Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  “I am.” I smile at her. “Nice to meet you, Susanna. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t believe a word my brother tells you. He never says anything good about me.”

  Braxton scowls. “Now look here, Susanna. I’m getting sick and tired—”

  A waiter bustles over just then and murmurs something in Braxton’s ear.

  I snag a glass of champagne from his tray and take a healthy swig, winking at Susanna.

  She grins at me.

  “I’m sorry, Emerson,” Braxton apologizes as the waiter glides away. “My father wants to introduce me to someone. I’ll try to bring him back with me so you can meet him. I won’t be long.” He shoots his sister a warning look. “Please try not to embarrass me while I’m gone.”

  Susanna rolls her eyes dismissively.

  When Braxton leaves, I smile at her. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please do.” She pats the bench beside her.

  I sit down and give her a sympathetic grin. “I take it you’ve had more than your fill of these soirees.”

  “You can say that again,” she grumbles, glaring at her brother’s retreating back. “Braxton complains, but he’s in his element at these events—rubbing elbows with North Carolina’s finest and shining like Daddy’s golden boy.”

  I chuckle. “I’m sure he’s only trying to please your father and represent the family well. He’s a senior partner at the firm. That comes with a great deal of responsibility.”

  Susanna snorts derisively. “To hear Braxton tell it, he runs the whole show. But he doesn’t. Grandfather pulls all the strings. Braxton just does what he’s told like a good little boy.”

  Her sneering contempt for her brother almost makes me pity him.

  She eyes me curiously as I sip my champagne. “I’m surprised to see you here with him. He doesn’t seem like your type.”

  I cock an eyebrow at her. “My type? And what would that be?”

  “Well, you’re a sportswriter,” she explains. “Braxton’s never been the athletic type. He shudders at the thought of breaking a sweat, and he doesn’t even know the rules of football. All he cares about is his career, and you don’t strike me as the type to like that quality in a man.”

  I smile ruefully. “I think you’re a bit hard on your brother, Susanna. He has some admirable qualities that any woman would appreciate.”

  Susanna grins knowingly. “Does that mean you’re interested in him?”

  “Um, well, we’re, um—”

  “I rest my case.” Her eyes twinkle with sudden mischief. “I know who you really want.”

  I swallow. “You do?”

  She nods, grinning slyly. “I saw your interview with Reyes. Holy hell.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. “We’re just friends.”

  Susanna throws back her head with an unladylike shriek of laughter.

  I shift uncomfortably on the bench and cross my legs.

  Susanna grins at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun of you. But there’s no way in hell you and Reyes are just friends.” She puts air quotes around the two words, shamelessly teasing me. “Everyone’s been talking about the interview. And I do mean everyone.”

  “Not your brother,” I mumble gratefully. “He hasn’t said a word about it.”

  “He’s in denial.”

  “He saw it?”

  “Sure did.” Susanna grins. “It’s so obvious you and Reyes are boning.”

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I quickly lift my glass and gulp down a mouthful of wine.

  Susanna laughs again, slapping her knee.

  I slant her a sardonic look, mouth twisting in wry amusement. “What would your grandmother think of you using that kind of language?”

  “Like I care,” she says with an insouciant toss of her head. “Unlike my brother, I don’t live for the approval of our grandparents.”

  “Hmm.” I finish my wine and set the empty glass down on the stone tile.

  The veranda looks out on a beautiful maze garden. I try to imagine Reyes here as a child, racing up and down the zigzagging walkways, playing hide-and-seek with his sister and cousins.

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  I turn to meet Susanna’s probing gaze. I’m tempted to lie, but what’s the point?

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “I could tell.” Her expression softens, and she suddenly seems wise beyond her twenty-two years. “You should tell him. He’d want to know.”

  I feel my throat tighten painfully. “Maybe.”

  Susanna studies me a moment longer, then knocks back the rest of her champagne and burps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”

  I grin at her. “You’re definitely not the genteel debutante I was expecting.”

  She laughs. “Reyes always teases me about that. He says we wouldn’t get along if I behaved like the delicate southern flower I was raised to be.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I counter with a grin. “You won Reyes’s heart the day you shared your honeydew with him.”

  She gives me a surprised smile. “He told you that story?”

  “He did. More than once. Let’s see . . . he was eight and you were four. You loved melons, especially honeydew. That afternoon, he was upset after his parents dropped him off at the mansion for his annual summer visit. He was sitting on the porch steps crying into his arms when you moseyed outside with a bowl of honeydew and sat beside him. After trying unsuccessfully to console him, you offered him a piece of honeydew. He angrily batted your hand away, knocking the honeydew to the floor. Instead of bursting into tears and running inside to tattle on him, you calmly picked up the fallen piece of fruit, dusted it off and ate it. Then you told him he could have some later when he was feeling better. He was so touched by your sweet gesture that he brought you a bowl of honeydew the next day and apologized for being mean. After that, eating honeydew on the porch became your special bonding ritual.”

  Susanna smiles warmly at the memory. “He didn’t even like honeydew all that much. He preferred cantaloupe, but he ate honeydew just to make me hap—” She breaks off, her whole face lighting up as she stares past me. “He’s here!”

  My heart jumps into my throat. Bracing myself for impact, I slowly turn my head to see Reyes sauntering toward us.

  He looks like a fucking dream in a bespoke black tuxedo that hugs his tall, deliciously muscular body. Good God. It can’t possibly be legal for any man to look that hot in a tux.

  Susanna leaps to her feet and rushes across the veranda to greet him. “Reyes!”

  “Hey, Honeydew.” Grinning broadly, he scoops her up in a big hug that lifts her off her feet and brings a radiant glow to her face. “I think I’ve found the belle of the ball. You’re as pretty as a picture, Susanna.”

  She gives him the most adoring smile as he sets her down and affectionately tweaks her nose.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it,” she gushes. “Daddy said you went out of town this week.”

  “I got home earlier than expected,” Reyes says with an amused smile, his eyes sparkling.

  Susanna grins up at him. “Thank God you showed up. This party is so freaking lame.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” He looks past her as I rise from the bench, his eyes roaming over me before his expression turns cool and distant.

  “Emerson,” he murmurs. “You’re looking lovely this evening.”

  “Thank you.” I can’t help feeling pleased by his obvious appreciation, however briefly he let it show.

  “I’m so glad you two already know each other.” Susanna leans close to Reyes and confides, “Emerson came with Braxton tonight, but we’ll forgive her. I think I rather like her.”

  Reyes gazes at me. “That makes two of us.”

  Something softens inside me. I stare at him, a thousand unspoken words hovering on my tongue.

  “You went out of town again?” I say lamely.

  He nods
. “Had a photo shoot in New York.”

  “Oh. Are you—”

  “Reyes?”

  He turns, one eyebrow cocked as Braxton comes up beside him.

  He’s clearly unhappy to see Reyes, his face and posture rigid with displeasure. “What’re you doing here?”

  Reyes smirks. “Good to see you too, cousin.”

  Braxton moves forward to stand beside me as if staking his claim. “We weren’t expecting you this evening.”

  “Disappointed?” Reyes taunts.

  Braxton’s face pinches. “Why would I be disappointed?”

  Reyes looks pointedly at the narrow space between Braxton and me.

  Feeling a blush creep up my neck to flood my cheeks, I unthinkingly step away from Braxton. Not by much, but enough to make him frown at me.

  Susanna snickers under her breath. Reyes smirks.

  “Reyes, darling. You made it.” The rich, cultured voice belongs to an elegantly svelte woman in an ice blue evening gown that complements her sky blue eyes and smooth porcelain skin.

  “Hey, Aunt Olympia.” Reyes turns and kisses the woman’s upturned cheek. “Good to see you. Where’s Uncle Pratt?”

  “Over there with your grandfather debating the merits of gun control.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t even know why he bothers. Daddy’s set in his old ways, and nothing Pratt says is going to change that.”

  “Why should it?” Braxton demands. “Congress has no business tampering with our right to bear arms. Who do they think—”

  Olympia tiredly holds up a hand. “Not tonight, Braxton. I’m not in the mood for one of your tirades. Your grandfather and his old war comrades have already given me an earful for one evening. I need another drink.” She glances around, makes eye contact with a passing waiter and waves him over.

  After plucking a glass from his tray and taking a grateful sip, she fixes those pale blue eyes on me. “You must be Emerson Sartori. Braxton’s been telling us all about you as if he just discovered your existence. As if you didn’t grow up with his cousin and date him in high school. As if he doesn’t remember admiring your red hair and long legs at your graduation.” She smirks as Braxton’s face turns crimson and Susanna smothers a laugh behind her hand.

  “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, darling,” Olympia drawls.

  I shake her elegant hand. “Same to you.”

  She sips her wine, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I hope my dear nephew hasn’t been boring you with his John Wayne ideologies. These Malone men can be so headstrong about their beliefs. Overbearing, really. Except for this one,” she coos, curving a manicured hand over Reyes’s cheek. “This one’s the strong, silent type—a true gentleman who doesn’t impose his views on others. Just like his father. How is Brooks, anyway? We haven’t spoken in a while. You must tell him that I miss him terribly. He used to rescue me from Brigham’s bullying.”

  Reyes chuckles. “That’s Uncle Pratt’s job now.”

  She laughs and fondly pats his cheek before drifting off to mingle with other newly arriving guests.

  Braxton glares after her, and not for the first time that evening, I can’t help feeling sorry for him. Reyes might be the rebel of the family, but the women clearly adore—and prefer—him.

  “Here you are.” Mallory sidles up next to Reyes and curls her arm through his, fake eyelashes batting as she smiles up at him. “Your grandmother sent me to fetch you all for dinner.”

  Susanna wastes no time latching onto Reyes’s other arm. “I’m sitting next to you.”

  He winks at her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  As the three of them head off together, Braxton gives me an apologetic look.

  “I was hoping to introduce you to my parents before dinner, but they’ve had their hands full all evening. Everyone wants a piece of Dad.”

  “Of course. He’s the man of the hour.” I remember the way Brigham stared at me at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Recalling the strange hostility in his eyes, I can’t help wondering if he’s been deliberately avoiding me tonight. Is it possible he doesn’t want to meet me? If so, why? Does he think I’m not good enough to date his son?

  Braxton offers his arm to me. “Ready to eat?”

  I’m not, but I link my arm with his and smile gamely. “Lead the way.”

  Dinner is served in the grand dining room. With its ornate frescoed ceiling, crystal chandeliers and inlaid marble floors, it rivals the opulence of anything found in a palace.

  I’m seated between Braxton and Olympia’s sixteen-year-old daughter. With her sharp dark bob and clear ivory skin, Virginia is almost the spitting image of her mother. Her two older brothers, who row crew at Harvard, had a race that weekend and couldn’t make it home for the party.

  “They’re so lucky,” she says to me as the servers bring out the second course. “I wish I was away at college so I didn’t have to come to—”

  Braxton shoots her a reproachful glare.

  She snaps her mouth shut, rolls her eyes and resumes scrolling through Instagram on her phone.

  “Insolent brat,” Braxton mutters.

  I hang my head and bite my lip to contain my smile. As the eldest of the cousins, Braxton considers it his duty to be the adult in the room. He demands decorum and conformity, which makes him about as beloved as the knuckle-rapping nuns at my old Catholic school.

  Across the table, Reyes sits sandwiched between Mallory and Susanna. Both women have been vying for his attention since dinner began. When he’s not flirting with Mallory and whispering in her ear, he’s laughing and joking around with Susanna.

  I hate myself for envying the two women. Each lazy grin Reyes bestows, each wink and shoulder bump, twists the knot in my stomach until I feel physically ill.

  I pick at my food and sip my wine, wishing I could ignore him as easily as he’s ignoring me. But my eyes keep straying to him as if drawn by a magnet. His glossy black hair shines under the chandelier light, curling around the collar of his tuxedo shirt. The snowy white fabric emphasizes his tan skin and dark good looks.

  His raw masculine magnetism overwhelms my senses, and I know I’m not alone. I’ve caught more than a few women stealing longing glances at him and biting their lower lips, willing him to look their way.

  It’s not just the women who are enthralled by him. Throughout the five-course meal, a steady stream of men stops by our table to shake his hand, clap him on the back and congratulate him on joining the Renegades. He’s just as popular tonight as his uncle.

  While I’m totally invisible to Reyes, Braxton is obsessed with tending to my every need. Is the room temperature comfortable enough? Is the glazed duck too salty? The apricot chutney too spicy? Would I like more wine?

  His overattentiveness is sweet but exhausting. As the evening wears on, I seriously regret coming to the party. I console myself with the thought that I’ll at least have something interesting to report to Zoe.

  Over chilled lemon soufflé and coffee served in demitasse cups, Brigham makes a few remarks and thanks his guests for their support. His wife, Coralee, stands beside him with a saccharine smile, flawlessly elegant in a frothy white evening gown with opera gloves and perfectly coiffed blond hair.

  Tracing my finger around the rim of my coffee cup, I turn my head to find Reyes’s eyes fixed on me.

  My heart jolts and my cheeks burn, scorched by the heat of his stare.

  We gaze silently at each other until Mallory touches his shoulder, drawing his attention away. I watch as he leans toward her, listening as she purrs something in his ear. Something that brings a slow, sinful smile to his lips.

  I fucking hate how jealous I am.

  After dinner the string quartet strikes up a waltz, luring couples to the dance floor. When Reyes stands and holds out his hand to Mallory, I decide I’ve been tortured enough for one night.

  Braxton doesn’t protest when I tell him I have a headache and ask him to take me home. I say very little on the ride to my apartment, ste
wing in my misery as he tries to engage me in small talk before finally giving up.

  When we arrive at my apartment, he walks me to the door and kisses me chastely on the cheek, promising to call tomorrow to make sure I’m feeling better. I’m too drained to tell him not to bother.

  When he leaves, I lean back against the closed door and let out a long, deep breath to relieve some of the tension bottled up inside me.

  “If I never see another Malone again, it’ll be too damn soon,” I mumble before slipping off my heels and wiggling my toes to restore circulation.

  I cross the living room and switch on the floor lamp by the stone fireplace. When I pull out my phone, I see that I have two missed calls.

  Walking down the hall to my bedroom, I check the voicemail messages.

  First up is my mother, making her usual plea for me to call her. Apparently she and her friends just saw my interview with Reyes, so she wants to gush over it.

  Zoe phones next from Liam’s place. They kissed and made up yesterday, so she’s spending the weekend with him.

  “Just calling to remind you that I’m dying to hear every juicy detail about tonight’s high society party,” her message says.

  I smile bitterly before deleting both messages and tossing my phone down on the bed.

  Padding toward the closet, I unpin my hair and let it fall in messy waves around my shoulders. Just as I start to unzip my dress, the doorbell rings.

  I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s after eleven o’clock. No one should be visiting at this hour.

  Maybe Braxton forgot something.

  Groaning at the thought, I trudge down the hall to open the door.

  It’s not Braxton who stands there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EMERSON

  Reyes fills my doorway, radiating primal heat and intensity.

  He’s ditched his tuxedo jacket and tie. His shirt is partly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The thick waves of his hair fall over his forehead, making me wonder if Mallory’s manicured hands are responsible for their tousled state.