Page 53 of Maximum Dare
“I think that’s salmon.” I gave a shrug of doubt. “They have a nice white wine over there that will pair well.”
“Oh, lovely,” he answered in a crisp accent.
Realizing he was waiting for me to pour him a glass, I got on with it, sloshing the contents of an oversized carafe of white wine into a large glass and handing it over.
He looked amused. “Thank you, my dear.”
Then I recognized him—this man was the son of the owner of Manchester United. His say would influence Nick’s career.
“I want you to know,” I began. “Nick Banham is not only a brilliant player but a good person, too.”
“I appreciate that,” he said.
“He’ll give his all. You’ll have someone who’ll make you proud. Football’s in his blood, but more importantly, he’d be a team player and he’d also be good to the fans.”
He held out his hand. “And you are?”
Oh, right.
“No one important. Just someone who cares deeply for him.”
He headed off and disappeared into the crowd.
Peering beyond the throng of party-goers, my eyes adjusted to the dark, making out the seemingly endless amount of land that belonged to the estate. The curtain was drawn back on who Nick really was—a man who’d lived a privileged life.
I’d never really known him.
Yet my heart reacted the same way it always had when I saw him across the lawn, as though forgetting the pain he’d put me through.
Nick was pulling Morgan down a garden pathway. The sight of them together sent an arrow into my heart, lodging there, causing my chest to constrict with a sudden pain. I bit my bottom lip and put a hand over my heart as though I could soothe away the agony.
Turn back.
But I couldn’t.
Blinking into the darkness, I hurried along beside a fence that surrounded a tennis court. Inhaling deep breaths to calm myself, I followed along after them, trying to convince myself that what I was doing made sense. I’d have to wait for Nick to be alone before I confronted him. All I had to do was not lose sight of them.
The lights dimmed and the grass became uneven, so I paused to take off my high heels. The sounds from the party grew fainter, the laughter now cut off by the high hedges. This place seemed to go on forever. I continued down the blue and white tiled steps.
The ground suddenly felt unsteady beneath my bare feet.
Oh, God.
I was standing on a beige tarp, the material stretching across a swimming pool. Water seeped around my feet, turning my toes into icicles. I turned back, but slipped on the unstable cover, not making any headway.
I was stuck, balancing precariously in the center of a plastic tarp that barely supported my weight, with rushing water meeting my calves and drenching my hem.
“Help!”
“Daisy?” It was Nick.
“You’ve got to be joking!” That was Morgan.
Now that I was closer, I could see she’d gone with the gown from Badgley Mischka. A good choice.
She looked stunning.
In contrast, I’d gone with a more modest look—that of Nick Banham’s jilted ex-girlfriend, dressed as staff with a dash of crazy.
