Chapter Eleven

Lucas

I pull away from Faye as the limo door closes behind us. “Did you get the reaction you wanted?”

“Oh yes. My snotty little ex is probably drying his tears on his tux sleeves.” She smiles. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

A revenge kiss is the least I can do. She’s being a good sport about coming to the opening at the last minute. Contrary to what I’ve repeatedly told myself, I’m not in the right frame of the mind to be good company to some strange woman at a function I don’t really want to attend.

And being at the opening has put more of a damper on my mood than I expected. I kept thinking about what Ava said about her life while growing up. So poor she never went to the hospital unless she felt like she was dying.

That memory is the reason I cut the evening short. I’m not like Ryder, who can fake his way through anything for days if necessary.

“You look tired,” Faye says.

“A little.”

“Come up to my suite. You can stretch out and have a drink.”

I smile wanly at her cheery tone. “Okay.”

The limo ride to her hotel doesn’t take much time. The hotel doorman rushes over, and we climb out together. Her suite is on the top floor. The living room is sizable and elegantly furnished with ivory leather couches and contemporary tables—exactly the type of interior she prefers. Through the open door I see that a huge four-poster bed with a translucent canopy dominates the bedroom.

I take a seat on the biggest couch and rest my left foot on the ottoman, relieving the tension in the leg. Faye goes to the minibar and brings out two glasses of whiskey. Tucking her feet underneath her, she sits next to me and nestles closer. I let an arm drape around her and absentmindedly caress her bare shoulder as I knock the whiskey back. Her dress is cut low to accentuate her cleavage and show her trim back. She has the kind of body I like—big tits and a nicely curved pelvis and ass. Right now she’s pressing her breasts against me, and I wait…

Her hand cups my cheek, and she shifts so she can place her mouth over mine. Although there’s no ex of hers watching, I kiss her back, my fingers tunneling into her inky hair. Her tongue outlines my lips. I wait…

She makes a hum of pleasure, the sound vibrating through our fused mouths. I wait…

And…

Nothing.

Nothing stirs inside me. My body doesn’t care what she’s doing. It stays inert and cold, my dick totally uninterested.

If I hadn’t fucked Ava just a few weeks ago, I’d be more than a little worried. I’m too young for this…deadening.

Faye pulls back, a question in her eyes. “You okay?”

I stand and get another finger of whiskey. “Just a little tired.”

She gets up and rubs the tightness in my shoulders. “You’ll feel better once you rest a bit.”

Her eyes are slumberous, her touch coaxing.

If I put my dirty hands on Faye, will she pull away? If I tell her I love her, will she call me toxic in response?

I’m tempted to try.

“Lucas?” Faye says, her eyebrows pinched. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” I rub my forehead. What the hell am I thinking? Tell her “I love you” just to see how she’ll react? That’s fucked up.

You are fucked up. No better than your mother.

“I should go,” I say. “I have an early call tomorrow morning.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, but startups don’t do the nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday thing.”

She reaches out and holds my hand. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Rebounds can be hard. I know.”

I look at her, a little stunned, but don’t say anything.

“Oh, come on. We were lovers. I know you.” She tugs and places my hand at the small of her back. “If you’re worried about finding someone to marry for the paintings, don’t be. I’m happy to help out.”

“Faye…” I shake my head. “You saw the interviews and Elliot’s tweets, right?”

“Uh-huh. And you know what was funny? Not one of them outright denied it.”

Shit. Faye’s always been smart. That’s how she clawed herself out of poverty and became what she is now.

“We may be exes, but I’m also your friend,” she continues. “I don’t want to see you lose to that bastard. And yes, your dad is a complete bastard. Don’t expect me to apologize for telling the truth.”

Despite myself, I smile. I should just say yes. Marrying Faye would be ideal—she’s smart, beautiful and we’ve known each other long enough that we can lie about how we fell in love to maintain the public façade about the deal.

And it’d knock two items off the objectives list.

But somehow I can’t. My head urges me to commit, but my tongue refuses to cooperate. “Let me think about it,” I manage.

I leave the suite before she can say anything else. My left leg throbs wildly, as though to remind me about the scars. Will Faye be as tender with them as Ava? The kisses…caresses…

My jaw clenches. None of that meant anything to her. I’m the idiot who gave it a significance that didn’t exist.

As the elevator descends to the lobby, I rest the back of my head against the wall. What the hell am I doing?

Rejecting Faye isn’t me getting over Ava and moving on. It’s me being stupid and evading the issue.

Don’t let Ava ruin everything.

When the elevator pings open, I cross the lobby and climb inside the waiting limo.

Tomorrow. I will call Faye tomorrow and say yes.