Mustering some enthusiasm, I answer. “Hi there,” I say, forcing a neutral tone.
“Hey, ladybug. I need a favor.”
“I’m listening…”
Chapter Twenty
Hale
I’m arriving home from the gym when Kirby corners me in the kitchen. I’ve been hitting the gym hard lately in an effort to move on, but all it’s done is frustrate me.
“You’re going to the company Christmas party tonight, right?” he asks, shoving a bottle of water at me.
Christ, I forgot all about that with everything that’s happened in the last few days. “Of course. You bringing anyone?”
Kirby shrugs. “Yeah, I called my fuck buddy, asked her to meet me there.”
I nod. “Cool. I’ll probably just go solo.”
The fact that Kirby’s been sleeping with someone is news to me. He must go to her place, because for at least the past several months, he hasn’t brought anyone home.
I shower and dress in a tuxedo, as the invitation said black tie required. Just what I want to do on my Saturday, after wearing a suit to work all week. When I’m ready, I find Kirby dressed similarly and standing in the kitchen, opening a bottle of Scotch. There are two glasses on the counter before him.
“Toast before we go?” he asks.
“Why not.” I accept the glass of amber liquor and clink the edge to his.
“To a better fucking year next year,” he says, smiling as if he’s got me all figured out.
I make an affirmative noise in my throat and down the liquid, appreciating the smoky flavor that greets my tongue. “Did you like any of the places Brielle showed you?”
His surprised gaze lands on mine. “I didn’t know you knew my real estate agent was Brielle.”
Fuck. I shrug. “Yeah, you mentioned it in passing.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t recall it, but isn’t going to argue. “Yeah. There’s a townhome I want to put an offer on. I’m going to ask Brielle if she’ll forgo her commission on the sale, you know, as a favor, so I can afford a little more.”
My eyebrows knit together. Hasn’t he fucked her over enough? She’s wasted five years of her life pining after him, and now he’s going to fuck her out of the several thousand dollars she’d make for doing her job. Fucking asshole. He’s not good enough for her. A fact I’ve always known, but is clearer now than ever.
Kirby glances at the clock on the stove. “We should get going.”
“Sure.”
We head outside and stand at the corner, waiting for a taxi to stop.
“Oh, my date canceled at the last minute, but I called Brielle. I knew she wouldn’t have anything going on tonight. It looks like you’ll finally get to meet her.”
My mouth goes dry and the shot of alcohol churns in my stomach. I consider making up an excuse and heading back alone to the apartment, but decide, fuck it. Let her see me for what I really am.
It’s go time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brielle
I have no idea why I agreed to this.
I gaze longingly out of the window of the cab, watching as couples outfitted in long evening gowns and tuxedoes make their way inside the historic hotel.
“Lady? You getting out?”
I glance at the cab driver and sigh. “Yes. Sorry. Here, keep the change.” I hand him a twenty and open the door to the frigid air.
A cold wind lifts my hair as I shuffle inside the revolving doors as quickly as I can in my black gown and heels, and grab my phone from my wristlet. I expected to see a text from Kirby, but there’s nothing.
With a sigh, I decide to head into the ballroom to see if I can locate him. Or a bar. A drink sounds fabulous right now.
I agreed to be his date tonight, not because I was delusional enough to think this was an actual date—it was his work party—but because my goal all along has been to see if there’s the possibility of a spark between us. I couldn’t say no, despite how badly I wanted to hide in my apartment and sulk for at least another week.
An attendant by the double doors asks for my name and I give it, adding that I’m meeting Kirby Norton here.
He nods. “He’s right over there.” He points to the bar, and my nerves calm when I spot Kirby. He’s leaning against the bar with a bottle of beer in his hand, laughing at something the man next to him is saying.
I cross the room, heading right toward him. I’m not in the mood to make small talk, or laugh politely at jokes right now. In fact, maybe I can talk Kirby into leaving early and taking me to that Thai place I like.
Kirby watches me approach. “Ladybug,” he says and grabs me in a hug. “You look…beautiful tonight,” he says.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
I made an effort. After spending the last several days in yoga pants with tear marks streaking my face, tonight I pampered myself with a long soak, thorough makeup application, and am wearing a strapless floor-length black gown with jewels at my throat.
He introduces me to the man next to him. “Brielle, this is my boss, Mr. Goldstein. Brielle is an old friend.”
I shake the man’s hand, my mind turning over the way he said old friend.
“Let me get you something to drink,” Kirby offers. “What’s that plum thingy you like?”
“It’s peach, not plum.” My face heats with the secret knowledge that my affinity for peach liqueur inspired my safe word.
“Right,” he says, signaling the bartender.