Page 9 of Can't Get Enough

She’s widely considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, as she should be. The first time I saw her, I’m pretty sure Istopped breathing. She has her catty moments, but generally she’s kind and funny and pretty close to perfect. To say people were shocked when our relationship went public is an understatement. She—the model socialite and fashion world darling. Me—a borderline antisocial businessman most people would have to google to know. The official statement we’ll release after this party will say our breakup was mutual. And in a way it was. She wanted marriage and a baby. My daughter is graduating from high school, and I don’t want to start over. Just as I’m finally getting an empty nest, Zere realized she wants to fill hers. Neither of us was willing to budge, so… is that mutual? Her ultimatum. My refusal.

The sobs coming from the guest room down the hall the night we broke up didn’t sound mutual. They sounded heartbroken. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, while her tears tore at my heart.

“You’re right, of course,” Zere says, hurt standing liquid in her eyes. “About the party. I guess it just stings seeing how badly you want me out of your life.”

The wobble in her voice wrings something in my chest.

“Damn, Zee.” I run my hand across the back of my neck and grit my teeth. “You know that’s not it. I’ll always care for you.”

“Don’t patronize me.” A tear slips over the smoothness of her cheek, streaking through her expertly applied makeup. “Emotionally, I mean. Don’t look after my feelings and say shit you don’t mean to make me feel better.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll have all my stuff out after the party,” she cuts in, swiping carefully at the tears. “Movers come Monday.”

“There’s no rush.” I clear my throat. “I’m rarely even here.”

I bought this house a few months before we got serious, but Zere is stamped on every square inch of it. WhenArchitectural Digestfeatured it last year, referring to it as our “party house,” Zere prepared as one would for the Olympics. I’ve steered clear of Miami since the breakup, bouncing between my apartment in Manhattan and my place in Malibu. Shewould be pissed to know last month when I had business in Miami, I stayed at the Ritz because I knew she was here. My movers will be right behind hers because I’m selling the house she loves so much. I think losing this place might break her heart more than losing me.

Isshe losing me?

Did she ever have me? Did I have her?

The sex was fantastic. Hell, our breakup sex was actually top ten. She’s a smart woman, and I was never bored. We had goals as a couple. It always felt like she was propelling us forward, like we were on our way… up. We were alwaysstriving. And as much as I’m driven in business, my personal life is not for climbing. I work hard and I want to rest. I never felt like I could rest with Zere. Not that I don’t crave adventure. Adrenaline is practically my recreational drug, but attending the next exclusive party, making another list, appearing on Page Six—none of that matters to me, but it always has to Zere. So the marriage and baby ultimatum may have felt like the final straw, but somewhere in the back of my mind, in unacknowledged corners of my heart, I knew our paths would eventually diverge.

“You say there’s no rush,” Zere mutters, stepping back and smoothing the white miniskirt over her hips. “But I know you’re ready for this to be over. You hate loose ends.”

“You’re not a loose end. You’re my friend, Zere. I hope you always will be.” I grab her hands, and dip the inch to look her squarely in the eyes. “And I hope you get everything you want. Everything I wasn’t able to give you.”

“Wasn’t able to? Or wasn’t willing?” She snatches her hands back. “Pretty sure your sperm count is high enough and we were practically married already.”

I don’t dispute her, though I’ve seen a good marriage in my parents, and Zere and I were never “practically married.”

“Let’s not do this.” I leave the closet and head into the bedroom, trusting that she’ll follow. “Not now with a houseful of people having a good time. Come on.”

I extend my hand, waiting for her to take it so we can present a united front this one last time. It’s a miracle our breakup hasn’t leaked to the press, but neither of us have told many people. My dad and a few close friends know, but I can trust them to keep it to themselves and let us share the news on our own terms.

Zere takes my hand and studies our entwined fingers. Her mouth trembles for a second, but she marshals her face into the mask she wants it to be. The beautiful visage that has graced every major magazine cover. She offers one jerk of a nod, almost like she’s having a silent conversation with herself, and moves toward the stairs.

I love this house most when it’s full of people. So really only once a year. When Zere suggested we throw an all-white party the first summer of our relationship, I had no idea this would become one of the most coveted invitations.

The massive glass wall leading to the backyard from the living room is folded back, opening to a dazzling view of the bay. There’s a swirl of bodies, all dressed in white, mingling, drinking, dancing outside. Servers circulate with trays of food you can easily eat with your hands. A few adventurous guests are playing volleyball in the pool… fully dressed.

I’ve had so little downtime lately, this isn’t really how I want to spend one of my few free Saturday evenings. But this is the last time. I can at least give Zere this.

“I want you to meet Chapel,” Zere says, reminding me we still have one last appearance to get through.

“She’s the one who wonLewks, right?” I ask, frowning and trying to recall the details.

“Right. If you’d ever actually made it to set this season, you could have met her.”

I draw in a breath through my nose and force myself not to respond harshly. “I actually did come a few times. Not as much as I would have liked, but you know I’ve been slammed with the sale of True Playahs.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware just how important your work is,” Zere half laughs.

I’ve been negotiating the biggest deal of my life, as complex as the Riemann hypothesis, and she expected me to sit around on the set of her reality show waiting for her to take a break? I would never have pulled her away from something as professionally vital as this deal was for me. Didn’t I show support in other ways? Me showing up to sit around set wouldn’t have changed the fact that we have been headed to this end for at least the last year.

“Zee, I—”

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