“So it’s just James going tonight?” I asked, triple confirming. I didn’t care if James brought his poodle, if he had one. As long as Brent wasn’t present, I’d be good to go.
“Just James. Besides, he said Brent’s not even in town. He’s in the Caribbean or something, and I have a date at nine, so it’ll be short and it’ll be just the three of us,” Colin reassured me as he tugged at his wine-red tie, already close to unknotted.
I rose, walking to him. “Stop it,” I said, tsking my brother gently. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Tug at your tie.”
He scoffed. “I hate these stupid things.”
“Then why do you wear one?”
Colin shrugged and ran a hand through his dark, nearly black, hair. “It’s expected,” he grumbled, as I straightened the knot. “I swear sometimes you treat me like I’m still the baby of the family.”
“You always will be,” I said with a grin, as I finished the task and held up five fingers. “You’re five minutes younger than I am.”
“Thanks, as always, for the reminder. Anyway, James wants to meet you, since you’re the face of the company. You’re the star.”
I stretched my neck from side to side. “I’m absolutely not a star,” I said, though I’d once wanted to be the one on stage, dancing for audiences. “Does this investor guy know it’s me though?”
Colin arched an eyebrow. “As in, does he think he’s contracting entertainment services from Shay Sloan, or from the woman who’s the object of Brent’s desire in ‘King Schmuck,’ one of the most popular viral videos in the last year?”
At the mention of the video, I rolled my eyes and walked to the other side of the room to grab my water bottle. “I presume he knows the first,” I said, taking a sip. “How about the second?”
Colin laughed. “I’m guessing no. Ironic, huh? Brent has no clue you’ve been under his nose all these years.”
“I had no clue he was here either, until you started talking to his business guy. I didn’t go looking him up,” I said, though that wasn’t true at first. For the first few awful months after we’d split, I’d googled Brent nearly every day. Devastated in too many ways, hungry for breadcrumbs, I’d gobbled up each and every bit of information I could find, reading posts here and there in the entertainment trades about his show.
But in time, I’d stopped searching for him regularly. What was the point? He didn’t ask why I’d sent that last email.
He’d accepted it.
Since, clearly, he’d wanted it to be the end too.
He had her.
And eventually, I’d stopped looking him up.
Then earlier this year, the “King Schmuck” video had surfaced, making the rounds online and catching Colin’s eye. He showed me some of it too—a bit of Brent at a comedy club talking about Facebook-stalking his college girlfriend who he let get away, then getting busted for said stalking in the middle of a business meeting.
Letting me slip away, my ass. He got that wrong too.
He got it all wrong.
But I was secretly delighted in the wild-goose chase he’d taken himself on via Facebook. He might have found Shannon Paige-Prince and been checking out her profile, but I wasn’t that person anymore, and I barely maintained that page. I didn’t even have the same hair color.
That was the real King Schmuckery.
Take that, Brent Nichols.
I didn’t maintain any profile, because I didn’t want to be known, or to be found. I preferred my new name and my new life—and living it off the internet.
“Anyway, Shay.” My twin brother lingered on my business name, mocking me playfully as he said it. “The guy you hate won’t be there.”
“I don’t hate Brent,” I said quickly. But maybe I did? After all, I hated that he didn’t fight for me. I hated that I wasn’t enough for him. I hated that I’d lost once again.
“And no, I didn’t tell James you were engaged to King Schmuck back in college.” But even those words and the weight of our promise—engaged—seemed like a terrible understatement of what we’d shared. We’d been everything to each other. “It’s not germane to the business deal we’re striking. It’s a private matter. Like other things that are private.”
“Other things,” I echoed, and those things mattered deeply to the four of us siblings – matters of privacy.
“Then let’s go to this meeting tonight and seal the deal to bring the hottest dance show around to the hottest clubs worldwide,” he said, holding up his fist.
I bumped my fist to his. “See you in three hours.”
As I left the offices and headed to my nearby home, I drove past a billboard of the Wynn, the place that had put Shay Productions on the map three years ago when I’d choreographed a sultry extravaganza of the senses for the theater housed inside that upscale hotel. That production had enabled me to quickly build my business, to take my choreography well beyond one stage to worldwide venues.
I turned onto my block, a trendy street not far from the Strip. I drove past the organic breakfast café and the hipster coffee shop, then pulled into the parking lot of my condo. As I locked the car door, I reminded myself that if I hadn’t chased Brent to Los Angeles, I’d never have learned the truth. The truth gave me the chance to become who I was today. And my career had given me freedom and distance from the past. It had let me leave Shannon Paige-Prince and all the pain, scandal, and tragedy that came with that name far behind.
That was a dream come true.
On the way upstairs, I snagged my mail, spotting a familiar postmark that made my stomach twist—that always made my stomach twist. A letter from my mother.
History told me waiting to open it wouldn’t make it any easier to read her words. But I didn’t think I could handle it right then.
Especially when I turned it over and saw a note also scrawled on the back of the envelope. A plea.
Love you, baby, love you so much. Miss you like crazy. Miss you to the moon and the stars. Come see me soon.
The desperation in it tugged at me.
My stomach roiled, but now was not the time for this letter.
I slapped it on the kitchen table to look at later.
I showered, blow-dried my hair, and applied fresh makeup, twisting my long chestnut locks into a neat updo. I slipped into a sleek black dress that zipped up the side, then into a pair of four-inch red suede shoes with ties that went all the way up my ankles to my calves. Vegas nights could be chilly, so I grabbed a shimmery silver wrap for my shoulders.
I looked the part. I needed to look the part. I might not have been the one onstage, but I still looked like a dancer.
Hell, I still was a dancer, even if I’d never dance again the way I wanted to.
I’d gotten over the ACL tear in college that had made me change my dream.
I’d gotten over the loss of the pregnancy, the breaking of my heart.
I’d gotten over Brent.
I knew how to get over stuff. I’d done it since I was thirteen, when my father was murdered in the driveway outside my childhood home while I slept.
2
Brent
At one thousand feet, the plane started getting service again, so I tapped the screen on my phone, ready for the barrage of messages to load. Wireless had been down on the return flight from St. Barts, and I was antsy to know what I’d missed. Edge had been expanding rapidly in the last year. My company was like a busy airport with jets lined up, taking off and landing every fifteen minutes.
As the plane dipped closer to the runway in Vegas, the emails loaded onto my phone. I scanned quickly for James’s name, since my right-hand man was tasked with keeping me apprised of the latest deals, problems, and opportunities—that was what he’d done since he’d convinced me to jump ship from late-night comedy on TV to the nightclub business a few years back.
Fortunately, the email that awaited was of the opportunity variety.
Meeting tonight with Shay Product
ions. Should be able to sign them up.
Excellent news.
James had assembled that deal for background dancers in record time—less than one week—while I’d traveled to St. Barts.
The Caribbean club opening had gone so smoothly that I’d returned one day earlier than planned. Hearing that the next deal was falling into place was music to my ears, especially since Edge’s expansion into New York had been hitting roadblock after roadblock. I yawned as I began to reply Good luck. I hadn’t slept in my own bed in ten days, and I was ready to crash.
But I covered my mouth, stifled the yawn, and reminded myself that businesses didn’t grow if the CEO made sure he got a good night’s sleep. Edge had thrived because I’d burned the midnight oil and kept a laser focus on the company. That included meeting all my business partners when I was in town, and making sure everyone was on the same page.
The second the wheels touched down in the city I called home, I dialed James.
“Hey, where’s the meeting?” I asked as we taxied.
“SkyBar at the Waldorf Astoria,” James said in his always calm, always on-top-of-everything voice. “You keeping tabs on me?”
“Yes. Of course. I have spies everywhere.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“I’ll warn everyone, then,” I joked.
“Yeah, you do that,” he said, since we both knew he was as straitlaced as they came.
“Seriously though. I’m going to join you. I know you can handle it on your own, but when I can, I like to meet the people we’re doing business with before we sign off.”
“That’s why you’re the boss. I’m sure Shay will appreciate you taking such an interest in those finer details.”
“I’m stoked to close this deal soon.” That was what I needed—a surefire win.
Soon, I made my way off the plane after grabbing my bag from the overhead and headed down the escalator toward the terminal exit, where my regular driver waited. The black town car zipped along the highway as the sun fell below the horizon, and twenty minutes later, I’d reached home.
After a quick shower that both perked me up and washed off the remnants of cross-country travel, I pulled on jeans and a button-down, adding a tie.
I grabbed my helmet, locked the door, and hopped on my bike. As the engine purred to life, I mentally prepped for the meeting tonight with the dance company.
There’d once been a time when my life was all about dancing. Or rather, one particular woman and the way she moved.
What was Shannon up to these days? Was she still in choreography? Had she moved beyond London? Had she found a boyfriend? A husband?
The thought curdled my stomach and made me gun the engine and ride faster, the cool evening air whipping past as I drove to the hotel.
I didn’t know the answers to those questions.
Once I came up for air after our email breakup, I’d tried to track her down. I’d called her. Sent her another email. Even tried calling her brother Michael.
Her number had been disconnected.
Her email bounced back.
Her brother hadn’t taken my call.
All I could figure was I’d hurt her too much by accepting her choice so easily. I should have fought for her, and I didn’t.
Regret, thy name was Brent.
Had she moved on too? And if she had, who kissed her tears away when she received letters that tore her up? Letters she’d once asked me to open? To read?
The notion that someone else was there to do that now was like a fist in the gut.
When I reached the Waldorf Astoria, I kicked her out of my mind once more; said hello to Sean, the valet guy; and headed to the elevator, ready to turn my focus back to business and away from the past.
The sleek metal elevator shot up to the twenty-third floor, and as I checked my phone, I saw I was early for the meeting. When I reached the SkyBar, the hostess greeted me and said that James Foster was already there. Exactly as I’d suspected. James was beyond punctual, and I was grateful every day to have such a steady guy as my lead investor and business partner.
I scanned the bar for the Donald Glover doppelgänger, who was seated in an oversized red leather chair by the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off the city. I made my way to James.
“I see you’re late as always.”
“I see you’re full of shit as always.” He reached out a hand to shake and welcome me back. “Also, nice tan. Clearly means you spent the whole time slacking,” James said as he sat down again, gesturing to the booth on the other side of the table.
“Yep. Drank piña coladas poolside and napped in a hammock.”
“Just as I suspected.”
I scanned the room for the server. “Maybe I need a daiquiri to bring back those island memories.”
“The waitress should be right back. She’d just stopped by before you arrived,” James offered.
I gestured to the square bar in the middle of the space. “I’ll just grab a drink myself. You want something?”
“Vodka tonic would be terrific.”
I threaded my way around the leather chairs and chrome tables to the towering shelf of liquor that framed the bar, then ordered a scotch on the rocks and James’s drink too.
“Coming right up,” the bartender said.
I drummed my fingertips against the steel countertop as he headed to the other end to pour the drinks. Turning around, I leaned against the bar and stared out the windows, where the entire city stretched far beyond the glass. City of sin. City of secrets. City of endless opportunities. Whatever bout of exhaustion had threatened when I’d landed had vacated the premises. I was wide-awake and energized, ready to sign deals, to grow Edge, to keep on building the business.
Glass clinked against metal, and I turned to grab the drinks and start a tab. A minute later, I had a glass in each hand and was making my way back to the table when I stopped short.
My pulse pounded.
My throat went dry.
The floor tilted and loomed closer. The glass walls zoomed in. I blinked.
I was seeing a mirage. Either that or I’d slipped back in time, because there was no other explanation.
After all those years, there she was, in the flesh. A vision in black and red—and a brunette now. I stared from across the room, trying to process what I was seeing.
Shannon Paige-Prince.
The biggest regret of my life, more stunning than she’d ever been, and she wasn’t alone. She was with one of her brothers, and they were both focused on James. Heading for our table.
As she turned in my direction, she looked up and we locked eyes.
The woman who got away.
My drinks slipped from my hands, crashing onto the dark wood floor and shattering.
3
Shannon
The waitress swooped in quickly with two new drinks.
She was so fast I barely had time to think.
But my ex? He had no problem not only thinking, but quipping.
“That answers my question. Those glasses are indeed breakable,” Brent said, tapping on his glass as he sat back down with his new drink and raised it in a toast.
James laughed, and the men clinked their glasses. “Good thing you tested it. I was so darn worried,” he said, flashing an isn’t it funny that Brent is a glass-dropping klutz grin. I faked a smile, still shaking in my skin. The entire bar seemed to sway and bob, like a boat on the seas. I dug my fingernails into the leather of the armchair I’d claimed—a necessary stake in the ground because it gave me distance from that man. That man I wasn’t supposed to see tonight. Who wasn’t supposed to be here. Who’d been just as surprised to see me as I was him. And who was clearly doing a much better job at covering it up than I was, with his little jokes.
Everything was so easy for him.
The man was a master at ad-libbing, at covering up the hole in the routine.
I hated that he had the ability to patch a gaffe so quickly by mocking himself. Wi
th that endearingly self-deprecating tone and expression he’d mastered. The one that had worked its way into my heart in mere seconds and made me fall in love with him when we were younger. He was so damn charming when he owned every bit of who he was.
Just a guy navigating the world.
But another part of me was decidedly pleased that he’d been so shocked to see me that he’d dropped the glasses.
Served him right.
That felt like the tiniest bit of payback.
“In any case, now that my CEO has finished his quality control inspection of the Waldorf Astoria’s glassware, I’d like to introduce everyone,” James began, gesturing to my brother and to me. “This is Shay Sloan, the founder and head choreographer for Shay Productions. And her brother, Colin Sloan, a financier who advises Shay Productions. Shay and Colin, allow me to introduce Brent Nichols, who runs Edge.”
“Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Colin said, going first, no doubt sensing I’d need a moment to collect myself. He extended a hand to the man he’d met at Christmas the year Brent had proposed. But my twin knew how to cover up the past, and knew intuitively that I’d want him to.
“All good, I hope,” Brent said, with a quirk to his lips, though he had to know it couldn’t be good. Colin, Ryan, and Michael knew exactly how the engagement with my college love had ended.
Catastrophically.
They had nothing good to say about the man across from me—the man who was looking far too handsome to be believed. Broader, sturdier, and older. A decade older, and he’d aged well. A line here or there, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes—it all worked. He dragged his hand through his hair, all that dark, soft hair.
I knew how it felt in my hands.
The sensory memory swept through me.
“And—” James began, gesturing to me, but before I could say a word, Brent jumped in.
My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 3
