Page 74 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

“Grant, let me introduce you to Leo Hart,” Frank says. Grant and I shake hands. “Caroline, this is Leo Hart.”

She narrows her eyes for a split second, as if she’s looking for confirmation that I’m who she thinks I am. She hasn’t changed much. She’s a little thinner. More polished. Her hair’s a little blonder. I’m waiting for the wrecking ball to knock me on my arse, but it doesn’t come. I’m tense, but nothing more. Maybe it will come later. Perhaps a knot in my gut will appear over dinner. Maybe a faint whisper of memory will settle over me as I collect my award. At the moment, though, I don’t feel anything.

“Leo!” she caws. “So good to see you.” She raises her arms slightly, like she’s expecting a good-to-see-you hug. I tighten my arm around Jules’ waistand offer my hand to shake as I kiss her cheek. “Leo and I are old friends,” Caroline says. “Knew each other when we were kids.” She smiles and it’s full of genuine warmth, like she doesn’t even remember how things ended between us.

“Really?” Grant asks. “Such a small world.”

Far too fucking small. I could have happily lived without this moment for the rest of my life.

“This is my fiancée, Jules Moore,” I say, and Jules shakes everyone’s hands.

“We should all get together for dinner,” Caroline says. “Catch up. It’s been a minute.”

“We’d love to,” Jules says, a little too quickly. She’s probably concerned I might tell them to shove their dinners up their arse. I wouldn’t, because I’ve prepared myself for this moment for far too long. But I’m still grateful that she speaks, because I wouldn’t have been able to get the words out. Even though I don’t want to be rude, I can’t bring myself to pretend away what happened between us. I don’t experience a rush of feeling for or about Caroline, but the incredible shitty-ness of what she did washes over me like it happened just yesterday. She’s a bitch.

“I’ve been following your career for a while now,” Grant says.

I nod, not sure if he’s bullshitting me or not. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re ever going to do business with him.

“You’ve really done some amazing work. The stuff in Harlem looks incredible. I’d love to get a tour at some point.”

“New River is incredible,” Frank says. “You should definitely go and see it. It’s going to change that part of New York forever. It will bring new life to the place. The finishes are secondto none.”

“Sales have launched, so if you have buyers, Annabelle Swain’s team would love to hear from you,” I say.

“I’m sure we have buyers,” Grant says. “If we bring enough of them, maybe we’ll get to be the agents on your next development.”

Grant is a typical agent. Pushy. Underinformed. But it gives me a sense of satisfaction that I don’t answer him with a commitment either way. He’ll take hope from that, just as Frank always has. It means he’ll waste energy and effort trying to win my business when I’ll never work with him.

A gong sounds and people start taking their seats. Frank and Grant say goodbye. Caroline reaches for my hand and squeezes. “So good to see you, darling. Glad we’ve run into each other all these years later.”

“She acted like—” Jules whispers as we move to our table. She’s practically stuttering over Caroline’s audacity.

I chuckle. “Like we were old friends reunited. So very typical of her. She doesn’t really get how her actions affect anyone. Or doesn’t care.”

Why was I so worked up about seeing her? It’s not like I want her back.

“Are you okay?” Jules whispers.

I nod. “I am.” I squeeze her leg under the table and sit back. It’s like something’s been released in me that’s been bolted in place for years. “Thank you for being here.”

She reaches up and pushes her fingertips through my hair, over my ear. “It’s my pleasure,” she says.

The rest of the members of my team join us at the table. Fisher sends over six bottles of vintage champagne before the awards announcements even begin.

“I think it’s shitty that they don’t announce your award first,”Jules says.

“You do?”

“Yeah, because then you could sit back and relax.”

“But would we stay?” I ask. “I’m not sure I could sit through all these awards if I wasn’t waiting for mine at the end.”

“I thought you’ve been to these awards before?”

“Only when I’ve been nominated for Developer of the Year. It’s a networking opportunity. I’m rarely in my seat.” Realistically, I don’t know if I’ll attend again. What’s the point? I’ve built a reputation so everyone in New York real estate knows me. I’d prefer to be at home right now. Or at dinner with Jules one-on-one.

“You do a lot of late-night events,” she says. Her tone is off. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have noticed, but I know her better now. What’s she thinking?

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