Page 1 of Hard to Judge

“See.” Hailey sidles next to me. She leans her elbows on the banister and lets her gaze rove the sitting room below. The grand room rises to the open second story. An old-world library filled with first editions and rich wood surrounds us. “A little alcohol makes everything better.”

Her arm brushes mine where it leans on the mahogany rail, her heat melting through the thin layer of my dress shirt. My suit coat is discarded on a chair behind us. Her heady scent fills my lungs, intoxicating and dangerous.

I escaped the ruckus of the holiday party for a reprieve. Though I’ve kept my eye on the core group gathered in the great room. The long sofas are organized in a rectangle around a mahogany coffee table that looks like it could double as a battering ram.

I hadn’t expected her to follow.

“Yes.” I nod. “A little will. A lot, however, is bound to backfire.” My words come as Arlo returns to the room with a decanter of aged bourbon and another bottle of wine.

The heads of media and tech for Arlo’s conglomerate sit opposite each other. Dobson’s and Karris’s glares have smoothed enough to fit under the facade of decorum. I know them so well. They don’t fool me.

Their respective dates are snuggled up to their respective sides.

Dobson canoodles with one of the most successful venture capitalists in the city. She looks like aPlayboypinup, has the investment instincts of an apex predator, and brass balls as big as her double Ds. There aren't many people whose opinions I pay attention to. Gertrude Errington’s is one.

Karris has his arm thrown over a fashion-forward man who looks a hell of a lot like Dobson.

Astor and her date sit on separate sofas. The Spanish-looking man Hailey’s best friend brought is reclined next to Dobson’s date, while Astor chats animatedly with Karris’s Dollar-Store-Dobson. The man isn’t ugly by any stretch, but he’s not as broad as Dobson. Not as imposing.

Hailey’s aunt, Natalia, and her Frenchman nestle in a loveseat at the far end of the room, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

“Or maybe it will make everyone forget their troubles for just one night.” Hailey grimaces.

“Do you think that?” I finally lift my gaze to study her shocking green eyes.

I should hate the woman standing by my side. After all, her red hair is from the devil. Her curves are made for sin. Her insight is too quick for my own good.

I wish I could hate her.

If I could hate her, her and Arlo, my life would be so much easier.

Arlo.

The broken boy who walked into my life and flipped it on its head is now all man. His tattered edges have been filed down and melded together. It took years and distance from the middle of nowhere UK, and it took Hailey.

Hailey is Arlo’s girlfriend. Though calling her that sounds cheap. It’s like calling ‘The Residence’ suite on Etihad Airways a plane ticket. Sure, it will get you from NYC to Abu Dhabi, but it’s so much more than that. Hailey is so much more.

She’s the one who finally cracked him open. She’s the one who made him want to be touched again and want to touch again. She owns his heart and possesses his lust and love.

It would be easy to hate her if it wasn’t impossible.

The woman is everything to Arlo.

Arlo is everything to me.

Therefore, this woman I barely know is everything to me too.

“No, I don’t.” Her long lashes fan across her cheeks for a second, and then she meets my gaze once more. “But it’s worth a shot tonight.” She tilts the tumbler of amber liquid toward me in an offering.

“Not even a baseball bat to the brain could make me forget the memories haunting me tonight.” I take the glass from her anyway and press it to my lips, where a hint of her lipstick mars the crystal. “But what the hell.” I toss it back and enjoy the burn.

“Want to talk about it?”

I chew my lip for a while, studying her angelic cheeks and wide mouth. She studies me back, just as intently. Like she’s trying to mine my secrets through telepathy.

“The holidays are hard for many people,” I dodge.

“I don’t care about many people.” Hailey pulls the glass from my hand and tips back the dregs.

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