CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“ARE YOU SURE she wants me here?” Ronan asked, as he stood in front of the last empty chair near the stage runway. It was probably the only empty chair in the whole, crowded, loud, chaotic place. He was lucky Simon had saved it for him. But he wasn’t certain he should have.
“Who?” Simon asked. “Muriel?”
Her name struck him like a blow, making his breath shudder out in a ragged sigh.
“Don’t worry,” Simon said. “Muriel has no idea you’re here.”
He didn’t doubt that or he probably wouldn’t have made it past security even with the pass Simon had given him and the other partners. Trevor and Stone sat on the other side of their managing partner.
“I was talking about Bette,” Ronan said. “She’s not exactly a fan of mine, and this is her show.” The official launch of her line of lingerie. She’d worked very hard for this, and he didn’t want to mess it up.
“Maybe if you become a fan of hers, she’ll become one of yours,” Simon suggested.
Ronan settled onto the chair next to him. “I’m already a fan,” he said. “Huge, huge fan of her work.”
And Simon chuckled. “So you’ve seen some of her designs already...” Then he nodded. “Of course, when you were seducing Muriel.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seduced her. But she had definitely seduced him—so much so that he couldn’t stop wanting her.
It had been almost two weeks since she’d dumped him outside her apartment building. Dumped? They’d never really been together for her to be able to dump him. Like she’d said, they’d never gone out on a real date. He should have taken her. Or at least asked...instead of just assuming that she wouldn’t want to be seen with him.
Because then she’d gotten the wrong idea about him, had thought he was ashamed of her or something.
But that wasn’t the only wrong idea. She’d started to think that he might be looking for more than just sex. And that was crazy.
Of course he’d had fun with her no matter what they’d been doing. And he’d really enjoyed that dinner with her grandparents. They were as sweet and funny and honest as she was.
Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?” Trevor asked from where he leaned around Simon.
“He zoned out thinking about Muriel,” Simon said as if he perfectly understood.
Stone snorted. “Just because you do that thinking about Bette doesn’t mean Ronan is falling in love, too.”
Trevor laughed. “Ronan in love...that would be the day.”
“Why?” Ronan asked, and even he was surprised to hear how defensive he sounded. “Why would that be the day?”
Stone stood and stared down at him, his gray eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”
No. He hadn’t been since Muriel had gotten out of the car that day and told him she was cutting him loose.
“You’re the one who always says love is a sham,” Trevor reminded him. “So of course you’re never falling in love.”
“I used to say that, too,” Simon said. “Now I know the truth.”
So did Ronan. The truth was that Muriel was a good person. She was not a cheater or a liar. She was not his mother. And he had been an idiot to ever think she was.
“Love is real, guys,” Simon said.
While Stone and Trevor laughed, Ronan did not—because, for the first time, he realized that it was.
Simon loved Bette and she loved him. Sure, maybe they wouldn’t last. Maybe they’d burn out like so many other couples did—except for Muriel’s grandparents. They still flirted with each other, still snuck hot glances and touched each other—and they were old. They’d been together so many years, but they still saw each other. It was possible to love someone and it was possible for that love to last.
He didn’t know if it would for him. But maybe he owed it to himself, and to Muriel, to at least try. He knew that it would take more than flowers and a dinner invitation to get her to give him another chance, though. It was going to take a grand gesture—one that would be humbling and humiliating if she didn’t want him anymore.
If she’d moved on to someone else...
He opened his mouth to ask Simon if Muriel was seeing anyone, but before he could get the question out, the lights dimmed and the background music stopped playing. With a swish, the curtains opened to a woman standing behind a podium. Bette wore one of her own designs—a silk robe with bows—and for the first time, Ronan understood why his partner was so crazy about his former assistant.
She was gorgeous. But she wasn’t The World’s Most Beautiful Woman.
Bette was talking, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He couldn’t hear anything but his pulse pounding in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins—because Muriel had stepped onto the stage.
She looked gorgeous in a soft pink teddy with bows as the straps. Even her slippers, as she glided down the runway, had bows on them. He wanted her to see him. But anytime she looked away from the stage, so many bulbs flashed that she was probably blinded.
Did every fashion show get this much attention or were they here for Muriel?
He couldn’t blame them. That was why he was here. Sure, he’d claimed he was just supporting Bette. But he’d wanted to see Muriel again.
But seeing was never enough...
He wanted to kiss her and touch her and taste her. And most of all, he wanted to hold her, all night long—he wouldn’t run away.
He had to convince her to give him another chance. And as the bulbs continued to flash all around her, he realized exactly how he was going to do it. Yeah, he’d be humiliated if it failed. But another chance with Muriel far outweighed any risk of humiliation.
* * *
Spots danced in front of Muriel’s eyes. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen during the show. All those flashing bulbs had nearly blinded her. She wasn’t able to see well. But she’d been able to feel...his presence.
Ronan had attended the show.
Before giving tickets to Simon’s business partners, Bette had asked if it was okay with Muriel. She’d agreed, but only because she hadn’t thought Ronan would actually attend.
Had he been alone? Or had he brought a date? Someone he wanted to be seen with?
Of course, he’d explained why he’d never taken her out. But the press had let up on her; they could have taken their relationship public. But then, it had only ever been sex, and taking that public—more public than the elevator, the dressing room and the car—would have gotten them arrested.
Muriel stepped out of the dressing room where she’d changed from Bette’s Beguiling lingerie into a short black dress and boots. She’d promised Bette she would attend her party after the show. But if Ronan was there...
Bulbs flashed in her face again, and she flinched. Ronan was the least of her concerns at the moment. Along with the cameras, there were microphones—all shoved toward her face. How had they gotten backstage?
“What do you have to say about the latest news?” someone asked.
Muriel wasn’t sure what they meant, but she focused on what they should be focused on. “Bette’s brilliant,” she said. “Her designs are amazing. And she’s the one you should be interviewing.” Not her. She had had more than enough press to last her a lifetime.
“So you have nothing to say about the interview your ex gave?” a woman reporter asked.
She swallowed a groan. What had Arte done now? The man was seriously a pathetic fame whore. “I didn’t see his interview,” she said, “and I don’t care to.”
“So he’s right—nothing he says or does will compel you to give him another chance?”
“God, no.” She shuddered at the thought. What the hell kind of game was Arte playing now?
Did he think declarations of undying love for her would save his musical?
The last thing Muriel wanted to do was feed his need for fame. She shook her head. “You’re wasting your time. And so is he. Please focus on the real story and Bette’s beautiful designs.”
Taking her advice, the reporters put down the microphones and turned away with the cameras. As she did, the female reporter shook her head. “You’re a stronger woman than I am, then,” she murmured. “There’s no way in hell I would say no to Ronan Hall.”
Muriel reached out and grasped her arm, jerking the woman to a halt. She waited until the others had filed out of the hallway before asking, “What? What did you say about Ronan?”
“He’s the one who did all the talking,” the woman said. “About you.”
“He—he’s the ex you’re talking about?”
The woman nodded then laughed. “You thought I was talking about your ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“Hell, no, I was talking about his gorgeous lawyer. Nobody even knew the two of you were dating until he gave the interview at the fashion show.”
Muriel hadn’t even known they were dating. “He—he told you that?”
“I can show you the interview,” the woman offered.
The woman pulled a tablet from her bag and touched the screen. A video began to play. The woman spoke on camera—to Ronan. “You’ve declined all interviews about representing Arte Armand in his divorce trial from Muriel Sanz. Why have you agreed to talk now?”
“Because I need to publicly apologize to Muriel,” he said. “I had no idea her ex had influenced those witnesses to perjure themselves.”
“Yet someone reported you to the bar association for suborning perjury,” the reporter said on the tablet.
Muriel glanced at the young woman. She wasn’t a normal tabloid reporter. She was good.
“That person was misinformed,” Ronan said, “and later withdrew her complaint.”
“Was that person Muriel Sanz?” the reporter asked.
Ronan offered the reporter a grin and a redirection. “I want to talk more about Muriel,” he said. “I want to talk about how beautiful and honest and hardworking she is.”
“You sound like a man in love,” the reporter remarked. In real life, however, she was focused on Muriel’s face instead of the screen.
Muriel felt her watching, but her attention was on the tablet, on Ronan’s unfairly handsome face. She looked for fear or panic. But she saw nothing except another grin cross his face.
“I guess I do...” he murmured.
“Are you in love with Muriel Sanz?”
“I was falling for her,” he said.
“You were dating Muriel Sanz?”
They hadn’t actually been dating, but he nodded as if they had been.
“I blew it, though,” he said.
The reporter giggled on camera, and standing next to Muriel, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Hall...”
“No,” he said, his voice gruff with regret.
Or was that just wishful thinking on Muriel’s part? Did she want him to regret having run away again?
Actually, she was the one who’d run last. But he hadn’t stopped her. Then. What the hell was he up to now?
“I really screwed up,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do that will convince her to give me another chance.”
On the tablet, the reporter reached out and grasped his arm. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something—” her fingers stroked his arm “—or someone.”
Muriel looked at the reporter now—in real life standing next to her. And she had no doubt that she now knew what jealousy felt like...
Because she wanted to claw out the woman’s eyes.
“Hey, he didn’t take me up on it,” the reporter assured Muriel. “Like I could seriously compete with The World’s Most Beautiful Woman.”
“There is no competition,” she assured the reporter. Because despite what he’d claimed in that interview, there was nothing between her and Ronan anymore. There had never been anything real between them.
Just sex...
She missed that—so much—missed how he’d kissed her and touched her and stroked her.
She missed him, too, though. She missed his smart-ass remarks and his stubbornness and even his fear...
She’d caught a glimpse of that fear at the end of the interview—when he’d said he didn’t think there was anything he could do to convince her to give him a second chance.
But if he’d really wanted one, why hadn’t he just asked her?
Why had he stayed away these past couple of weeks?
Hadn’t he missed her like she’d missed him?
“I am not competing for Ronan Hall,” she told the reporter.
“So, you’re saying I can have him?” the woman asked—hopefully.
She didn’t think anyone could really have Ronan—not for long and never for keeps. She wasn’t going to risk her heart. Not again...