Page 104 of From West, With Regret

“I thought that’s what you liked.” I’m still catching my breath as I lift my chin and adjust my tie through the tiny rearview mirror. “An audience.”

“Not always. But it is kind of thrilling, isn’t it?” She smiles, revealing her perfectly straight, white teeth. She’s beautiful, but nothing inside me shifts. I feel nothing for Emily. And despite knowing this isn’t the first time we’ve fucked, I have a feeling this time will be the last.

It’s a shame, too, because she is a good fuck.

“It’s whatever.” I clear my throat and sit on the edge of the leather seat.

Her hands fall into her lap, and we just sit there, looking at each other.

Well, this is fucking awkward.

“So.” She inhales a deep breath, and her shoulders rise. “Do you want to do this again? I’m only in the city two more days before heading back to Albany.”

“I don’t think so.”

She hums, twisting her tongue in her mouth with pursed lips, but her irritation is momentary. She brushes me off, her expression shifting as she gestures in my direction. “I get it. Good luck with everything. You know, the magazine and all that. Oh, and thank you for the second article. It’ll look good for the new gallery.” She twists in her seat and opens the car door. She steps one leg out as the valet stationed out front holds his hand out for her.

I watch as she stands and adjusts the bottom of her silver dress. It sways as she turns around, bends at the waist, bringing her face in line with mine through the open door.

“Oh, and Holt?” She lifts her eyebrows, giving me a sickly-sweet smile. “Next time you fuck someone for the fun of it, make sure you aren’t moaning another woman’s name. Selene, was it?” She scrunches her nose. “Even if she’s just using you to get off, too, it’s still a bad look.”

She slams the door in my face.

Falling back against the seat, I rake a hand through my hair. Sweat sticks to the back of my neck, and the ends of my brown strands. Fuck. My palm slowly slides down my face as I look in the mirror.

I did it again.

Dammit. I shouldn’t care what Emily Rapture thinks or what she said. We’ve never been more than business acquaintances, using each other for an occasional fuck. But her pointing out my one weakness does something to my insides. Frustration simmers beneath my skin, and my suit suffocates me with sick pleasure.

I pour a quick shot of whiskey from the small shelf built into the back of my car and toss it back before sliding across the back seat of my car.

I hold my breath, preparing myself for tonight. To mix andmingle with anyone who would be beneficial to me or my magazine. My hand freezes on the doorhandle when I see her.

Blonde hair, full, bright-red painted lips. She glances over her shoulder, laughing at my sister as she leads the way, which is strange for a wallflower such as her. Her laughter sings, breaking through the sounds of the city around us.

She’s fucking breathtaking.

My stomach does that fucking thing where it somersaults, watching her hips sway beneath her baby pink, silken gown, but then it screeches to a halt when someone grabs her hand. He slinks his fingers down the length of her arm, then hooks it onto his before escorting her inside.

Who the fuck is that?

Grinding my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair one more time before opening the door and stepping outside to find out who the asshole is that Selene brought with her.

While making my way out front, I’m closing the single button on my suit jacket, watching Selene and her date disappear inside.

“Holt Capuleti? CEO of Scribe Magazine?” the beady-eyed man in a generic brown suit asks, standing directly in front of me. He looks out of place for this type of event.

I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Who’s asking?”

He reaches inside his briefcase and pulls out a manila folder, slapping it against my chest. “You’ve been served.”

“What the fuck?” The words tumble from my mouth on a single breath.

Then the man disappears in the opposite direction.

Turning the folder over, I scramble to tear it open and slip the paper out from inside, reading the name of the asshole who has the fucking nerve to sue me.

Rome Montgomery.

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