Come and Get Me: The Magister Series, Book 2: A Billionaire Romance

by July Hall

  “I’m sorry, Sandra,” Bradley said.

  Sandra bit her lip and looked down into the glass he’d given her. Was this grape juice too? She didn’t feel like finding out.

  “I’ve been working on a lot of stuff,” Bradley continued. “And those meetings really emphasize that you need to take responsibility and own what you’ve done. I fucked up big time, and it hurt you.” He took a deep breath. Sandra looked up to see him close his eyes for a second. “I was an idiot. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Even Uncle Charles said so.”

  Her skin prickled. She was not going to follow that line of inquiry. “I’m glad you’re making changes,” she said instead. “I hope it works out for you, I hope…” She paused. “I hope you’ll be happy.”

  Wow. She meant it. She really did hope that. She now knew firsthand how hard it was to change, to push out of your comfort zone with no idea of whether or not you’d screw it up. If Bradley really had the courage to do what he said, he’d be braver than she was.

  Sandra managed a smile. She had no more rage, no more energy to be angry at him. All that was over with, and they both had to move forward. She had bigger things to worry about.

  “Be happy,” she repeated. “I’m glad for you.”

  “And I’m glad for you, Sandra. You look fantastic.” He grinned. “Man, tonight’s a hell of a night, isn’t it? I remember you always loved weddings.”

  He actually remembered that? She couldn’t believe it. “It’s…beautiful, yes. Like I said, your uncle seems like he’s having a great time.”

  “He really does, doesn’t he? I guess love is in the air.” Bradley took a sip of his grape juice and chuckled. “You’re not going to believe this, but I swear it’s true. Even Uncle Charles is hooking up.”

  For a moment, all the noise in the party died down. All Sandra heard was her heartbeat. Then the sound came rushing back, and she said, “Oh. Really?”

  “Yeah. He’s here with an old girlfriend. They dated when I was still in high school. I never knew why it ended, but they were all over each other last night at the rehearsal dinner.” Bradley laughed. “Everyone’s talking about them. Good for him, right? Maybe he’ll finally lighten up a little.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Not that I’m betting on it.”

  It couldn’t be true. Bradley had to be wrong. He wasn’t the most perceptive guy. He must be misreading…whatever he saw or heard.

  “Oh,” she croaked.

  “Yeah. So it goes. What about you?” he asked, sounding casual. “Any guys in the picture?”

  “No,” Sandra said. “No. None at all.”

  “That’s too bad. Oh, hi, Uncle Charles!”

  Sandra nearly dropped her glass. Was it actually possible for your blood to freeze? Maybe the room temperature had just dropped by fifty degrees.

  “Bradley,” Charles said right behind her, his voice bringing an Arctic blast with it. “Miss Dane.”

  Cringing, she turned around to see that he wasn’t looking at her at all.

  “I was just catching up with Sandra,” Bradley said.

  “I noticed,” Charles said. “I think your mother has, too.”

  Bradley looked past Charles and winced. Sandra couldn’t help following his line of sight. Rosalie was staring daggers at her.

  “I don’t care.” Bradley lifted his chin. “I had an apology to make.”

  “Oh, really?” Charles said. “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “He already made it,” Sandra heard herself say in a firm tone you could use with your lover, but not with a wealthy patriarch you were barely supposed to know. Bradley raised his eyebrows and appeared surprised. Charles’s expression didn’t change one jot. “I mean,” Sandra added, longing for Arnaud to appear out of nowhere like a Boss Fairy and help her out, “thank you, Bradley. I accept. I’m—I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  She couldn’t think what to say after that. She couldn’t think at all. Charles was standing next to her, almost close enough to touch. His expression and voice might be icy, but his body still made hers light up with heat. She should excuse herself right now.

  She pulled herself together and said brightly, “So I’ll just—”

  “Miss Dane,” Charles asked, “may I have this dance?”

  Sandra’s brain turned to sludge. What? Was he kidding?

  “I was going to ask her,” Bradley said.

  “Yes,” Charles said, “but I just did.” He held out his hand to Sandra. “Well?”

  It was not a request. “Of course,” Sandra managed. She looked around for a place to set her champagne glass.

  “I’ve got it,” Bradley said quickly, taking it from her. He smiled. “It’s fine, I’ll get rid of it.”

  I won’t drink it was what he couldn’t say in front of his uncle. Sandra nodded, and in spite of her confusion, gave him a real smile of her own. “Thank you,” she said.

  And though part of her rebelled at the thought, she’d keep his confidence—even from Charles. As much as she loved him, she could see how he wouldn’t exactly be the first person Bradley would turn to in recovery.

  “Enjoy your dance,” Bradley said.

  Charles led Sandra away before she could reply. The song had already begun, and they were late to the floor. Sandra’s cheeks heated when she listened to the music. It was a slow, sensual song, heavy with desire and possibility. The singer murmured about a lover who was sweeter than sugar, whose kisses dripped with honey.

  Charles took her in his arms. His hand rested against her bare back. Sandra’s breath caught in a sound that was almost like a whimper. It took everything she had not to press closer to him.

  But Charles betrayed no such desire—or any other emotion. He just looked politely remote, as he would for any other dance partner he didn’t really know. He didn’t look at all like he had when dancing with Josephine.

  He had to keep up appearances. That had to be it. In a low voice, Sandra said, “You were right. Bradley was nice. I think he really is trying.”

  “Perhaps,” Charles replied indifferently.

  Sandra gulped. This was all wrong. She felt clumsy and nothing seemed to be working. She had to watch her step and try to keep the beat. She’d been fine with Evan and the earl, but not now. For the first time, her body and Charles’s were not working in tandem. They didn’t make perfect sense together.

  It was all in her head, though. Right?

  “Is…” Her voice hitched. “Is Stephen having a good time?” Weddings made everyone happy. Love was in the air.

  “I think so.” Charles glanced over her shoulder. After a pause, he said, “I want to speak with you later.”

  Her heart stopped for a moment. But by some miracle of grace, the rest of her stayed calm—no gripping his hand, no going stiff in his arms.

  “About what?” she managed.

  “Something important.” He still couldn’t seem to look at her.

  Sandra tried to laugh. It sounded breathless and fake. “Come on, you’re going to make me wait hours for that? Until we get to your place?”

  “No,” Charles said. “No, not there. I need…we should discuss it here. Soon.” He glanced to his left. Sandra looked, too. This time it was Josephine she saw, Josephine who was looking at her. Charles gave her a short, polite-looking nod. Josephine smiled and raised her hand in a little wave in return.

  Please stop! Sandra wanted to beg him. She choked the words back down.

  “So what did you and Josephine talk about?” she asked instead.

  “The future,” Charles said. “She asked if she had a reason to stay in New York or not.”

  Sandra’s skin crawled. “Oh. Really?” She swallowed. “And what did you decide about that?”

  “I didn’t,” Charles said, still sounding unnervingly calm. “It’s her decision to make, not mine. Are you all right?” he added. “You look a little pale.”

  No kidding, really? She felt faint. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just tired. It’s a
little hot in here.” Wait, that didn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t that make her flushed?

  Charles didn’t seem to notice the contradiction. “You know you’ve got the run of the house,” he told her. “Go wherever you want if you need a moment.” He hesitated and said, “There are some doctors here, if you’re not well.”

  Oh yeah, that was all she needed, some top surgeon from New York Presbyterian to grill her about her symptoms at a society wedding. Maybe then he could take the mike and announce to everyone that Sandra Dane was suffering from a serious case of being a complete idiot.

  “I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “Thanks. You…you look very handsome.”

  “No,” Charles said. “Don’t.”

  What the hell? Nobody could overhear them like this. It wasn’t like she was saying anything dirty. He didn’t even want her to tell him he looked nice? She swallowed around a lump in her throat. All she could say was, “Oh.”

  “Soon, two singers from the Met are going to come out,” Charles said. “I arranged them as a surprise for Stephen and Craig.” If she hadn’t been turning inside out, that would have made Sandra go aww. “I’ll be able to slip away while they’re performing.” He smiled ruefully. “Now everyone knows I hate opera, anyway. We should meet somewhere.”

  “The second study,” Sandra heard herself say.

  Charles raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said. “That seems fitting.”

  Sandra contorted her mouth. She hoped it looked like a smile. She had no way of knowing, because her face felt kind of numb. “Are you going to behave yourself?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Charles said, his tone serious and his look stern. “We’re going to talk, Sandra.”

  The singer drew out the last, husky note of the song. As if in a dream, Sandra let Charles walk her back toward the edge of the floor, where Arnaud stood waiting for her. He raised a cautious eyebrow as Charles let go of her hand, nodded at them both, and departed. Sandra didn’t dare look back at him.

  “Sandra,” Arnaud said. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well at all.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to go to the ladies’ room,” Sandra said. She tried to smile again. “Too much wine and ice water.”

  “I’m blaming the piña colada,” Arnaud said. He still looked a little worried. A fine line had appeared between his eyebrows.

  “That, too,” Sandra agreed. “I’m fine. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Okay,” Arnaud began, “but—”

  She didn’t stay to hear him finish. She snatched her clutch from the chair she’d left it on and fled the ballroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  That had gone well. Charles had behaved like a saint. He’d danced with her and spoken calmly to her, and she’d been agreeable to his request.

  Charles had not punched his nephew in the face for no reason (the boy was behaving himself, he was fine) or pushed Sandra against a wall and let his hands roam over every tempting inch of her in full sight of everyone. That would certainly prove her wrong in saying no, none at all, no men in her life at all.

  He had not done either of those things. He had behaved as a civilized, rational man should. And when they met in a few minutes—

  All right, that had been a moment of weakness. Obviously, he should wait until they were alone tonight in his apartment. It would only be a little while. But he’d felt the warm flesh of Sandra’s back beneath his hand, and suddenly nothing could wait. He couldn’t go another fucking hour without getting her alone and telling her how he felt.

  Which he would do, soon, in a very calm and reasonable way. He could even begin by apologizing for his treatment of her in the car. She’d been so antsy on the phone yesterday morning—surely that was on her mind as well.

  So he’d make that right and then tell her the rest. And then a kiss, a brief caress, something to tide him over until they could make love tonight. That wasn’t asking much.

  But he wouldn’t frighten her. It would be fine.

  Up ahead, he saw his sister in a blur of green, waving at him and trying to catch his attention. His eyes snapped back into focus. He went to her side.

  Rosalie kissed his cheek in greeting. “Thank you for rescuing Bradley,” she told him. “Was she trying to get her claws in him again? Honestly!”

  After a moment, Charles said, “Where are the singers? Are they ready?”

  Rosalie sighed. “Oh, fine. Yes, they’re in the sitting room. That is going to be magnificent, you know.” She gave him a genuine smile. “How wonderful you thought of it. Stephen and Craig will be thrilled.”

  “Yes, well.” Charles felt his face go a little red.

  Rosalie saw it and giggled. “Are you turning into a romantic, Charles? I know what’s brought that on.” She looked around. “Where did Josephine go?”

  “I have no idea,” Charles said. “And I am not becoming a…my God.”

  Rosalie turned around, and together they beheld Craig’s sister steering Stephen around the dance floor like the skipper of a yacht. She was talking about something with great enthusiasm. Stephen looked as dazed as if someone had hit him over the head, but he’d told Charles that was how he usually responded to Jane. Craig watched them from the sidelines with a huge grin on his face.

  Rosalie giggled again. For a moment, she rested her head against Charles’s shoulder. “It’s been a wonderful evening,” she murmured. “We’re the best siblings ever.”

  Charles blinked. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Maybe a glass too many,” Rosalie acknowledged. “I didn’t eat very much. But I’m just in a good mood, that’s all. The pressure’s nearly off.” That must be a nice feeling. “You haven’t danced with me yet,” she added.

  Whoops. “Too true,” Charles said, and couldn’t help smiling at her when she slid her arm through his. He could put aside his worries for a few moments and dance with his sister. “One last spin around the floor before the singers arrive.”

  Rosalie beamed at him. “Autumn Leaves” played as he led her onto the floor. When they began to dance, she said, “She’s still dead gone on you, you know.”

  Charles sighed.

  “What?” Rosalie said. “You should give it a shot. What do you have to lose? Perfect women don’t grow on trees.”

  Why was it that the louder Charles protested, the more Rosalie enjoyed pushing the matter? “She isn’t perfect,” he said.

  “No? What’s not to like? She has everything you need, doesn’t she?”

  Charles raised his eyebrows. Rosalie did too, in arch imitation. “Does she?” Charles asked.

  “She’s tailor-made,” Rosalie said. “Money, family, the right connections—and she’s still good-looking, I might add.” This last a little grudgingly. “Dearest, what more do you want?”

  Everything. He always wanted everything. He couldn’t help it.

  “Where on earth did she get to, anyway?” Rosalie added.

  * * *

  Sandra hadn’t been in a lot of private homes that had a ladies’ room. Definitely not with stalls and gilded mirrors and a padded bench in the middle where you could sit and touch up your makeup.

  Or wipe it off. Which she was currently doing. She’d brought some makeup remover pads and was now using them to slough off her eyeliner and mascara. Even if that was much less glamorous, it seemed safer than leaving it on.

  She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t. She didn’t cry. Her eyes only stung a little. Better to wipe off the makeup, which was obviously irritating them.

  Nobody else was in the ladies’ room right now, thank God. Nobody else could see her like this. Being alone helped her calm down. So had getting rid of the ice water, wine, and piña colada. She should have been more careful about her liquid intake when wearing a dress that was nearly the size of a bathroom stall. Rookie mistake.

  She could faintly hear the sound of jazz music coming from the ballroom. It was nowhere near loud enough to drown out the memory of Bradley’s voice. She couldn’t shu
t that up no matter how hard she tried.

  They were all over each other at the rehearsal dinner...everyone’s talking about them…

  Maybe she hadn’t just needed to pee. Maybe she also needed to puke. She took in a deep, shaking breath. Charles wanted to talk soon, so maybe he’d clear all this up, and…

  But he wanted to talk here, now, and not at his place in the city. Maybe because he didn’t want her to go to his place in the city anymore.

  Okay, there were now officially too many maybes to keep track of. Sandra blinked at the mirror. Her eyes were naked. Time to fix the lips and compensate a little. She took out her tube of lip gloss, swiped the wand over her lips, and then pressed them together and popped them back open.

  Just as she did that, Josephine Banks entered the ladies’ room. She caught Sandra sitting on the bench with her glossy mouth wide open like a trout’s.

  Oh, no. No, no, no.

  Sandra snapped her mouth shut, put the gloss back in her clutch, and managed a smile for the woman she hated.

  Josephine looked at her, blinked, and didn’t immediately pass by her to the stalls. She looked at Sandra as if she knew something about her. Sandra’s stomach writhed. At this point, one of them had to say something, or they were just staring at each other, and that was weird.

  And she wasn’t going to show her underbelly to Josephine Banks. No, sir. She wasn’t upset at all.

  “I love your dress,” she said.

  It was true. Josephine was even more magnificent up close. The gown was exquisite. From here, Sandra could see that Josephine wore sapphires, too. Lots of them. Charles hadn’t been exaggerating about how the women would look at this wedding.

  “Is it Lanvin?” Sandra added.

  “It is, yes.” Josephine cocked her head to the side. “I love your gown, too. It’s very becoming.”

  Sandra’s face grew warm. The compliment seemed sincere—it didn’t have any of Rosalie’s cattiness. And if Josephine always dressed this sharply, then it was a high compliment indeed. She hated herself for being flattered.

  “Thank you,” she managed, smoothing the full skirt and wishing she’d had the courage to wear something a little sexier, like Josephine had. “That’s very kind of you.”