Page 43 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
Long enough for me to know that what I liked washer.
I hurried to catch up, overtaking her by the time we reached the bar, grabbing a matched pair of champagne flutes and passing one to her. I held mine up in a wordless toast, and she clinked hers against it, the sound swallowed by the party. She took a quick sip, then looked around, lips pursed. Her finger tapped against the side of her champagne flute, and I smiled.
“What?” she asked, frowning back at me. I tipped my head toward a quiet spot just off the ballroom floor, between two columns, and she followed me there. “What?” she asked again.
“You’renervous.”
Her frown deepened. “Not nervous,” she said. “I just want everything to go well tonight.”
“Right,” I agreed, lifting my eyebrows. “For the kids.”
“Sure.” She folded her arms across her chest, and I smiled fondly at her. “Hey, Samantha,” I said, taking a step closer to her. “You know, New York Lit has probably been looking for a reason to award you Agent of the Year ever since you netted Edie six figures and made yourself the most sought-after agent in the city.Sure, it’sonly romance,” I said, my smile turning ironic, “but I think they’re rethinking that position after Edie’s book, don’t you?” She bit her lip. “Yeah. This, tonight?” I looked around at the beautiful hall, the carefully arranged items up for auction, the bar stocked with therightkind of wine. I’d asked around, figured out the favorite whiskey of the NY Lit chair, and we had that behind the bar, too.Huh. What a coincidence.“This is just an excuse. Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be great.”
“You shouldn’t be that impressed. James is a pushover,” she said, glancing up at me with one corner of her lip turned up, very slightly. Much better.
“You think I don’t know that? But the important thing is that MacDougal at NY Lit doesn’t.You got this, Scott,” I said, clapping her on the shoulder in an exaggeratedly collegial way. She wrinkled her nose. “Sam,” I said. “Samantha. Sami.” I reached out, squeezing her bare shoulder in the same spot, letting my thumb rub over her smooth, soft skin just for a moment before letting my hand fall away. “Sweetheart,” I said, barely a whisper, and at that, at last, she swallowed, glancing around.
I smiled–she was socute, Sami–and then her eyes met mine again, this time, filled with heat, the faintest smirk on her perfect lips. “Later,” she murmured. I grinned.
She turned, walking away from me, rejoining the party, and I watched her go, her shoulders straight, head held high, the rhythm of her hips visible beneath the satin. I would peel it away from her body–later–but for now…She’s got this, I thought. She turned just before being swallowed up by the crowd, her face carefully blank even as she caught me staring.
I smiled. Only a fool would doubt Samantha Scott.
CHAPTER22
Samantha
Charlie was right:I had been nervous. As I glanced over my shoulder to look at him loitering at the edge of the ballroom, it was hard to remember why: his smile was confident, one hand shoved into the pocket of a perfectly-fitting suit, the other lifting up his glass of champagne. Charlie might be an asshole, but he wasn’t a liar.You got this, Scott.I smiled, repeating his words to myself.You got this.
Across the room, I spotted the graying head of Brian MacDougal, chair of the New York Literary Association. He was nodding as he spoke to Edie Martin, a glass of whiskey in his hand. I rolled my shoulders back.
You got this,I told myself once more. I took a deep breath, then set off to join them.
* * *
“Sam!”
I turned to see Flora approaching. In a deep wine-colored cocktail dress and her copper hair pulled back into a romantic twist, she looked every bit the society wife, and nothing like the nanny she’d once been or the teacher she was professionally–except for the sparkle in her eye and the playful smile teasing around her lips. I hadn’t known her long–and only through Edie–but she was the kind of outgoing, unselfconscious person who was friends with everyone. Like Charlie, I thought. Ryan, her new husband and my old friend, trailed behind her, lifting his hand in a wave. A gold wedding ring glinted on his finger once again.
“Flora,” I said earnestly. I’d been networking and mingling and directing people to the silent auction table for what seemed like years, and my polite society smile had been stretched to its very furthest limits. Charlie had been doing the same; I’d caught a few glimpses of him through the crowd, always with his hand on some businessman’s shoulder, a fresh glass of wine for a gown-wearing society matron, a charming smile on his handsome face.
Three months ago, he’d done the same at Ryan and Flora’s wedding, and I’d found it impossibly annoying. I was still annoyed tonight, but only that it came so easily to him.
“You look beautiful. How was your honeymoon?” I asked her. “Tahiti, right?”
“It waswonderful,” she said, turning to gaze dreamily up at her husband. “The beaches were so peaceful. I read adozenbooks.”
“Poor Ryan,” Charlie said from just behind me. “All alone in the cabana while his wife was off with a string of boyfriends, and on theirhoneymoonno less.” He grinned, reaching out for Ryan’s hand and shaking it. “I would say I hope you weren’t too neglected, but actually, I don’t want to know. Welcome back to the NYPL, you two, by the way,” he added with a wink.
“It’s good to be back,” chimed Flora, looking around the marble hall.
Charlie turned to me, a smile playing around his lips. “I agree.”
My mouth twitched.
“Don’t distract me with reminiscing, you two, I wanted to talk to Sam while she wasn’t networking,” Flora said, her eyes playfully narrowed at me, and I blinked, confused at what she could possibly want to say to me, until she started in excitedly. “I read that rom-com you represented while I was in Tahiti, the one with the dog-walker. Oh my gosh. I laughed so hard I cried. And then,” she held her hand to her chest, “Ireallycried.”
“It’s true,” Ryan said fondly. “She did. We were supposed to have dinner out, but got room service instead.”
