Page 117 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“The guy at Hammers and Strings. The real reason Byron’s video is out there. Byron took me to the store, saying maybe I wanted something other than the Yamaha upright he has at his place.”
That asshole. Trying to worm his way into her bed with a piano! It’s so fucking obvious. “Don’t tell me you let him buy one for you.”
She shakes her head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t take something that expensive from anybody. Anyway, he”—she tilts her head in the pianist’s direction— “was there, and being really rude. He was criticizing his girlfriend and the store clerk, going on and on about how stupid and ignorant they were. And get this. In order to show off? He started Grand Galop Chromatique.”
I laugh, knowing the technical difficulty of the piece.
“Normally I wouldn’t care if he was abusing the damper pedal and banging on the keys like a donkey on crack. But since he was so horrible and condescending, I was annoyed enough to demonstrate how it should sound.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s supposed to be a bravura panty-dropper, not a bravura migraine-inducer.”
Everything inside me freezes, and the laughter dies an abrupt death. “Bravura panty-dropper” are the exact words Ivy used to describe Grand Galop Chromati—
Suddenly, Iris’s wine glass is snatched off the table, and the burgundy tossed in her face. The red vintage drenches her, plastering her hair to her skull and forehead, then dripping down her cheeks and chin to fall on her white dress.
What the fuck…?
“You bitch!” Audrey is towering over Iris in a skintight scarlet dress, her brown eyes flashing murder. “I knew it!” She lunges forward, her long, manicured nails ready to claw the skin off Iris’s face.
I explode out of my seat and grab Audrey’s wrists, flinging her away before she can do any real damage. She stumbles and falls against a man behind her; he backs up out of reflex, and she lands awkwardly on her butt on the floor.
I turn with a snarl, then stop at the sight of Ryder. Him, too?
But he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at Iris with a weird combination of shock and recognition etched on every line of his disgustingly pretty face.
Audrey scrambles to her feet. “You can’t do this to me! Not over her!” She points at Iris.
A large florid man standing behind Ryder steps forward. I recognize him. Some big-shot agent. “Audrey, honey, stop it.”
So that’s what this is.Ryder having dinner with Audrey. Just my luck the son of a bitch had to choose this steakhouse out of all the restaurants in L.A.
“The latest candidate for your humped and dumped club?” I bite the words out.
Finally, Ryder turns to me. “For God’s sake, Anthony, I’m married,” he says, his voice bristling with frustration and angry humiliation. “Audrey’s a costar.”
I can feel Ivy’s gaze on me and Ryder. I hate it that she met him. I hate it that he met her. Was studying her like he knows her.
The infuriating memory of what he did to Lauren swirls in my head like a hurricane. Never again will I allow him near anything of mine.
“Why are you doing this? You’re the only one I love! You know that!” Audrey says in a theatrically tragic voice. “I almost died for you!”
Ryder glares at her. “Shut up, Audrey.”
“You can’t talk to me that wa—”
“I can talk to you anyway I like. Ralph?” The agent takes Audrey’s elbow in a meaty hand and pulls her back.
Ryder turns to Iris, searching her face. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry.” He takes a clean napkin from an empty table and starts to approach.
Over my dead body.I block him, putting an aggressive hand on his chest. “Stay the fuck away from her.” The only thing holding me back from turning his face into bloody meat is that he hasn’t thrown the first punch.
He’s looking like he can’t decide between an apology or defending himself. I almost wish he’d just punch me. Spit in my face. Anything so I’d have an excuse.
“Anthony, come on.” He doesn’t call me Tony anymore because he knows he’s no longer in that special circle of people.
“You don’t get to touch her. Don’t even think about her. If you’re dying to help”—I sneer the word—“control your fucking date.” I pull a handkerchief out and start drying the wine on Iris’s face. “I’m sorry,” I say. Next time I’m renting the entire restaurant.
“It’s not your fault, Tony. I can do it.”
I let her take the cloth, violent rage boiling inside my chest.
