All or Nothing (13 page)

13

“Well?” Emmy asked, helping herself to another slice of pizza. “How was it?”

“How was what?”

“The date! Duh.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d tried to block that from my memory. “Horrid. Ridiculous. Never happening again.”

“Okay then.” She stiffened. “Still, I’m proud of you for going. And most of all for putting Braydon in his place. Has he called again?”

I fought a wave of tears that threatened to escape. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake turning him down. I set my slice of pizza back on my plate. “No.”

“Hang in there, babe.”

It was easier said than done. I hadn’t seen Braydon in more than three weeks. Sure, he’d been in Hawaii much of that time, but still, he’d had ample opportunity to miss me, hadn’t he? And still, he hadn’t called again.

• • •

In the weeks that followed, Emmy became increasingly busy with New York Fashion Week. In the position to be more selective about work that took him away from the charity, Ben wasn’t walking in just any show. This made him even more in demand than usual, which Ben and Emmy used to their full advantage. Rather than simply being cast, they negotiated an exclusive appearance to the highest bidder. He’d chosen the Giorgio Armani show for a ridiculous sum that would go straight to his charity. I was proud of them for the careers they were building. It was cool to watch. They had the same vision and rarely disagreed, despite working long hours together.

Anytime Emmy brought up Fashion Week, I fought the urge to ask her about Braydon, which shows he was being cast in, and if he had any travel plans coming up. I knew that would only fuel my online-stalking of him. Fixating on him wasn’t healthy. He’d clearly moved on and I needed to as well. I did agree to join Emmy and Ben at the Armani postshow soiree. Emmy had convinced me, saying that Ben would be busy chatting up the industry people and she would be left alone. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Ben left his beautiful wife to fend for herself, but I agreed to go. Honestly, the party sounded like fun. It would give me an excuse to dress up, get out of my apartment, and mingle with pretty people. The idea that I might run into Braydon there only fueled my desire to attend.

He was still constantly on my mind, and even though I knew it wasn’t healthy, I wanted to see him, I wanted him
to see me, and I wanted to find out if we still had any connection. That evening I spent an inordinate amount of time blowing out my long hair with meticulous care until it was a glossy mane that fell down my back in a silky curtain. He’d take one look at me and drop down on his knees, begging for me to come back. At least that’s what I told myself as I got ready for the night.

I’d had a facial and was pleased to see my skin was soft and glowing. Applying my makeup was a breeze and I went a little overboard, dusting bronzing powder across my forehead, along the bridge of my nose, and the tops of my breasts. I added pink blush to the apples of my cheeks, berry lip gloss, and two coats of black mascara. I felt sexy and confident when I looked at the end result.

Without much time to fret over what I would say if I saw him, I rushed to meet Emmy and Ben’s driver outside my building, grabbing my handbag and hustling down the stairs to my awaiting chariot. It was kind of them to send Henry for me. They’d both been tied up at different events all day, working their connections to seek additional donors for their charity, so I planned to meet them there.

I arrived at the swanky lounge where the afterparty was being held and gave my name to the bouncer. The velvet ropes were parted, allowing me to pass through. I felt very posh strutting into the dimly lit space. And I had little choice but to strut—my five-inch heels left me feeling like I was on stilts.

Dozens upon dozens of little white candles dotted the
entire space and sheer white fabric floated down from the ceiling, tied into big bows that appeared to be suspended in midair. Pillows and cushions along the walls were the only seating and a large bar took up the entire back wall. I headed straight there, not sure what else to do with myself. Having a drink in hand would at least give me something to do.

Deciding to stick with the posh theme, I ordered a Cosmopolitan. Once I’d tipped the bartender, I accepted the martini glass and tasted the pink concoction. Potent but yummy. Turning from the bar, my eyes assessed the room. It was full of models and other industry people—publicists and photographers, I guessed. I spotted Ben across the room, chatting with an older man in a classic tux, but there was no sign of Emmy. And no Braydon, either. I concentrated on my drink once again. Parking myself on a barstool, I decided the little bowl of salted almonds would keep me company.

I dug my cell phone out of my little handbag to see if I’d missed a call from Emmy, but there was nothing. I considered texting her to find out where she was but decided I wouldn’t bug her in case she was making some connection for their charity.

Within minutes I was ordering another Cosmo to replace the one I’d sucked down rather quickly. Geez, I could already feel the effects of the vodka and Triple Sec as the bartender placed the new drink in front of me. Across the room, I spotted a buffet table with delicious things to eat—sautéed shrimp on skewers, mini burgers and lettuce wraps, and, oh my God, was that cheesecake? The buffet was all but abandoned, but I
wasn’t going to let that stop me. These people were crazy—this mama needed to eat. And almonds and vodka hardly counted as dinner. Oh yes, I’d be hitting that up later.

After a few more sips, Emmy appeared beside me, beaming her megawatt smile in my direction. “You look amazing,” she squealed, sizing me up. “I’ve never seen you wear that dress. Very sexy,” she nodded.

“Thank you.” I didn’t mention it was a new ensemble I’d bought just for this event on the small chance that I’d run into Braydon. It had cost me a fortune, but I didn’t care. I had to look my best; it was practically in the
Dealing with Your Ex
handbook. I smoothed the wine-colored stretchy fabric over my hips and smiled at my wardrobe choice. The dress left very little to the imagination. It hugged all my curves and displayed the girls nicely—the top of the dress draping down rather dramatically to showcase my décolletage and ample cleavage. It was a little more—okay a lot more—than I’d normally show off, but hell, it was a special occasion. It wasn’t every day I got invited to an Armani fashion show afterparty. The back of the dress also fell away to reveal my lower back, and the gray suede pumps were the perfect complement to my ensemble.

“How’s everything going? How was the show?” I asked, taking another gulp of my beverage. It was going to go straight to my head, but, damn, this thing was good.

I listened while Emmy filled me in on their day, that everything had gone great—and just when I was working up the courage to ask if she’d seen Braydon, she beat me to it:
“And I thought we’d run into Bray. He was in a bunch of shows today; I heard he opened the Calvin Klein show in a pair of briefs, sexy nerd glasses, boots, and a scarf,” she said with a laugh. “But I haven’t seen him anywhere.” She said something about the emphasis of the show being on men’s accessories, but I tuned her out and daydreamed about Braydon strutting down a catwalk in a pair of nut-hugging briefs. Mother, that would have been a sight to see. The Calvin Klein show would surely be up on YouTube . . . I knew what I was doing later. In fact, I wondered if it’d be possible to sneak into a corner unnoticed and look it up now on my smartphone. No, best to wait for tonight, when I could provide myself some relief.

Emmy rattled on about some snafu behind the scenes while guys were changing and an overzealous photographer rudely tried to sneak in a shot, when suddenly I felt the air around me shift. A warm current zipped along my spine and the hair on the back of my neck tingled. I spun around and spotted Braydon across the room.

He was facing me, but hadn’t seen me yet. Probably because he was engaged in what looked like a riveting conversation with a woman. His eyes crinkled with mischief and his crooked smile beckoned her on. Her back was to me, but I could only imagine she was a model. I cataloged our differences. Where she was sharp angles and thin legs poking beneath her dress, I was soft curves and rounded flesh filling out mine. I felt inadequate. But rather than studying her, my eyes fell back to him.

Emmy’s voice quieted, realizing what had captured my attention. “Oh,” she mumbled.

He tossed the girl in front of him a crooked smile and my heart tripped over itself, knowing just how it felt to be treated to that beautiful, dimpled grin. God, just being near him was brutal. I wanted to rush to him, throw my arms around his waist, nestle in against his chest, push my fingers into his messy hair, and kiss his full mouth, which I knew was soft yet demanding at the same time.

My eyes slid down his body and a current pulsed through me. My gaze fell from his face to his broad chest, down to his long muscular thighs covered in dark slacks. I caught movement and dropping my eyes lower, I caught the faceless blonde with her hand over the front of his dress pants. She was toying with his belt buckle rather suggestively while balancing on tiptoes to whisper something near his ear. Her manicured hand continued caressing his manhood. I felt bitter acid rise up my throat in protest.

Emmy’s sharp intake of breath signaled she’d spotted the rather noticeably indecent display as well. It had been a terrible idea to come here. This was his world, and I wasn’t a part of it anymore. I never had been. He’d clearly moved on. I hadn’t. Not one bit. My heart ached for him. And my stomach churned violently in response to seeing him with another woman. I needed to leave. I rose from my seat on shaky legs and turned toward the exit.

Braydon’s eyes latched on to mine and everything we’d
previously shared slammed into me with ferocious force. I locked my knees, fighting to remain steady in the too-high heels.

I dropped my gaze to the floor and mumbled something to Emmy about it being no big deal. A complete lie, of course. I felt desperate and sick, my stomach filled with acid.

His eyes burned into mine as if to inquire how badly he’d fucked things up with me. My mouth remained relaxed as I fought for control. I wouldn’t release the venom I so desperately wanted to, which would let him know just how hard this was for me. Before I had time to figure out my strategy, Braydon was just steps away, his eyes still locked on mine like a cheetah stalking its prey.

My stomach tightened into a knot. I knew I wasn’t strong enough for him to make some smart quip and joke about what we’d shared. I’d lose it completely if he was just going to downplay what we’d had. But as he approached, his face turned serious, his jaw tight with tension. He looked troubled.

Tears swam in my eyes. Tears I couldn’t let him see. The door was twenty feet away. So close yet also way too far. I had to make it. I needed the freedom, the fresh air, a Braydon-free zone. Just as I was starting for the door, a firm hand caught my wrist and spun me to face him.

“Talk to me, kitten.”

Unable to meet his blue eyes, my head dropped down. His erection had slackened.
God,
why was I even looking at that?

“No need—you can go back to your date.” I flicked my free hand in the direction of the hussy across the bar. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Anger seethed just below the surface and Braydon sucked in a sharp breath. “But you did. Now tell me why.”

I scoffed. “I don’t owe you anything, Braydon.”

His hand tightened around my wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to know that he wasn’t letting me go without a fight.

If he wanted a fight, I’d give it to him. I’d fled paradise without really explaining myself, and if he wanted the truth, I’d let him have it.

His tone softened. “For the record, I’m not here with anyone. Are you mad at me?”

I shook my head, thinking it over. “More like mad at myself.”

“For?” he asked, dark brows drawing together.

“For allowing myself to get too close to you. That arrangement wasn’t healthy for me.”

He thought it over, his jaw working. “I’m sorry. I thought having boundaries in place would make it easier for you. I tried to be honest from the start about what I was looking for.”

“And you were. It just turned out that I couldn’t do it.”

“That’s not how I remember it.” His tone had dropped lower and his eyes were still serious, still pinned on mine.

“W-what do you mean?” I stammered, heat suddenly rising to my cheeks.

“When you let yourself be free—when you stopped fighting it—you enjoyed yourself. Immensely.”

I swallowed a gulp of air as memories of Braydon flooded my system. His lips at my throat, him moving above me, me down on my knees, lightly rubbing my tongue along the steel barbell piercing while he groaned in pleasure. I wanted to argue with him, to tell him off, but instead I stood there gutted by his words, by his honest assessment of me. He always saw more than I wanted him to. “I’m not going to deny that. We both know this chemistry between us is . . .”

“Off the charts,” he finished for me.

I nodded. “But that’s not everything, Braydon. I was looking for a connection, the promise of something more—if not right away, maybe later down the line. But that possibility never manifested between us. I never got that from you.”

He remained silent, his eyes locked on mine. He couldn’t argue. Releasing a deep sigh, his hand found mine and he laced our fingers together. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted softly.

Damn it. My pulse rioted. My body remembered everything.

Braydon’s gaze lowered, moving down my curves, which suddenly felt much too exposed. “What the fuck is this dress?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that . . . but it will be a little difficult walking around all night with an erection.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Oh my God, it had been weeks since I’d actually laughed. That felt damn good. Bet
ter than I remembered. The tension I’d been carrying in my shoulders eased and I instantly felt calmed.

His hands smoothed over my hips. “Seriously, baby, a bathing suit would have been less revealing. Fuck.”