Better than him.
Sidestepping where his arm wasn’t latched to the cabinet, I ducked around a rack of hanging slacks and cloaked myself with government. “I think you over-estimate yourself, Mr. Everett. I don’t care if you thought about me and I don’t appreciate thinking about what you were doing to yourself in the shower.”
I grew bolder as he stood there silently, a malevolent glare in his gaze.
Sage had enough of my embrace and crawled back to her spot on my shoulders. With my arms free, I let them hang proud and regal with my back tight and smile plastic. “If you thought you could overpower me, make me weak in the knees, and force me to go on a date with you, you failed yet again. Not only am I even more determined never to see you again, but you just gave away two very significant pieces of information that mean you’re not nearly as mysterious as you think you are.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow raised, the faintest sign of confusion lurking beneath the heated coal of his irises. “And what exactly is that?”
I grinned condescendingly. “Out of all the department stores in New York, you happen to choose Belle Elle. And out of the three chains we have in the city, you chose the head office. Why is that? Because you thought you might bump into me?” I shook my head. “Pity. I must admit you came at the right time and coincidence decided to shove us together but only to allow me to clarify that no matter what you say or do, my answer will forever remain no—”
“Seeing as you’re taking way too much pride in thinking you figured out my shopping habits, let’s move on. What’s the second thing I’ve revealed?” His patent leather shoes squeaked as he moved, once again hinting he wasn’t as comfortable as he implied.
His uncertainty fed my resolution. I held my chin high. “That you aren’t just a man in a suit looking for a quick one-night stand in a bar.”
“I’m not?” His face shut down. “How can you tell?”
“Because you have a son. Because you care enough to spend a fortune on something ridiculous because it’s based on self-worth, not the wardrobe. And because you and this unknown Larry person obviously have some resemblance of a heart. Otherwise, that kid wouldn’t want to have anything to do with you, yet he willingly curled into you to play Angry Birds.”
His posture resembled a furious predator. “You’re more observant than I gave you credit.”
“No, I’m normally this observant.” I clipped onto the walkway to freedom as if I was Dorothy on the yellow brick road to the wizard. “You just don’t know me.”
I strolled away before he could reply.
Chapter Fifteen
“THIS INVITATION JUST arrived for you.” Fleur waltzed into my office the following day in a pink and yellow sundress that somehow flirted the line between work-appropriate and beachwear.
I glanced from my laptop to the flocked envelope she held, hating the way my mind took the interruption and ran swiftly from human resource issues to once again thinking about Mr. Everett.
I’d successfully pushed him away more times than I would admit. I did not need him in my brain anymore. I didn’t even know why he was in my brain.
We had some weird form of connection, but I wouldn’t buy into the bait and I definitely wouldn’t be seduced by a man I couldn’t stand.
“Who’s it from?” I held out my hand as she approached my desk and placed the heavy invite into my awaiting fingers.
“It has a return address. Chloe Mathers, I believe.”
“Chloe Mathers?”
Why do I know that name?
A memory tantalized me with some long ignored recollection, begging to be caught and tugged.
Chloe Mathers...
Fleur smiled and showed no intention of leaving as I spun the envelope in my hands and sliced it open with a letter knife.
I frowned, pulling free a single card with bronze accents on the corners and the standard description of being invited to a get-together.
My mind slammed into remembrance.
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “That Chloe Mathers.”
Fleur planted her hands on my desk, intrigue all over her face. “Who is she? It doesn’t sound like you like her.”
“It’s not that I don’t like her. More she doesn’t like me.” I flipped the invite upside down, trying to see something personal or hint that perhaps she’d sent this to the wrong person.
“She was the most popular girl in school. For a few months of the year, when it came time for school parties or proms, she befriended me. She and her little group of stuck-up witches would ply me with sleepovers—that I didn’t want to go to, but my dad made me—and hold a seat for me in class—which I never sat in because they just cheated off my work—all to drag me to Belle Elle and get them discounts on dresses and shoes.”
“Children can be such brats.”
“Yep.” I nodded distractedly, remembering how much I’d hated high school. How every hour I spent in the faculty classrooms and listened to teachers drone on was a waste because, unlike my peers, I didn’t get to go home and play outside or hang with sweet boyfriends on the weekends.
Once the bell rang, David picked me up and drove me to Belle Elle where I’d work until well past most other students’ bedtimes.
I looked up, nibbling with uncertainty and nerves I thought I’d deleted from being an outcast at school. “Do you think they sent it by mistake? Why would they invite me?”
“What is it?” Fleur plucked the invite from my hold, scanning the details. “It has your name on the top, so it isn’t a mistake.”
She read out loud, “You’re cordially invited to spend the evening reminiscing and sharing life’s progress with the girls from St. Hilga’s Education this coming Friday at the Palm Politics. Yourself and plus one are invited.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, I can hear their contemptuous attitudes just from a generic invitation.”
I hung my head, massaging the muscles in my neck. “It’s short notice, isn’t it? Do they mean this Friday or next?”
She glanced at the envelope, peering at the stamp. “Uh oh, it’s tonight. It was sent a week ago. I guess it got lost in the mailroom. It is, after all, addressed to Elle the Ding Dong Belle.”
I smothered my face in my hands. “Oh, God, don’t remind me of that awful nickname.”
“Man, kids are cruel,” Fleur muttered.
I didn’t untangle myself from my hands, pretending the pink light coming through my fingers could erase my childhood, and I could forget about pranks and nasty little girls.
Fleur straightened some paperwork on my desk, stacking a pile of folders, and placing a few stray pens into my stainless steel holder. When order had been granted, and my nerves had calmed somewhat—reminding me they couldn’t hurt me anymore—that I was in my Belle Elle tower and they were down there in Manhattan somewhere, I looked up and breathed deep.
We were living our lives. Away from each other. It was perfect.
Only Fleur ruined my co-existence by saying, “You know you have to go, right?”
“What?” My mouth hung open. “No way in hell am I going.”
“You have to. Not to prove to them how incredibly successful and powerful you are but to prove to yourself.”
I scoffed, plucking a pen from the holder and tapping it wildly against my notepad. “I don’t need to do anything of the sort.”
She planted a hand on her hip, giving me a raised eyebrow and a look that said ‘yeah, right.’
I ignored her. “No way. No how.” I snatched the invite and stabbed my finger at the plus one. “Besides, I have no one to go with. If I had some drop-dead gorgeous man who could remind me to stand tall and not let them win, then maybe. But I don’t, and they’ll most likely have their man candy with a rug rat or two. And I’m still an outcast like I always was in high school with her cat.”
Sage nudged my ankle, yawning with her cute little tongue shaped into a funnel.
“I love you, Sage, but you’re hardly ‘bring to a party’ material.”
I’d already unwitt
ingly showed how sad and depressing my personal life was to Mr. Everett by wearing her on my shoulders yesterday.
No.
I’d had enough embarrassment in my life already without adding more to it.
Refreshing my laptop screen, I did my best to read forecast numbers and find them riveting.
Fleur shifted. “I really think—”
“No.” I kept my eyes glued on the spread-sheet. “Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’d appreciate some quiet, so I can get this done.”
She sniffed but turned and plodded dramatically to the door. Reaching it, she turned with a spin so fast it kicked out her dress into a tulip flare. “You know what? I’m taking charge of this. You wore that ivory and caramel lace dress because I made it easy for you to do so. This is the same sort of thing. I know you don’t like him, but he’s handsome and will have your back.”
My heart froze into a popsicle.
She’ll call Mr. Everett?
How does she know about him?
He won’t have my back.
He’ll find some other surface to push me against and terrorize me more.
I stiffened. “No, Fleur. Whatever you’re thinking. Stop it.”
“You’ll thank me once you’ve seen yourself in their eyes. When you’ve felt their awe at how hard you work and their envy at your unlimited bank accounts. And you’ll pretend you aren’t, but you’ll be happy when they flirt with your man and find out he only has eyes for you.”
She’s going to do it.
She’ll call him.
She’ll deliberately sabotage my desire never to see him again.
Before I could tell her I had no intention of being fulfilled by jealousy or had any desire to announce to the undeserving witches from high school what my bank account looked like, she was gone.
To ruin my life.
And I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’M GOING TO kill my assistant tomorrow.”
David raised an eyebrow as I climbed from the backseat of the Range Rover. “Nice of you to inform me. I’ll ensure the appropriate lawyers are called.”
I gave him a grim smile. “I do not want to be here, David. Do you think—”
He smothered a slight grin. “Ma’am, if you want, I’ll drive you right home. But if you don’t mind me saying, you look beautiful, and it seems a shame to waste such beauty without having one drink before you go.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re a meddler. Just like she is.”
“I’m nothing of the sort. In fact, I’ll help with the murder tomorrow if tonight is not a success.” He closed the back door and headed toward the driver’s seat, leaving me abandoned on the sidewalk about to enter the dragon’s playground. “Consider me a willing accomplice. Now, go and have fun, and call me when you’re ready to leave.”
My emotions were full of poutiness and frustration. I could just tell him I was ready now. But I wasn’t a four-year-old, and he was right. It would be a waste not to go in for a second—especially after Fleur’s wardrobe ministrations.
Not that I approved.
The dress she’d chosen was the most daring, risqué thing I’d ever worn. For a cocktail get-together, she’d gone over the top with a russet-gold silk gown that slinked around my ankles and split up one leg to mid-thigh. The back was non-existent with just enough height to cover my ass but leave my spine exposed, while the front swooped up to my throat in a gathered cowl.
She’d even gone as far to do my hair for me. She’d fishtail braided it, so it sat over my left shoulder and kept my naked back on display.
The entire time she fussed with my hair and makeup, I’d muttered she was fired and to start looking for other employment.
But once she showed me the finished product, shoved me into the car, and told me my date would meet me there, I had to admit a smidgen (a teeny tiny smidgen) of excitement filled me to have a night out with people other than business associates or my father and Steve.
And to be honest, I looked forward to spending an evening looking the way I did while tormenting and verbally sparring with Mr. Everett. It was the thought of him being there to take the spotlight off me from the nasty school girls that moved my unwilling feet into the nightclub where a small section had been roped off for our reunion.
Palm Politics was a strange blend of tropical fronds and the décor of a court of law. One freedom and sunshine. The other prison and shadow. The bar was the podium where the judge would sit and the booths dotted around were a mini oasis in a boardroom of wood and strobe light sentencing.
Goosebumps covered my skin—partly from cold and partly from anxiety at facing these women again—especially in a place such as this. Why couldn’t it be a simple bar with no theme or message?
I hated anything to do with law courts and police—it only layered my guilt with more rancid icing at the thought of Nameless.
I’d tried. I’d failed. I hadn’t given up but even the weekly phone calls I made to police officers who were kind enough to answer my questions had no news.
If I was a lucky sleeper who enjoyed vibrant dreams, I might’ve concluded he was merely made up of fantasies and heroism, bound together by imagination magic, and made brilliant by adolescent devotion.
But he had to have been real.
I still had the faintest scar on my nape from where my sapphire star had been ripped away, and I still endured the faintest seduction of chocolate on my lips when I was blessed enough to doze in his dream-company.
Standing in the paddling pool of partiers, I doubled my promise to do more. To track him down, no matter the cost.
Starting tomorrow.
Or tonight if I can leave early.
My minor discomfort at being watched by leering judges and glinting prison bars switched to major annoyance as Greg appeared from the crowd, holding a glass of champagne and a gin and tonic.
My heart instantly tobogganed down a cliff and shot off the edge in denial.
Oh, God, I’m so stupid.
Of course, Fleur hadn’t invited Mr. Everett.
No one knew I’d seen him again, and only my father knew what’d happened at the Weeping Willow.
She has no clue he exists, so how could I think she’d invite him as my date?
I’m an idiot.
She hadn’t ruined my aloofness at refusing Mr. Everett’s offer to take me out. But she had sentenced me to endure a terrible evening.
There would be no banter.
No sexy butterflies.
Nothing but obligation to ensure I remained professional—so I didn’t hurt Greg, my father, or Steve, and could look everyone in the eye on Monday with no regrets or dismay.
It didn’t matter my life would be so much simpler if I just gave into what everyone wanted. But my heart was stubborn and didn’t find Greg romance material in the slightest.
“Hi, Elle.” Greg passed me the champagne.
I didn’t even like champagne. If he cared for me as much as he pretended to, he would’ve remembered that from all the forced dinners we’d endured with our fathers.
The night suddenly looked a thousand times worse.
I might be a bitch in the boardroom, but I wasn’t mean, and Greg had dropped whatever plans he had to be here with me just because Fleur had called him.
I wouldn’t be nasty.
But I wouldn’t be overly gracious, either.
“Hello, Greg.” I sipped the cold bubbles, hiding my grimace. “It’s very nice of you to come with me. I hope Fleur didn’t interrupt your evening.”
He grinned, swiping a hand through his dark blond hair as his overly white teeth caught the strobe light glittering above. “Not at all. When she called, I couldn’t believe my luck. Finally, a night out just the two of us.” He leaned in with a wink. “Away from the chaperones.”
I hid my distaste, forcing a smile. “Exactly.”
He slotted himself beside me and, without asking permission, wrapped his arm around my wa
ist. The warmth of his bare forearm tingled my spine and not in a good way. He’d come to this wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans. He looked handsome, of course—he was a good looking guy—but compared to the gown I wore and the finery Fleur had graced me with, I came across as ridiculously overdressed.
My heart plummeted even further off the cliff, splattering on the unforgiving terrain below.
Tonight had slipped from disaster to annihilation. Chloe would never let me live this down if they were all in semi-formal clothing and I appeared dressed like a prom queen.
Does it matter, though?
My brain tried to be mature and see the bigger picture. So what Greg wasn’t in a suit—it wasn’t life or death. So what I might be over-dressed and Chloe might be the same cow I remembered—none of it made any difference to my tomorrow. I would still be me. I would still be as safe and as happy as I was yesterday.
Be brave, Elle.
And then leave with dignity.
Straightening my shoulders, I stepped out of Greg’s embrace but immediately looped my arm through his before his face could fall.
Squeezing his bicep in thanks, I said, “Let’s go mingle, shall we?”
* * * * *
Two hours I lasted.
Two hours where I was no longer me but a better version of me. Noelle was left behind, and Elle used the same techniques from dealing with men twice her age to wield mundane conversation with girls she’d long since forgotten about.
There was potty-training chats with Melanie and fake oohing and ahhing over her one-year-old Facebook pictures. There was biology class reminiscing with Frankie, pretending I felt the same way about our teacher Mr. Bruston, and how sexy his mustache had been.
Yeah, not at all.
There were snippets of cattiness from Maria and Sara about who ought to have gone out with Rollo Smith in summer camp, and the requisite fond recalling with Chloe about shopping late at night and running riot through Belle Elle when Dad let us sleep over in the lady’s ware department.
She called me Elle the Ding Dong Bell only twice.
But each was like a knife in my side.
I didn’t let it show.
Crown of Lies (Truth and Lies Duet #1) Page 14