I don’t want to want you.
I can’t believe those words slipped out of my mouth unfiltered. I blame the margaritas and the panic meltdown I had at The Port. I shouldn’t be throwing him bones of possibility. There is no possibility for us.
Unless there is.
William is waiting up on the couch for me. He’s watching television—or rather, he’s pretending to watch. It’s late, and he follows a very strict routine. It’s past his bedtime, and I feel like his damn mother even thinking that.
I think back to the fact that he’s the one who sold my dad out to King Communications. It wouldn’t have been Kennedy, Bert, or Lewis. They didn’t want the acquisition to happen, and they aren’t board members. They don’t hold the sort of stock William does.
“Hi,” he says, flicking off the TV.
“Hey.” I walk to the kitchen and get myself a bottle of water.
“Did you have fun?” he asks.
“I thought our restart was scheduled for tomorrow night.”
“So you’re not going to talk to me until then?”
I shrug and put down half the water in the bottle I’m holding. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“What’s gotten into you lately?”
“If you don’t know…” I trail off.
“Then you’re not going to tell me. I thought we were moving forward.”
“We’re not. I can’t get past what you did.”
“I get it. I messed up. How many times do I have to apologize?”
“Obviously at least one more.”
“I’m sorry. Are we back to good now?”
I laugh, but it’s not really all that funny. “No, we’re not back to good now. I’m going to bed.”
“Whose car was that?”
“Were you looking out the window for me?”
“Where’s your car?”
“At Pink Agave, where I went for dinner.”
“Why?”
“I had a few margaritas.”
“At a business dinner? You never drink at business dinners.”
“I guess I’ve changed, then.”
“Who was it?” he presses.
“It was Carson King, okay?” I blurt it out before I can stop myself. I know he’s not going to like this.
“Carson King? As in the guy who is singlehandedly buying out Baker Media?”
“As in the guy you’ve actually spoken to in the past, the one you handed the keys to Baker’s front door. Yep, one and the same.”
William looks taken aback for a second. “The keys to the front door? You think I had a hand in this takeover?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“What was your meeting about?”
“You remember that whole keeping secrets from me thing? Well, consider this payback.” I spin on my heel and toss over my shoulder, “Good night.”
He knows better than to follow me. I feel a little shaky after that encounter, but after all the confrontations I’ve faced recently, it’s actually getting a little easier.
That may be true, but I’m not looking forward to William’s definition of making it up to me tomorrow night at the Lindor-Hodge Ball.
* * *
I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, hardly even recognizing myself. My hair is an intricate mass of twists and curls pulled up off my neck. My makeup is flawless, as if I’m an airbrushed portrait of my actual self, and my dress…God, I’m in love with this damn dress. The top is a gorgeous black lace cut in a sweetheart neckline with sleeves that run to my elbows. The lace is laid over a bustier that only covers the front—my back is entirely lace. While the cut is very modest and very me, it allows little peeks of skin through the sheer fabric. A wide, crystal and black satin belt narrows my waist, and the bottom half of the dress is sleek, black satin. I put on the diamond earrings William gave me for my twenty-seventh birthday last year and pair them with a matching diamond necklace and bracelet set on loan from a local jeweler.
I feel sexy and sultry, but I also feel as if my efforts are completely wasted.
I’m not doing this for William, that’s for damn sure. The press will be there, so I’m forced to put on a mask that everything’s fine in my personal life, and I have to look my best while doing it.
I don’t even look like me. I only worked half a day today so I could leave early to get started on the tedious process of getting ready for the event tonight. This ball is a pretty big deal in the community, and I’m both nervous and excited—excited for a night out, but nervous that I’m spending it with William. I just have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that something’s going to go wrong tonight.
My parents will be there, too, as will some of the top executives from Baker. No one at Baker knows William and I are sort of on the rocks. Until I make a decision, it’s best not to talk about it. There are already enough rumors going around with this King acquisition on top of my dad’s health; I don’t need to stoke the flame with my own relationship drama.
I finally make my way down to the kitchen, where William is waiting for me. His laptop is open on the counter and he taps away at his keyboard. I clear my throat, and he glances up at me and then back at the screen…and then his eyes slowly move from the screen back up to me in the slowest double take I’ve ever witnessed.
“Wow, Sylvie. You look…great.”
“Thanks,” I say. He’s right; I do. “You look nice, too.” He always looks good in a tux, and tonight is no exception. He’s clean-shaven and I’m sure he smells fantastic, just as he always does.
I wish I wanted to make this work more than I actually do.
“I’ll be ready to go in two seconds, just finishing up an email.”
I press my perfectly outlined and colored lips together. I get that he has to finish an email—really, I do—but if he’s supposedly trying to make things up to me starting tonight, this is sort of getting off on the wrong foot.
I walk over to our slider doors and look out over our back yard. I used to see kids playing there when I would look out and dream of the future. Now I’m not even sure if I can see myself back there.
I feel his hands lace around my waist. “Thanks for waiting.” He presses a kiss to the exposed skin on my neck. “I love you, Sylvie.”
I automatically say it back. “Love you too.” Maybe the words have lost their meaning in our relationship, have become just a habit. I don’t feel any real emotions when the words pass through my lips and move toward his ears.
The doorbell rings. “Our ride is here,” William says.
“Our ride?”
He nods. “I splurged for a limo.”
“Fancy.”
“It’s stocked with champagne.”
“Wonderful.” I could do with a drink, come to think of it. I refrain from mentioning that I was planning on vodka tonight.
We arrive at the hotel after a short drive where I barely had enough time to chug half a glass of champagne. The venue is beautiful, right in the heart of downtown San Diego and overlooking the Pacific Ocean. On any other night, I might even consider this whole event very romantic, but tonight, being here with William when I’m still mad (and definitely not thinking about another man) has me on edge.
When the limo pulls up in front, William says, “Let’s have a lot of fun tonight, okay?”
I draw in a deep breath. I need to be fair to William. I’ve allowed Carson to creep into my thoughts, but my anger at William needs to remain purely about William and me, regardless of my stupid attraction to someone else. Maybe tonight I need to let my anger go just a little. Maybe I need to give William the chance to make it up to me.
I plaster a smile on my face because William has opened the door. My cheeks hurt after approximately three seconds of fake smiling, but I ignore it. I’ve got a whole night of this ahead of me.
The board members of Lindor-Hodge wait at the entrance to the ballroom to greet their guests as we enter. Hoffman Lindor, the president of Lindor-Hodge Media Enterprises, stands beside his wife, Georgia. They’re a striking older couple I’ve had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions.
“Welcome, Sylvie,” Hoffman says as he gives me a brief hug in greeting.
“I’m so happy to be here,” I say.
“Enjoy yourself tonight, and don’t forget to purchase a raffle ticket. We also have a fifty-fifty raffle you don’t want to miss.”
I think back to the raffle prizes offered last year at this event. They were all donated by very wealthy sponsors and included things like vacations, VIP tickets to different events, and gift baskets. Raffle tickets don’t come cheap, and neither did the cost per plate tonight.
I smile at Hoffman and hug his wife with William trailing behind me, and then I make a beeline for the bar. I need a drink, need to calm the storm inside me. I feel like I’m being pulled in two opposite directions, and it may not take much for me to snap.
“You want anything?” I ask William.
“No, thank you.”
I know he’s doing his damnedest to keep the look of disapproval off his face, but it seeps through anyway.
I turn to the bartender. “What reds do you have?” I ask.
“We’re fully stocked. Whatever you want, I either have it or I can get it.”
“Pinot noir,” I say. It’s what Carson ordered that night we had dinner in New York, and for some reason, I want it tonight.
He fills a glass for me. “Twelve,” he says, and I look over at William. He sighs as he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, but he pays for my drink anyway.
William heads for a table where my parents are already sitting. My dad looks handsome in his tux, and my mom is gorgeous in a flowing ivory gown. They stand and we all exchange hugs, and I want to tell my dad what a traitor William has been. I want to call him out for his transgressions. My parents love William. The brief thought of how they’d react to my feelings for Carson springs to mind, but I immediately tamp that thought down. I push it as hard as I can to the furthest recesses of my mind as I set my small clutch on the table next to my mom to reserve the seat where I’ll enjoy tonight’s dinner.
William and I mingle with San Diego’s business elite, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll even be invited to this event next year. How different will my life be once King Communications officially takes over Baker Media? First I went through a blind rage that actually carried me across the country to tell Carson King to screw off, but then that rage melted into something else—something sexier, I reluctantly admit. I haven’t really taken the time to think about the long-term effects of what he’s doing; I’ve been too wrapped up in anger at William, lust for this man I should hate, and the actual work that’s piling up on my desk.
William and I are chatting with Wilson Woodsley, one of the top execs at Lindor-Hodge, when I feel the hairs on my neck prickle. Goose bumps break out on the flesh of my thighs—thank God my legs are covered beneath my dress.
I feel rude breaking eye contact with Wilson, but my body is reacting to something and I have the strongest urge to look around for what it is. William is saying something, anyway, so I can play it off as if I’m just looking over at him.
I should have immediately known. When I turn and look past my boyfriend toward the door all the way across the room, my eyes immediately catch his.
A gasp rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
He’s painfully handsome in his tuxedo, even from this distance. Agony stabs my abdomen as the desire to go to him fills my core. An ache presses roughly between my legs, an ache I’ve never felt for the man standing beside me but one that has become familiar the more I spend time with the man in the doorway.
I can’t decide if I’m thrilled or furious to see him here, but one question immediately springs to mind.
What the hell is Carson King doing at the Lindor-Hodge Ball?