by Rush, Olivia
Bryce didn’t wait a moment to respond.
“I can tell you what you’re going to do,” he said. “You’re not going to be alone. I’m going to rent you out an apartment in the city— it’ll be furnished and everything, so you don’t need to worry about any of that. And you can stay there for as long as you need.”
“I can’t ask that of you,” she said. “It’s too much trouble.‘’
“Mom, I know that Dad liked to be self-sufficient, never liked when I offered money or anything like that. You remember how hard it was to get him to let me help you fix the house, right?”
She smiled and nodded.
“But Dad’s gone now, and someone’s going to need to take care of you. Money’s no object, understand?”
Barbara nodded wordlessly. It felt good to watch Bryce take control, to do whatever needed to be done to make such a traumatic event easier for everyone.
“You can come back on the plane with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll put you up in the extra bedroom and we’ll get the new place picked out this weekend. And that’s all there is to it.”
“And I’m here for you too, Barbara,” I said. “Anything you need.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “Thank you both.”
Then Bryce reached across the table and took his mother’s hand. Without thinking, I did the same.
At that moment, I felt like the three of us were a family.
Chapter 37
Bryce
Truth be told, another celebration was the last thing I was in the mood for. I’d have much rather spent the weekend with Mom, getting her situated in the city and making sure she had everything she needed.
Hell, Damien had let me know that we could move everything back a week on account of my dad’s passing. But I wasn’t OK at all with the idea of everyone going out of their way to accommodate my grief. I was like my old man in that way, I supposed.
“Oh my god,” said Mom as Chelsea entered the apartment living room, decked out in another one of her gorgeous dresses, this one a burgundy. “Honey, you look so beautiful I can hardly stand it!”
A hot red blush spread across Chelsea’s cheeks. Damn, it was adorable.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come, Mom?” I asked. “Not too late to get you on the guest list.”
“Thanks, baby,” she said, dressed in her comfy clothes and curled up on the couch. “But the last thing I’m in the mood for right now is some big high-society party. Being alone right now actually sounds nice.”
“You’re not alone, though,” said Chelsea. “We’re both here for you—don’t you forget that.”
Mom’s face scrunched up with happiness.
“OK, OK,” she said, waving her hands in front of her face. “You both need to get out of here before I tear up.”
I chuckled before leaning in and giving Mom a kiss on the forehead. Chelsea gave her a hug, and the two of us were off. Minutes later we were in the back of the limo. I prepared myself a drink and offered one to Chelsea. But, just as she had been with all booze lately, she turned me down.
I was starting to get curious.
“Bryce,” she said, a pained expression on her face. “This fake engagement thing… I don’t know. It’s one thing to be telling some general lie to no one in particular, but lying to your mom is just something else.”
She was right. When I’d come up with this plan, I’d gotten so caught up in using it as a means to an end that I didn’t even think about specifics, like looking my own mother in the eye and lying to her.
“It’ll all be over soon,” I said. “We’ll have the investments secured in the next few days, and when that’s all taken care of we can figure out how to…separate.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted. After all, everything had gotten more complicated due to the fact that Chelsea and I were both fake-dating and real-dating at the same time.
For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t like the feeling.
We arrived at the palatial apartment building where Damien Winter lived, the car pulling up to the front. A crowd was out, swarming around the partygoers as they headed inside.
“Shit,” I hissed. “The damn press.”
The paparazzi was the last thing I wanted to deal with at that moment. As we drew closer to the horde of yelling and picture-snapping men and women, all I wanted to do was throw the car door open and shove my way through.
“Don’t they care about the fact that you’ve just lost your dad?” asked Chelsea.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Hell no,” I said, finishing my drink. “If anything, they’re hoping for footage of me having a drunken meltdown.”
I tossed back my drink and quickly poured another, hoping to have it downed before it was time to get out.
“You keep putting them away like that and you just might give them what they want,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, a slight sharpness to my voice.
I didn’t like that I was getting a little curt, but everything going on was exerting a pressure on me that I was having a hard time dealing with. And knowing that I wasn’t rising to the challenge was causing even more stress on top of that. Booze was the only outlet I had.
“OK,” I said as the limo pulled up in front of the crowd. “Big smiles, got it?”
“Got it,” she said, a tense expression on her face.
I plastered on a grin before throwing the door open, the roar of the crowd rushing up to greet me. I stepped out, cameras taking pictures from all angles as I turned back to help out Chelsea. Together, the two of us made our way through the throng and into the foyer of the apartment building.
“Does that ever get less annoying?” Chelsea asked.
“Nope,” I said, my head already feeling woozy from the whiskey. “In fact, you end up hating them even more as time goes on.”
There was a smattering of people in the lobby: tech moguls and venture capitalists and a few Hollywood types. I wasn’t crazy about this celebration being turned into a social event, but I’d long accepted that this came with the territory at the level I was at.
A few black-suited security agents led Chelsea and me to one of the elevators, the doors opening up as we approached it. During the brief ride up, I couldn’t help but notice that there was something off about Chelsea. Her lovely face was in a tight expression of concentration, as if something was weighing heavily on her.
Then I watched as her hand moved up her body and rested on her belly for a moment before she removed it.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she quickly said. “Just trying to get my game face on.”
“We won’t make an all-night thing of it,” I said. “Just a few hours.”
She nodded, and I could tell that the idea sounded good to her.
The doors opened, revealing Damien’s vast, gorgeous apartment. Dozens upon dozens of people were in attendance, and my stomach tightened at the thought of spending the next few hours rubbing elbows.
I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with Chelsea, and no one else.
Chelsea slipped her arm under my own, guiding me into the party.
“You sure you’re OK?” she asked. “You seem like you’re off in la-la land.”
“Just need a drink,” I said.
Right at that moment, a waiter passed us by, and I put in an order for a whiskey sour for me, a glass of sparkling cider for Chelsea. Moments later, drink in hand, I felt ready to take on the party.
Damien was the first to approach us.
“There’s the pair of the hour,” he said, shaking my hand and pulling me in for a firm slap on the back.
“Good to see you, Damien,” I said.
“And his always-lovely fiancée,” he said, giving Chelsea a soft kiss on the cheek.
“She’s more than just that these days,” I was quick to add. “Chelsea was able to cut through the red tape neces
sary to get the demolition ready faster than I was anticipating. I’m the one having to play catch-up.”
“It was nothing,” she said. “Just happy to be part of a project I’m so passionate about.”
“Well,” said Damien, clearly impressed. “I’m glad to know my money will be in such capable hands.”
He clasped his own hands together.
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss business later. This party is about you both—I want you to enjoy yourselves.”
On that note, he excused himself, encouraging us to mingle.
Chelsea and I made the rounds through the party, meeting and greeting as we were expected to do. I went through my drink, then another, then another. And before I knew it, I was good and tipsy.
After a time, I excused myself from Chelsea, needing to use the bathroom. And on the way there I spotted a sight that didn’t sit well with me—Becca and Walsh from the tech department talking with Hunter. They were off in some corner, speaking conspiratorially as if they were Roman senators plotting to assassinate the emperor.
But I chalked my paranoia up to the booze and my nerves, and soon I was back at Chelsea’s side, the two of us ready to go in for another round of elbow-rubbing.
Another hour or so passed, and I was officially drunker than I needed to be.
“OK,” said Chelsea. “You officially don’t look OK. You want me to make up some excuse about why we need to leave?”
“No,” I said, my tone sharp.
Deep down, I knew she was making the right call. But I didn’t want to admit it. To say she was right would mean accepting that there was a situation I couldn’t handle, and there was no way I was going to do that.
“I… I think I need some fresh air,” I said. “And a few minutes to collect my thoughts.”
“Oh,” said Chelsea. “Um, sure. I’ll be here, then.”
She was clearly not happy about being left alone. But I knew what I needed.
I grabbed another drink and headed upstairs to the second-floor balcony, the area thankfully calm and empty. Once alone, I took a long, exhausted breath followed by a sip of my drink.
The air was cool and energizing. As I leaned out against the balcony, I began to think that I’d be able to get through the party after all.
A voice behind me, however, snapped me out of whatever peace of mind I’d gotten.
“Hello, Ducky.”
I didn’t need to turn to know who was behind me.
So I didn’t. And I didn’t say a damn thing either.
“Lovely to see you as always,” Felicity said, sliding up to me.
“If it’s all the same to you,” I said, “I came up here to be alone.”
“Oh, my little Bryce,” she said, a cartoonishly sympathetic expression on her face. “Always so brave and stoic. But I heard about the news, and there’s no way I’m going to let you be alone up here, pickling your liver with expensive whiskey while you’re mourning the death of your father.” She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “He was such a sweet man, too. What a tragedy.”
The booze had hit me hard. The city lights were a blurry wash in front of me and my thoughts were muddled.
In fact, I was so out of it that I hardly noticed when Felicity placed her hand on my side.
“But you know that I’ll always be here for you, my darling Ducky. And I know that in spite of this silly little fraud engagement you have going on, I’ll always be your number-one girl.”
“F-fraud?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I know it’s all a ploy to make me jealous. Please—do you think I’d really believe that you were getting married to some little tart after only a few weeks?” She chuckled. “No, it’s obvious this is an instance of one bad turn deserving another. I cheat on you—you get married to someone else.”
Then she leaned in close, so close I could smell the expensive champagne on her breath.
I knew that I should’ve pushed her away—I wanted to. Despite how thickly she was laying it on, I didn’t feel the slightest bit of desire for her.
The only woman I wanted was Chelsea, and having Felicity throw herself at me only made me more certain of this. I knew that I needed to get away from the situation as quickly as possible. But I was so wasted at this point that it took all the effort I had just to stay on my own two feet.
“Now,” she said, “come here and show me how much you miss me.”
Quickly, very quickly, over the course of a split-second, I felt the touch of Felicity’s hand against my face, turning it toward her own. Then there was a blur of golden blonde hair, pearl-white teeth, and blood-red lips.
Then she kissed me.
If I’d been sober I’d have pushed her away before her lips even came close to mine. But I was drunk and sloppy and slow, and she managed to plant her lips on me hard for several long seconds before I had the presence of mind to get my hands onto her hips and push her away.
“What… What the hell are you doing?” I asked when I’d gotten her off me.
“Just giving you a little taste of what you’re missing,” she said. “And what you could have back.”
The smile on her face was one part seductive and two parts evil. I knew I needed to get away from her as quickly as I could.
“Don’t… Don’t ever talk to me again,” I said.
Sloppily, I stumbled away from Felicity, the words “good night, Ducky,” lingering in my mind.
The music from downstairs was a wild din that swirled around me, and sickness rose in my stomach. I realized that I wasn’t even going to be able to make it downstairs.
I grabbed onto the knob of one of the guest bedrooms and pulled it open. The room was dark and the bed was empty and inviting. I shut the door, locked it behind me in case Felicity was following, and collapsed onto the bed.
Within seconds, I was out as surely as if I was a corpse.
Chapter 38
Bryce
“Morning, kid.”
Opening my eyes took more effort than I was ready for. As soon as I was back into consciousness, the first thing I became aware of was a headache so intense it felt like my skull was about to split open like a grape smashed under a boot.
When I opened my eyes I noticed right away that I wasn’t in my bed. A glance over at both sides of the bed revealed that I was alone—no trace of Chelsea.
Instead, standing at the foot of the bed was Damien. It was surreal at first—he was dressed in gray slacks and a white polo, clothes more casual than I’d ever seen him in. On his face was an expression of frustration and disappointment.
I groaned as I rolled over, my head pounding.
“Figured you could use these,” he said, stepping over to the side of the bed and placing a glass of water and a pair of pills on the nightstand.
My mouth felt like old leather, so I downed the water along with the pills as quickly as I could.
“Where’s Chelsea?”
“Back at your apartment,” said Damien. “We started looking for you a half hour or so after you wandered off. At first, we couldn’t find you. She told me you’d been drinking, and I worried that you’d wandered off into the city. Just so happened that we heard you snoring through the door. We tried to get you up, but when we realized you were out like a damn light, we figured we’d let you sleep it off.”
“Shit,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my head. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, you’ve got a lot more than that to be sorry about,” he said.
Then I noticed he had something else in his hand—a tablet. He turned it on, swiped a few times, and handed it over.
When I rubbed my eyes and took a glance on the screen, my stomach sank like a hunk of cinderblocks into a lake.
It was one of the tabloid sites that liked to keep tabs on me.
And on the front page was a picture of me and Felicity in the middle of a kiss.
“What the fuck!” I shouted out, tossing the tablet onto the bed and backing off, as th
ough the image were cursed.
“Got a little too drunk for your own good, huh?” he asked.
I closed my eyes and tried to play back the events of last night. I remembered stumbling up to the balcony, then Felicity…then the kiss.
For a moment I worried that I’d actually done it, that I’d cheated on Chelsea. But then I remembered the revulsion that I’d felt when Felicity’s lips touched mine, and how I’d only let her kiss stay on my mouth for the briefest of moments before I pushed her away.
“I’m disappointed in you, Bryce,” said Damien, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “I understand that you’re going through a lot, especially with your father’s passing. But this sort of behavior is exactly what I thought you’d left behind when you got engaged. I guess I was wrong. And so were you.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” I said.
I went right into it, explaining that I’d gotten drunk, that Felicity had taken advantage of how drunk and out of it I was.
“I see,” said Damien. “And did you happen to see what else was in the story?”
I was confused. I snatched up the pad and opened it back up, now scrolling down.
“Holy fuck,” I said.
The headline read “Phone Hacking Scandal! Bryce Carver’s Illicit Affair Made Public!” and was followed by a half-dozen images of Felicity in various states of undress. At first I had no idea where they’d come from, but then I realized that they were the exact shots that she’d been sending me over the last week.
“Goddammit,” I said, shaking my head.
“And I suppose you have an explanation for those, too?” asked Damien.
“I do,” I said. “She sent those pictures to me, and that’s all there is to it. Damien, nothing has been going on between Felicity and me. I don’t know if she’s just furious that I’m getting married or what, but this is all some kind of plot or trick or something.”
Damien slipped a hand into his pocket and looked away for a long moment, deep in thought. Then he sighed and spoke.
“Bryce, can you tell me with total honesty that what you’re saying is the truth? That this affair isn’t real?”
