relationship was enough to distract from your former relationship with Eve. I'm fairly confident my dad's business will be able to grow again now that the name Mischief Motors is in the public eye. And, thank you for that.”

“This was not a fake relationship, and you know it. Not for me and not for you. I’m not even talking about what happened tonight. You know our kiss in the limo the other day was more than just a kiss.”

Now I have to turn away from him because, of course, he's right. It was more than a kiss. But I caught myself then, and I'm trying to catch myself again now before I go any deeper. But this is so hard. My dumb heart just wants to throw my arms around him and say yes, let's do this. Let's throw caution to the wind and try to beat the house's odds. I know more than most the house always wins.

I step further back from him and cross my arms so I don't do that, and his hands drop to his sides, his eyes dark with defeat. And the little flame that burned with blind hope in my chest for him burns the bridge between us, and goes out completely.

“I'm sorry.” I rush past him and out the lounge door into the lobby. I realize then I can't go back into the gala. I can only imagine how awful I look right now. And with our fake relationship now over, there’s no point in me being here. I notice Randall not too far away, so I approach him.

“Randall, I need a ride home right away. Can you please have the car pulled around as soon as possible?”

The expression of concern in his eyes breaks something in me, and I have to choke back tears. Once these tears start, I know they won't stop.

“Right away, Ms. Blake. Let's get you somewhere quiet to wait.” He puts a hand under my elbow lightly and guides me down the hall to a private restroom, where I attempt to clean myself up, but I can't look myself in the mirror. I can't face what I've just done, even though I know it was the right thing to do. A few minutes later, there's a light tapping on the door, and Randall calls out, “Your car is waiting, Ms. Blake. Whenever you're ready.”

I sigh deeply and exit the restroom. Randall is there waiting for me, but I can see over his shoulder. Brandon is watching us with his hands shoved in his pockets. No expression on his face. He doesn't nod. He doesn't smile. He doesn't wave. He just stands there and watches me leave.

I'm able to withhold my tears until I'm inside my own house. That was a feat I didn't think possible. And I was right; once they start, I can't stop.

I know deep down I've done the right thing. I've done the responsible thing for both of us. That doesn't give me any comfort, and as I try to fall asleep, I'm haunted by the pain in Brandon's eyes as I left. Those eyes are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

Chapter 21

THAT’S US

BRANDON

I return to the gala without Normandy because I don't have a choice. I can't up and leave like she did, even though I want nothing more than to follow her. I'm the event host, and not attending isn't an option. When anyone asks, and almost everybody does, I claim that Normandy has taken ill and needed to leave. Every time I tell the lie, I die a little inside, knowing she just didn't want anything to do with me. Knowing she got what she wanted from me and is done.

Never mind the fact that the entire agreement scenario was my idea in the first place. I understood what I was getting into, and I knew the risks. I always know the risks. I just didn't think this outcome would hurt this badly. I didn't count on catching real feelings for Normandy. I didn't count on any of this.

Every single relationship I've had since Eve has been strictly physical. And up until now, I was okay with that. If I'm honest with myself, I probably expected that from Normandy as well. But somewhere along the way in these last few weeks, I've fallen for her. And I've fallen far and hard.

I honestly don't know what I thought or expected to happen, but it definitely wasn't this. This excruciating pain was not on the menu at all.

I finish the night going through the motions, a plastic smile on my face to hide my real feelings. As far as I can tell, no one notices my fake party persona. But, of course, I’m wrong in that assumption. When I arrive home, I find Sophie in the kitchen making tea, waiting for me.

“Sophie, what are you doing here? It's way too late for you to be working. Is everything OK?” I pull my tie off from around my neck with a frustrated snap and drape it over one of the bar stools.

She still hasn't acknowledged me entering the room, but surprisingly, she says, “Have a seat, Brandon. We need to have a little chat.”

I study her for a moment as she busies herself around the kitchen, trying to figure out what she could need to talk about at one o'clock in the morning. I wonder if she's OK. Is it her health?

“Sophie, you're starting to worry me. What is going on with you?”

She grabs her own drink and sits beside me at the counter, and I still can't read her face. Whatever she needs to talk about is serious, I can tell that much. She stares at her mug before speaking for a solid minute, tapping the sides anxiously.

“You are aware of most of my past. Particularly my nightclub. But you don't know everything, Brandon. And, with Normandy now in the picture, I think perhaps it's time you did know everything.”

I am bewildered. I have no idea what Normandy could have to do with Sophie and her nightclub. I instantly want to ask a million questions, and I want to tell her that Normandy removed herself from the picture a few hours ago, but I force myself to be quiet and listen.

“Normandy is a charming girl, and the two of you make such a handsome couple. You remind me of another couple I knew a long time ago.”

“Oh? Who would that be?” This is going in a bizarre direction. I did not expect Normandy and me to be the topic of conversation, especially since it’s been made clear to me, we’re not a couple.

“You two remind me a lot of Victor and his first wife, Joan. As a matter of fact, Normandy could be Joan’s twin, they look so much alike. And when I saw her in Joan’s dress tonight, I knew immediately who she was.”

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