Page 37 of Beyond Question

She knows damn well why I don’t have a socialite or model on my arm tonight.

Hell, they both know.

Sitting through an evening with anyone other than Paige sounds lifeless and boring.

Plus, she’ll be in attendance tonight and the last thing I want her to see is me with yet another nameless woman on my arm.

But the fact that Rylan encouraged me to bring a date in the first place means Paige truly isn’t interested in me and I hate the way that makes me feel like my heart has a gaping hole in it.

“Cheer up, Wilder,” Cabot says gruffly. “It’s notyourfuneral.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” I say, smirking as I raise my glass in salute of my best friend. “And you’re right. It’s yours.”

Cabot’s jaw tightens.

Rylan shoots me a glare before tilting her face up to his and drawing his focus away from me so she can kiss that scowl right off his lips. In all our years of friendship, I’ve never seen a woman tame that beast quite the way she can.

Chuckling, I tilt the glass back and down its contents.

We aren’t headed to anactualfuneral, not in the literal sense of the word, but for the first time in five years, Cabot won’t be receiving the coveted award of the night.

And he’s been beaten by none other than his very own fiancée.

Well, technically, not Rylan, exactly, but the small publishing house she left Reed Publishing’s romance division for, which is basically the same thing.

Paige’s publishing house, to be exact.

It’s the only aspect of this evening I’m looking forward to, seeing Paige win an award I know she’s worked damn hard for.

Cabot can pout all he wants. We’re still at the top of the totem in just about everything else; bestsellers and dollars dominate, and no one comes close to Reed Publishing where those two things are concerned. And Reed Enterprises as a whole? Forget about it.

But where Reed Publishing’s romance imprint is concerned, Cabot may be the best, but his star has already risen, settled at the top, and has the bankroll to prove it. It’s Paige’s turn now and I couldn’t be prouder of her, even though I know I have no right to be, seeing as how she wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

There’s a tick in Cabot’s jaw tonight, a muscle that thrums in his left temple. Reed's men detest losing, so even though he pretends to be happy for Rylan, or, more specifically, her boss, there’s an underlying edge to his words and movements.

And I love riling him up about his loss. Until Rylan came around, I was the only one in Cabot’s life who challenged him. Now he has the two of us to keep him in line.

The limousine rolls to a stop and a moment later, the back door opens, then the driver stands to the side to allow the three of us to exit the vehicle.

I down the rest of my drink and wait my turn, climbing out after Rylan and Cabot.

While I stand on the curb outside the botanical gardens, I scan the other guests arriving. There are a few familiar faces, other bigwigs in the publishing industry, but I can’t feign bullshit the way Cabot can. I’ve never been good at the schmoozing part that comes with the territory of being big in business—or richer than the Devil himself—so I leave that shit to him.

I focus on my phone as Cabot and Rylan say a few hellos, looking up only when Rylan whispers my name under her breath, then follows it up with an elbow to my ribcage.

“Ow, what was that for?” I follow her gaze to the curb as a town car rolls to a stop in front of us.

Even the gentleman—even with that muscle ticking in his jaw—Cabot beats the driver to the back door of the car and opens it, offering his hand to the woman in the backseat.

“Ms. Matthews,” he says as Paige slides her hand into his and, in an absolutely shocking turn of events, allows him to help her from the vehicle.

And then she’s standing on the curb andI can’t fucking breathe.

My heart beats wildly as my pulse races, a rhythmic rush of blood in my ears.

JesusfuckingChrist, she’s a knockout.

I slip my phone into my pocket, eyes locked on Paige.

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