Happy Hour

by Piper Rayne

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” I plaster on a fake smile, knowing that bringing him to brunch was a bad idea. Because once it’s proven that Roarke isn’t the man I thought he was a few short days ago, I’ll have to tell my father that once again my gut was wrong. And everyone knows that half of being a good business person is having great intuition.

  “He makes a hell of a first impression,” my dad says.

  He slides over when Roarke approaches the table, a smile on his face that says he’s about as smitten as I am over the man sitting next to me. So I’ll break both of our hearts. Great.

  “Why don’t you show Roarke the fountain?” My dad points out the French doors to the courtyard.

  Roarke doesn’t miss a beat. He must want me to get out of my parents’ scrutiny.

  The fountain has water shooting from all five points into the one large spout in the middle. It’s nothing like Buckingham but it’s nice.

  “Finally I get you alone.” Roarke sits down on a bench and pulls me into his lap.

  “This isn’t really a crowd who appreciates public displays of affection.” My gaze darts around the surroundings but no one is really around.

  “I don’t much care what this crowd likes because I need your lips on mine now.”

  With his words, his hand slides to the back of my neck and he pulls me down to his. The slickness of his tongue doesn’t wait to break the seam of my lips. He grows hard underneath my legs as our kiss becomes more than PDA. It’s almost X-rated the way his hand slides up my skirt, his fingers dangerously close to my center.

  All thoughts of the PI, the perfume, and the phone calls disappear from my consciousness because as always, Roarke has the capability to make my mind fuzzy.

  “Ha. Seems like we both walked away winners from my divorce.” Todd’s voice sounds from behind us and I freeze.

  After a second, I break the kiss, standing to my feet. My face is red and my lips are probably swollen. Todd is there with a look of smug satisfaction on his face, his new fiancée standing at his side. My gaze flicks down to their adjoined hands.

  She’s younger than me by at least ten years. She’s cute and I wonder if I’ve ever met her. She doesn’t look familiar.

  “Todd,” Roarke says his name like he’s a child. He swings his arm around me and pulls me to his side. “I guess our secret is out, but then again yours is, too.”

  Todd looks down at their adjoined hands and drops his fiancée’s. Poor girl.

  He looks the same. Tall, thinly built with his khaki pants and button-down shirt, his hair full but shaggy.

  “You’re dating him?” Todd directs his question to me, but points to Roarke with his now free hand.

  “I am.” I lift my chin and push back the thought of word getting around that Hannah Crowley has been deceived once again, if Roarke is still playing the field behind my back.

  “Good luck with that. Not really your type.”

  The fiancée matches his steps toward us in her too short sundress and cork-soled sandals.

  “How do you know my type?” I place my free hand on Roarke’s stomach and my face inches from his neck. I hate myself right now.

  “I was married to you for years. I figured your mom would have had a line of suitable men lined up for you.” His lopsided grin says he’s being sarcastic.

  “Good thing she doesn’t need to do that.” Roarke laughs. One I’ve never heard come out of him before. His lips press to my temple. “I stole her before they had the chance.”

  I wish there wasn’t truth to that statement but there is. I barely blinked and fell for the one man I hated.

  “Did you hear we’re getting married?” Todd says in lieu of a suitable comeback. He searches behind him for his fiancée’s hand.

  Raising their adjoined hands in the air, he attempts to show off the rock on her finger. One that was probably financed partially with my money.

  “Well good luck with that.” I slide out from under Roarke’s hold, grabbing his hand and leaving the fountain.

  “You too,” he says but I’m too busy leading Roarke away to respond.

  I don’t have it in me to play a game of one up with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Earth to Hannah!” Chelsea waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me away from my thoughts of what the private investigator I hired is finding out right now.

  After brunch yesterday, I told Roarke I had a horrible headache and that I just wanted to go home and lay down. He insisted that he’d take care of me. But somehow, I won the battle and got myself away from his intoxicating cologne and sweet gestures so I could clear my mind to make the call to the investigator. I have to know for sure before investing more of myself in this relationship.

  Now I sit in a meeting with the caterer, a friend of Roarke’s, or so he says, but the guy is like fifteen years younger than him and doesn’t fit Roarke’s usual type. Jett’s almost black hair and piercing blue eyes would make any girl weak in the knees. Add on the fact he can cook and you’ve got the panty dropper trifecta.

  “Shit, you know how I appreciate a bad boy,” Chelsea whispers as we’re seated in a restaurant that doesn’t open until dinner.

  His all black apparel with tattoos up both his arms is a recipe for heartbreak which only reminds me again of the fact that the PI might be snapping a picture right now that could break my heart.

  “Well, you’re already committed to one of those.” Victoria takes a sip of her water.

  A loving smile creases Chelsea’s lips. “I know. He’s been so sweet lately. Always laying his head on my stomach, swearing he’s hearing the little bean move.”

  “And?” I ask.

  She waves me off. “Way too early. He just likes to talk to he or she, saying that our bean needs to recognize his voice, too.”

  “Sweet,” I say and Victoria smiles at her, too, before cutting into one of the dishes we’re taste testing for the gala.

  “I hired a private investigator,” I blurt out and each of their forks clink against their dishes when they drop them.

  “Why?” Victoria’s eyes are big as saucers.

  “Because I think he’s cheating.”

  “Are you guys exclusive?” Chelsea asks an innocent yet important question.

  “He said I was the only woman but in the past week he’s taken a number of phone calls away from me.’

  “He’s a lawyer,” Victoria interjects.

  “He left me after getting a phone call one night this past weekend.”

  Vic looks a little less sure of herself now.

  “With what reason?” Chelsea asks, before taking a sip of her water.

  “Work.”

  “There is the attorney-client privilege,” Victoria reminds me.

  “He came home at two in the morning.”

  She clamps her mouth shut.

  “Then when I smelled his shirt the next morning there was a faint smell of perfume. Not mine.”

  They both clasp their hands in their laps. Speechless like I expected. It’s all the telltale signs. Read any Cosmo it would tell you the same. All I need now is to prove it.

  “Why don’t you just ask him?” Victoria asks.

  “Because I want to have my evidence so he can’t sweet talk me. I want to catch him in the act actually. I told the PI that if she sees him in a compromising situation she’s to call me and I’ll meet her wherever she is.”

  “What are we, on the set of Cheaters?” Chelsea says. “Can I go with you, because I really want to be like that guy with the microphone asking all the questions.” She positions her fist in front of her mouth. “Tell me, Roarke, why would you ruin a relationship with the lovely and gorgeous Hannah Crowley? Have you been diagnosed with insanity?” She giggles but Victoria shoots her a look like ‘not right now.’ Chelsea’s hand drops along with her head. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  “Don’t be,” I chuckle. “You made me laugh for the first time this week.”

  “Any news from her ye
t?” Victoria asks.

  “She said I’ll only hear from her if I can meet her. Otherwise she’ll follow him for a week and report back.” I push the plate of four different types of potatoes away from me.

  Victoria’s hand stretches out and covers mine. Chelsea follows suit and we sit in the circular booth like we’re having a prayer circle. “We’ll pick you up if you fall, Han.”

  I smile at the two women who I know will do just that. Gwen, too, though I purposely kept her out of the loop when we spoke yesterday. She’s crazy busy with work and I don’t want to burden her.

  “I’ve already prepared myself.”

  Just as I say that my phone rings from inside my purse. The girls take their hands back to their own laps, their eyes on me.

  I nod seeing the PI number and I fight against the bile rising up my throat.

  “Hello?”

  “Come to 900 Michigan. I’m outside Bloomingdale’s,” the sweet voice from a woman that no one would think is the PI says and then hangs up.

  “It’s now or never.”

  “Can we come?” Chelsea asks.

  “Sure,” I say, figuring a little back-up wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  Chelsea and Victoria slide out, Victoria rushing off to the kitchen to tell Jett we have to leave. When she emerges, she surprises me. “I told him whatever. That he’s a great chef and we’re cool with whatever he thinks is best.”

  Chelsea laughs and Victoria shrugs. “We don’t have time for another taste test and his shit is awesome. I don’t think we have to worry.”

  “True,” I say.

  The dark tint of the restaurant is a stark contrast to the sunny day of Chicago. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but Chelsea’s already flagging down a taxi.

  A yellow cab stops at the curb and she climbs into the front, Victoria and I in the back.

  “You don’t mind, do you? “ Chelsea asks the driver. “The thought of sliding across that seat pregnant...”

  The taxi driver shrugs and follows her directions to 900 Michigan, the premier shopping area in Chicago.

  After what seems like forever between waiting for pedestrians and traffic the taxi stops at the edge of the tall building with a 900 on it.

  I stare up and take a deep breath.

  “Can I kick him in the nuts?” Chelsea asks as we ride the escalator up to the Bloomingdale’s entrance.

  The redhead I hired is sitting in one of the massage chairs. “Hey, Hannah,” she greets us. “My partner is still tailing them and they’re in the women’s section of business attire. There’s a child with them. A little girl.”

  My heart drops to the depths of my stomach before sputtering out a few weak beats. Does he have a child he never told me about?

  She pulls out her phone to show me a picture and I can barely see over Chelsea’s blonde hair trying to get a glimpse.

  “He’s been with her this entire afternoon. I have to say though, we haven’t seen any untoward affection from either party. He hugged the girl and gave her a high five, but that’s all. It’s just weird that a man would shop with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend so I figured you’d want to know. I mean…”

  “I get what you’re saying,” Victoria says. “The other day Reed acted like I was prying his fingernails off when I went to look for a pair of jeans.”

  The PI nods. “I just felt that I should call because other than this, he’s been clean all week. Courthouse, office, and home. He went to lunch with a client one day.” She slides the screen of her phone over to another picture and there’s my friend Scarlett Quinton at a small sandwich place with Roarke. “It’s up to you whether you think this is worth confronting him over.”

  I step away from the phone and she presses her hand to an earpiece. “She’s here.” There’s a pause. “Okay.” She stands from the massage chair and her hand falls to her side. “My partner says the woman went into the intimates area after she modeled some pantsuits and the subject had the seamstress come to fit her on two of them. He’s been playing goldfish with the young girl while they’ve been waiting.”

  “Oh, we’re going.” Chelsea’s already wide eyes grow bigger and she nods toward the entrance.

  Take the step, Hannah. Just confront him and then it’s over.

  I hesitate for a second. I don’t know why. But then I remember the humiliation of other people knowing about Todd’s affair before I did. How stupid they must have thought I was, the poor in-the-dark wife.

  “Let’s go.” I head toward the entrance, the three women following behind me. With every step, my body weakens. My heart pricks like it’s slowly draining of blood knowing it will soon be in little pieces anyway. This is going to hurt so much more than Todd.

  How is that even possible? A man who entered my life only a few short months ago will tear me to pieces more than my marriage did.

  We enter the intimates and I see a blonde woman leaving the area with bras, garters, and silk panties in her hands. She smiles over to us in her jeans and t-shirt clad body. I register the fact that she’s about two sizes smaller than me but refuse to examine it right now.

  “What’s your name?” Chelsea stops as I pass by to reach Roarke.

  My issue isn’t with the woman, it’s with the man who made the promise to me.

  “No Chels,” I say.

  “Hannah,” the PI who was tailing Roarke nods when she says my name signaling that the blonde is the woman who is with him this afternoon.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. Roarke’s head peers up over the racks of designer clothes. Did he hear my name?

  His face pales and his eyes dart over to the woman with me. Seeing the one woman who was shopping, join a woman already with us, I can see that he already understands what just happened. He’s way too smart not to know when someone gets caught in the act. Hell, he’s probably seen the live version of this go down in discovery more than the host of Cheaters has.

  “What are you doing here?” He weaves through the racks of clothes.

  When he clears them and stands on the carpeted path, a little blonde girl follows, her head peering out through the clothes like they’re curtains.

  “Reese,” the woman says and the girl goes to her mom’s side. The mom who’s holding lingerie in her hand.

  “Oh sir, I have the receipt for the suits. You can pick them up next Monday. I can ring up those bras and panties next.” The sales associate talks while she’s headed down the path toward our group but everyone’s eyes are on me and Roarke.

  “I’d ask for an explanation but I don’t need one,” I say with deathly calm.

  “You had me followed?” he asks with the nerve to make it sound like I did something wrong.

  “I told you I knew the best.”

  A hollow laugh floats out of his mouth. “Why wouldn’t you just ask me if you thought something was going on?”

  “I don’t need to ask you. I have proof now.” I cross my arms keeping my distance because I knew this was going to be the outcome regardless of how many times I begged not to be right.

  “Proof?”

  “Yes.” I sneer back at him and point behind me at the blonde woman.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  Chelsea grabs the PI’s phone away from her, runs up to Roarke and holds the screen millimeters away from his face. “We have it right here. Who buys lingerie for a woman who’s not their girlfriend?” She points to the blonde woman who’s now staring at Roarke with sympathy in her eyes.

  He glances over to me. “Maybe if Hannah would like to have a one on one conversation, we could clear this all up and you’ll see there’s no proof of anything.” He’s mad. I hear it in his tone. In the way his jaw is clenching and how he’s holding his hands in fists at his sides.

  Well screw him.

  “I don’t need some conversation where you sweet talk me and convince me that I’m imagining things. That my insecurity of being cheated on before is bringing doubts into my subconscious. Would you be okay with anothe
r man buying me lingerie?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” He shifts his stance and I’ve never seen him so indignant except for when we were in court.

  “Then it’s done. Thank you, Roarke, for proving to me you are exactly who I thought you were in the first place.”

  I storm off down the aisle, not caring one iota that other shoppers are starting to take notice.

  “You’re being ridiculous!” he calls out after me. “Give me five minutes in the cafe and this will all be cleared up.”

  “I’d knee you in the nuts if I didn’t think it would harm my baby,” Chelsea spits out, following me.

  “I’m really disappointed in you, Roarke. I thought you were one of the good ones,” Victoria says and then I hear nothing else and I don’t stop until I’m flagging down a taxi back on the street.

  Just as they promised, Victoria and Chelsea are at my side, prepared to piece me back together.

  I’m just not sure all the broken pieces will fit back together like they did the first time around.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next day I sit in my office, my eyes so puffy that I feel like a blowfish after a night of going through two boxes of tissues. The girls tried to spend the night, but I told them to go home to their men. That I’d take a sleeping pill and go to bed.

  Roarke hasn’t tried to reach out to me since I left him standing between the designer dresses and sexy lingerie of Bloomingdale’s. I might never look at a nightie the same way again.

  My phone dings and I don’t want to acknowledge it, but there are too many loose ends with the gala a week away and so I have no choice but to see who it is.

  Gwen: I’m flying in this weekend. Can I crash with you?