by Lisa Cardiff
Three steps before I reached the double glass doors, Archer darted forward and pushed it open for me. I paused, and he arched his eyebrows, daring me to do what? Ignore him? Reverse my course and go back to the party? Like someone had just suggested I scrape my nails over a chalkboard, I shivered at the thought of returning to the party. I didn’t know how much longer I could successfully avoid Brandon. Turning back wasn’t an option.
I backpedaled a few feeble steps. Archer’s jaw tightened, and his formerly warm chocolate eyes darkened. As my mind contemplated my next move, I spotted a few photographers waiting at the end of the walkway. I wasn’t famous…not by any stretch of my imagination, but my photo did occasionally appear in newspaper and website gossip columns. I hated it. They discussed my stepdad’s political career. They speculated on my real dad’s drug overdose, which meant references to whether I’d follow in his self-destructive footsteps.
I did the only thing I could do to avoid unwanted attention. I sauntered out of the building, head held high, shoulders squared, and a not quite sincere smile cracking the corners of my mouth.
“Thank you,” I said, tipping my head to Archer.
Within seconds, he closed the space between us, and his hand connected with my lower back. The heat from the palm of his hand scorched the silk blend of my dress, stealing my breath and setting my body on fire.
Of their own volition and entirely without my permission, my eyes locked on his, and a breezy, almost nonexistent tremor journeyed the length of my spine. The lopsided grin on his face told me without words that my reaction to his touch didn’t go unnoticed. I bit back a sharp retort as bulbs flashed in my face, capturing the moment. Great, just what I wanted to avoid.
He opened the back door of the first available taxi and signaled for me to enter with an elegant sweep of his hand. As I leaned forward to tell the driver my destination, Archer slipped into the backseat beside me.
“The Lux,” he said.
“Wait. What?” My mind whirled. How did he know my destination? Did he plan to go with me?
He pulled the door closed. “We’re going to the same place. We might as well share the cab.”
My eyes landed on his mouth for at least the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. Breaking the trance, I jerked my gaze to small scratches on the Plexiglas separating us from the driver. Slowly, I scooted across the seat, pressing my body against the sticky, duct taped vinyl on the inside of the opposite door. “You’re freaking me out. How do you know I’m going there?”
“I might have inadvertently seen the text message exchange.” He rested his arm along the back of the seat. My gaze zeroed in on the favorable stretch of his white shirt over his obviously muscular chest. My heart did this funky double beat thing that made me catch my breath. Ugh. Could I be any more cliché?
“So you decided to accompany me?”
“I’m meeting someone there.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Right.” I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of him in profile.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“I’m sending it to my friend in case I never make it to the bar,” I said without looking up from my phone. “You can never be too careful.”
He didn’t answer, so I stared out the window. Tall narrow buildings lined the streets. Restaurant outdoor patios overflowed with people. Trees dotted the sidewalks in even intervals.
Like any Friday night in this town, traffic crawled. I didn’t need to look at the speedometer to know the cab’s average speed hovered between ten and fifteen miles per hour. Every second and mile between the stuffy fundraiser lightened my mood, so I didn’t complain. I needed to say no to those events more often.
His phone rang, that annoying old car horn ringtone. It went on and on.
Honk.
Honk.
Honk.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No.”
“You’re not even going to look who’s calling? What if it’s an emergency?”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t know that.” I toyed with my necklace, twisting it back and forth.
He leaned toward me, and his shoulder brushed against mine. “I like living dangerously. I’ll take the chance,” he said casually, a prince charming smile spreading across his face. I think his eyes even twinkled. “Besides, it’s rude to take a call while you’re with someone.” He waved his hand back and forth as though he needed to clarify he was with me.
“I don’t mind.”
“You should.” He paused, his warm chocolaty eyes studying me, weighing me. What did he see? “You deserve more than bits and pieces of someone’s attention.”
“Thank you,” I said for a lack of anything else to say. Since I’d broken up with my ex six months ago, my ego had been in the dumps. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t miss him, but the timing sucked. In three months, I’d turn twenty-five, and my mom didn’t let one chance slip away without reminding me that I was approaching the downward slide to my thirties. Accordingly to her, being single at thirty wasn’t acceptable, a total failure in her mind. I didn’t agree. Thirty was the new twenty, but her words made me feel deficient.
The taxi stopped in front of The Lux. A black awning shadowed the dark glass doors marking the entrance. To the right, people lounged at small round tables enclosed by a frosted waist height fence.
“We’re here,” I mumbled to myself.
Before I opened my purse, Archer paid the driver and slipped out the door. He waited until I exited and closed the door behind me.
“It was nice to meet you, Langley Wharton.”
Without waiting for a response, he moved toward the entrance to The Lux. A dark-haired woman in a wispy blue dress lifted her hand, a huge smile spreading her blood-red lips across her face. He draped an arm around her waist, resting his hand on her hip as he guided her into the bar. I felt dowdy in comparison with my simple black dress and neutral makeup.
I halted mid-step on the sidewalk, barely able to move. He hadn’t lied. He really planned to meet someone here. He wasn’t interested in me. Relief and loss collided inside of my chest.
Just as he reached the rectangular concrete planter next to the entrance, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes totally unreadable, and I finally managed to shut my mouth and suppress the disappointment pumping through my veins. The wind rippled through the still bare limbs of the cherry trees lining the sidewalk, whipping my hair around my face. Spring hadn’t arrived, and I needed to get inside before I froze. I didn’t wear a jacket. Damn my vanity.
CHAPTER TWO
Langley
“Winnie,” I said, leaning over and tapping her on the shoulder.
“Hey, Langley.” She lifted her purse from the empty chair next to her. “Sit. I saved you a seat.”
“Is that your way of seeking forgiveness for ditching the fundraiser earlier tonight?”
She groaned and flipped her white blonde hair over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just can’t go to another one of those. I’m totally fried. If I’m forced to have another conversation about the pros and cons of hydraulic fracturing, I’ll lose my mind.”
I perched on the stool, crossing my ankles, hooking one heel inside the metal footrest and resting one elbow on the mahogany slab counter. “I know, and that’s exactly why I should hate you for making me to fend for myself without an escape route.”
“Don’t go next time. You’re twenty-four. You have your own career, your own life, and your own money. You don’t have to jump when they ask.”
“It’s complicated,” I answered, twirling a piece of my not quite blonde, not quite brown hair around my finger, tighter and tighter with each turn.
Winnie yanked my fingers out of my hair. “No, there’s nothing complicated about living your life on your terms. You have a great job as a physical therapist—”
“Not so great according to my mom.”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “What does your mom know? She’s never worked a day in her life.”
“And she doesn’t think I need to work either. But if I insist on working, she thinks it should be a job with a charitable purpose.” I lifted a hand signaling for the bartender. I needed a drink.
“Why do you care what she thinks?” She lifted a glass of wine to her lips.
“I don’t.”
Winnie choked on the drink before covering her mouth with her hand. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t bend over backward to attend those stupid fundraisers. You can go to the big ones, but you need to concentrate on your career goals, not your stepdad’s.”
I rubbed my temples. I wish it were as simple as Winnie made it sound. I’d love to find a way to extricate myself from the Wharton political machine without causing a major rift between my mom and me. She wasn’t the best mom, but she was the only family I had. “If it were any other time, I would do it.”
“It’s never going to be the right time for them, but it is the right time for you.”
“I know. I know.” And I did, but that didn’t make severing the ties any easier.
The bartender slid a napkin in front of me. “What do you want to drink?”
“A house pinot grigio.” I didn’t like white wine. I preferred red wine, but even one glass made my head hurt the next day, so I settled for my second choice like so many other things in my life.
“Sure thing,” he said.
“Cheers.” I lifted my glass and held it up in front of Winnie.
“Cheers.”
Winnie tapped her glass against mine and drained the rest of her wine. I took a sip, savoring the subtle pear flavor as it rolled over my tongue.
“So.” Winnie leaned forward, resting her elbow on the counter. “Was it as bad as I thought it’d be?”
I chuckled. “Exactly that bad.” I angled my chin to the side. “But I met someone.”
Winnie’s eyes widened. “Please tell me your mom didn’t try to set you up with another one of your stepdad’s staff members or a stuffy old donor with deep pockets and even deeper wrinkles.”
“No.” A wave of revulsion rippled down my spine. Last year, my mom set me up with one of my stepdad’s senior staffers, Brandon. At first, I was excited. Brandon seemed perfect, from his groomed looks to his vocal support of my career choice. But after six months, our relationship exploded in my face and ended really ugly. Like most people in political circles, he valued a win more than a moral outcome. Sadly, he still worked for my stepdad, and I saw him all the time.
“I met him in the foyer on my way out of the fundraiser. We chatted and shared a taxi here.” My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress, and I crossed and uncrossed my legs a couple times. Why did the thought of Archer make me nervous…on edge?
“So where is he?” Winnie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes not so subtly scanning the people.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He met his date at the door. Tall, elegant brunette. End of the story. Nothing to share.”
Winnie slapped my shoulder playfully. “You suck. I thought you meant you shared numbers, or made plans, or anything.”
I smirked. “I know. I wanted you to think you missed something other than two hours of unremarkable, mind-numbing conversation.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” Winnie squealed like a six year old on a swing and squeezed my arm, her light pink fingernails scraping the tender skin on the inside of my forearm. “Oh my God! Was that him in the picture you texted me?”
“Yes.”
“Now I am jealous. Too bad he shared and dashed.”
My brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know, like dine and dash.” When I didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “You’re such a prude sometimes. You know…dine and ditch. Eat and Run. Chew and Screw. He shared a taxi, then took off.”
I laughed. “I know what you’re talking about, but your analogy wasn’t funny.”
“Ugh.” Winnie pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse. “Here.” She dangled it between her thumb and her index finger. “Order me another glass of wine. I need to go to the bathroom. I’ve been saving our seats for forty minutes, and my bladder is going to explode any second.”
“Go.” I waved her money away. “Your drink is on me.”
“Thanks,” she said, sliding off the stool. “I’ll buy the next round.” She tapped her lips. “Unless your knight in shining armor dumps his date for you.”
A twinge of pain zipped through my chest, but I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I’d never see Archer again. “Not likely.”
“You never know,” she said, smiling before she left me at the bar by myself.
I twisted the wineglass by the stem on the counter, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Talking to strangers at a bar wasn’t my thing. I didn’t mind going for drinks or even dancing with friends, but unlike some of my friends, I didn’t go out to look for men. I preferred to date men I met through mutual friends or my coworkers.
Two hands dropped on my shoulders. “Is that seat taken?”
I groaned. I didn’t have to turn around to know Brandon stood behind me. If there were a voice lineup, I’d be able to recognize him blindfolded. His voice sounded like his words originated in his nose instead of his throat, plus he smelled as though he bathed in sandalwood. God, I hated talking to him. I hated him. Why did I waste six months of my life on him? I had successfully avoided him at the fundraiser, but apparently, he followed me here.
“Most definitely,” I snapped, snagging my black clutch from the counter and slamming it on Winnie’s empty seat.
In his trademarked asshole way, Brandon didn’t take the hint that I didn’t want to talk to him tonight or ever. I wasn’t surprised. Six months of hints failed to register in his mind. Intentionally oblivious, he slid between my stool and Winnie’s vacant seat, resting one elbow on the polished counter.
“You didn’t stay long tonight.” He toyed with the middle button of his black suit jacket, his eyes darting around the bar.
I took a longer than necessary sip of my wine. “Neither did you.”
He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “I wanted to talk to you, but like clockwork, you disappeared after two hours.”
“What I do isn’t your concern.” I folded my hands in my lap. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Come on, Langley.” He pushed my hair behind my shoulder.
I flinched and then slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” My stomach rolled. I dated this man for six months. His hands had touched my body. His lips had kissed mine. A shiver of disgust trickled down my spine.
I didn’t hate many people in life, but I hated Brandon. If only I’d never met him. If only I’d broken up with him when I wanted to instead of going on one more date, which turned into six months of my life. If only I hadn’t picked up Brandon’s iPad instead mine, I’d still be blissfully unaware and charmed in my picture-perfect life. God, I was an idiot. Why didn’t I trust my instincts?
“Don’t be like that.” He snatched my hand out of my lap.
I glared at him. “Brandon, what do you want? Why did you follow me here?”
He leaned toward me, his nearly colorless eyes even blanker than I recalled. Tiny beads of sweat dampened his brow as he tightened his hold on my hand until the tips of my fingers tingled, protesting the lack of blood flow, and my knuckles ground against each other. “I want to know what you told Senator Wharton.”
“Nothing.” I wasn’t lying. If I wanted, I could’ve said a lot of things to rattle my stepdad’s life, but I didn’t. Experience taught me to stay out of my stepdad’s business.
The more interest I showed in what he did, the more he managed to suck me into his orbit, and I didn’t want to be any closer than I already was to the inner circle of the Wharton political machine. As long as I stil
l had the option of turning a blind eye to the less than pristine side of politics and pretending politicians had benevolent motives and moral intentions, I’d take it.
“Did you confront him or let something slip?”
I chewed on my lower lip, my mind wildly racing through the conversations I had with my stepdad in the last six months. “No.”
He twisted my hand to the side, and my wrist bellowed in protest. “Don’t toy with me. Think harder. I know you said something. What about your mom? Did you say something to her?”
Tears swelled in the corners of my eyes. I was about to cry. Damn it. Brandon didn’t deserve my tears. “What the hell, Brandon? What’s wrong with you?” I slammed my open palm against his chest, and a jolt of pain shot up my arm. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me what you told Senator Wharton.” His voice was dead and stagnant with anger.
“That you’re an asshole!” I snarled through my teeth as I shoved his chest again. “Leave me alone or I’ll spill the information in that email to anyone who will listen. I haven’t breathed a word in six months, not even to my mom, but that could change the minute I get home tonight. Maybe I’ll start by confronting Senator Wharton, or I’ll go directly to the—”
“You bitch,” he spat, yanking me off the stool, pulling my body flush against his. “You don’t understand how bad this could get for the both of us. We will be fucked!”
CHAPTER THREE
Archer
I had watched as Brandon approached Langley. I knew I needed to give her some space and concentrate on the woman sitting across from me, but I couldn’t resist the compulsion to stare at her. My greedy gaze drank her in. Her clothes were classy and nondescript, but she didn’t need any adornment. Cat-like green eyes, full dark pink lips, and perfectly etched cheekbones made everything else superfluous.