His happiness is paramount.
And accomplishing everything he’s ever worked for is tantamount to that happiness.
“If I do this,” I tell her, “I want your word that everything gets up and running with his charter business without issue, and then you never touch it again. You interfere with it and I’m out. And you can find someone else to be your little lackey.”
She smirks. “Done.”
I force my shoulders back. I won’t allow them to slump in her presence. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
She claps her hands. “Splendid.” Rising to her feet, she walks to the door with the air of a queen. “I’ll ensure a victory with your nomination bid, of course. I can be quite persuasive, after all. Until then, you will continue your work at the Foundation. I’ll make sure all the paperwork on his end goes through smoothly.”
I follow behind her to the door, my movements stilted. I can’t help but feel like a guillotine is arching down toward my neck. But I have to keep reminding myself that this is for West.
I’m doing this for the man I love.
I’ll do anything for him. If nothing else, this conversation has put that fact into sharp realization for me.
“We should do this more often,” she muses as I hold the door open for her. “I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
I scowl. “I didn’t realize you had a discernable sense of humor, Mother.”
She shoots me a pitying glance as she steps over the threshold. “You might as well get used to these little chats, dear. Once you’re on that board, we’re going to have plenty of them.”
I avert my gaze, squeezing the doorknob so hard my joints ache. “One last thing.”
She slowly spins around on the heel of her pump, her face a mask of condescension. “Yes, dear?”
Bringing my gaze back, I turn a fiery glare on her.
“He never finds out about this.” I infuse all the steel I have left into my voice. “I don’t care how he receives that money, as long as it doesn’t come directly from you. Say Dan decided to invest, or give it to me and I can come up with some kind of lie. But he never hears of this conversation.”
A sparkle enters her eyes that I can’t interpret. Not even sure I want to at this point.
She eventually nods, that curious gleam still in her eyes. “I won’t say a word about it.”
Then she saunters off my front porch, looking damn pleased with herself.
Leaving me alone to deal with the bottomless black pit that’s suddenly opened up in my stomach.
“West is going to shit a sideways brick when he sees you in this dress,” Gretchen pronounces as I slip on the strappy black heels she’s loaning me for the evening.
I snort. “So will my mother.”
With any luck, she’ll disown me.
“Then its versatility was worth the price,” Sloane comments dryly.
I finish buckling the thin satin strap and straighten back up. Turning in place in front of the mirror, I assess my figure in the red floor-length, strapless mermaid dress with the wide slit up the middle. Gretchen and Sloane came over to help me get ready for the Foundation Gala tonight, assisting with my hair but leaving my makeup to me. Quinn has been on FaceTime the whole time, since she couldn’t get away from her job to be here in person.
“I vote the larger chandelier earrings,” Quinn suggests. I have my phone propped up on my bookshelf, facing the full-length mirror, so she can see everything. “You can go bigger on the earrings since you nixed the necklace.”
“Agreed,” Sloane says.
I replace the smaller earrings in my ears with the larger ones and re-check my makeup. I went a little retro, with only top eyeliner, long, lustrous eyelashes, and the red lipstick I made the night West went on his sexy treasure hunt. I left my blond hair down in waves, with a few strands pulled back in loose twists.
Marilyn.
“I’ve got a name for that shade of lipstick whenever you start selling it in bulk,” Gretchen throws out, glancing up from her phone to inspect me. “Boner-ific Red. Because every man at that party tonight is going to imagine that color smeared all over his sausage.”
“Gross,” Quinn’s voice comes over the phone.
“How about Cherry Popper Red?” Sloane chimes in.
Gretchen makes a not bad expression. “And the blinding shade of foundation you made for Sloanie pie over there can be Snow White Delight.” She claps excitedly. “Oh, oh! And the bronzer you made for me can be Come Hither, Honey. You know, ‘cuz it’s a dark honey shade? No, no, I got it. The deep red lipstick you gave me…” She holds her hands up, pausing for effect. “Bust-a-Nut Berry.”
We all four explode into laughter.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” Quinn says through her chuckles.
Gretchen grins. “Shit, give me a bottle of wine, and I could come up with tons of kickass names for your products. I’ll be a fucking genius at it.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat but force out a smile. “I’ll keep that in my back pocket.”
Little does she know she’d be wasting her time.
There’s no way I’m going to tell them about my heart-to-heart with Mother last week. They won’t understand, and they’d be too outraged on my behalf to listen to reason anyway. Sloane would probably call Mother up and bitch her out backwards and forwards. Quinn would most likely dump bags of horse manure on Mother’s front door. And Gretchen…she’d offer to assassinate her. You know you’ve got yourself the best gal pals in the world when they don’t even balk at being accomplices to murder for you.
Remember, you’re doing it all for West.
The front door opens and quickly slams shut. Speak of the gorgeous devil.
“Sorry, I’m late!” West shouts, the sweet sound carrying through my closed bedroom door. Former bedroom, I guess, since there’s no longer “my” anything. According to West, there is only “ours.”
“My last party was late showing up! I’ll be ready in four minutes!”
I smile, knowing the bowtie on his tux will take him at least that long to figure out. Chances are, I’ll have to do it. West avoids formalwear like the plague. And wearing a tux for an entire evening at a Charleston society event, he’d probably prefer the plague.
Yes, I’d rather just skip the whole thing. But events like this will be a bigger part of my life if I hold up my end of the deal I made with Mother. I might as well accept it now. I can’t forget that she has something to hold over me. She has all the leverage.
At least there’s an open bar.
“Spoken like a man in love,” Sloane muses, shooting me a coy smile.
That word has my teeth digging into my lower lip. It’s been hovering in the air for the past few weeks, waiting to be said. But there’s hesitation on both our parts. I don’t know if it’s due to the fear of rushing things like we did in the beginning, or if it’s just plain fear of the unknown. We know this time is for real, it’s special, it’s stronger than ever. Our connection isn’t as tenuous as it was before—we’ve both learned since then. But I’ve been sensing that West is afraid of saying the wrong thing. Afraid of saying something that will destroy all the progress we’ve made.
“Spare me,” Quinn groans from the phone. “These pow-wows are starting to turn into heinous love fests, which contradicts their initial purpose.”
“For real,” Gretchen agrees. “This is becoming The Love Boat, and I’m getting sea sick.”
“What she said,” Quinn deadpans.
Sloane blows them both kisses from her lounged position on the bed where she’s filing her nails. “Then grab your life preservers and jump overboard.” Addressing me, she asks, “Have you talked to Shae lately?”
I shake my head as I gather items to stuff into my clutch. “No. Not since that happy hour argument.”
No texts, no calls. The radio silence has actually never lasted this long with Shae. Not knowing what to make of it is almost worrisome. But I’m not budging. I’ve grown exhausted o
f her shitty attitude about West and general shittiness as a friend.
“She’s going to have to reach out to me this time because I’m not. I don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Sloane points the nail file at me. “Good for you.”
“Will she be there tonight?” Gretchen asks.
“She shouldn’t be. West is my plus one, and my boss wouldn’t give me another ticket.”
Although Shae has managed to squirm her way into other exclusive events in the past, usually by way of her vagina and past indiscretions with certain string-pullers in the community.
I hear West’s bedroom door open, followed by his heavy footsteps stomping over the hardwood floors. I glance at my phone. Four minutes on the dot.
His frustrated grunt can be heard from across the house. “Princess, I’m going to need your help with this damn bowtie!”
Like the Grinch’s heart, my smile grows three sizes.
“Which reminds me.” Sloane pushes up from the bed to her feet. “I’ve got my own man with a bowtie to get back to.” She winks slyly at me. “For your sake, I hope he’s wearing suspenders. Trust me, they’ll change your life.”
“Guess that’s our cue, Quinnie,” Gretchen calls out.
“Thank God,” Quinn mutters, making a gagging sound. “I don’t want to bear witness to the scene that’s about to occur. Call me when you’re no longer dick-whipped.”
I laugh. “Hon, that’s like waiting for Gretchen to get dick-whipped.”
Gretchen snickers. “Never gonna happen, babe.”
That look of amusement on her face gradually fades, her mouth falling into a confused-like frown. It’s as if she’s trying to figure something out in her head but can’t make sense of anything.
The alarm on my phone goes off, letting me know we have approximately ten minutes to leave the house before we’re officially running late.
Quinn hangs up, while Sloane and Gretchen precede me out the bedroom door. Before I exit, I hear Gretchen mutter, “Hold on to your socks, Devereaux. ‘Cuz she’s about to knock them off.”
He chuckles. “Thanks for the warning, Gretch.”
“Later, Harp!” They both yell before going out the front door, leaving West and I alone.
I slowly canter down the hallway until I’m standing in the living room. West is poised at the edge of the kitchen with a beer in his hand and turns when he hears the click of my heels.
He freezes.
He’s either paralyzed by his own reaction, or a ghost has materialized right behind me.
His jaw drops as his gaze greedily takes in every inch of me. His perusal is in typical West style. Lackadaisical, yet diligent.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he says gruffly, plunking his beer down on the counter. “It’s a damn good thing they left.”
“Why is that?”
He stalks toward me, the dynamic energy surrounding him charged with sexual intent. “Because the things I’m about to do to you might scandalize even Gretchen.”
“Okay, okay,” West says, laughing. “What about that couple by the champagne fountain?”
He snags a crab stuffed snow pea from a passing waiter’s tray, while I glance over at the middle-aged couple. “He has a gambling addiction, and she had an affair with their twenty-year-old landscaper.”
West shakes his head in amazement as I give him the lowdown on pretty much every individual in this ballroom. No matter how clean and spotless they want people to think their lives are, everyone has a bag of dirty laundry stashed somewhere. Most of the people in attendance tonight like to pretend they’re untouchable, their marriages flawless, and their entire existence the kind of thing everyone around them envies.
In a nutshell, they’re all a bunch of puffed-up liars.
“And the three women whispering to each other in the corner over there?” he prods, nodding in their direction.
I discreetly peek at them from the corner of my eye while I sip from my flute of champagne. “The one on the left discovered that her husband has a Grinder account. Rumors that he’s gay have been flitting around for years, even though he likes to act homophobic. The one in the middle’s son was caught with a stash of cocaine in his college dorm room. But she and her husband got their judge friend to drop the possession charges.” I squint at the last woman, sifting through years’ worth of useless grapevine gossip hoarded away in my memory. “The one on the right supposedly has anger issues. Threw some silverware at her housekeeper, who pressed charges. And she reportedly favors the whips and chains.”
West has a near spit-take moment and coughs to avoid choking on his crab stuffed snow pea. “Unbelievable. I think my family has a better track record than most of the people in this room. And my parents were basically hippies.”
I giggle, just as Councilman Marshall and his new wife pass by us. He nods politely in my direction, guiding the much younger Filipino woman through the crowd with his hand on her back. I know everyone in this room, and they know me. Either through my mother or through my position at the Foundation. After all, I helped organize this entire gala.
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear that one,” West says.
“Mail-order bride,” I answer on a sigh. “He and his ex-wife both traded in for younger models. And the ex-wife supposedly blew all of her settlement money on new boobs, lips, and ass implants.”
I’m suddenly feeling…antsy.
Although I can’t change my past, my family, or where I come from, I’m kind of ashamed that this is the world I grew up in. West knows me better than anyone, but I don’t want him to ever think less of me because of my ilk. This is not who I am.
“Did I mention that we can leave anytime?” I’m hoping he’s as eager for an abrupt exodus as I am.
“And not stay for the cake?” he gasps, mock horror widening his features. “That’s sacrilege, princess.”
“I just…” Stepping closer to him, I run my fingertips over his bowtie. Sloane might be on to something there. “I know my mother is going to find us at some point, and I don’t want her ruining our good moods.”
Or giving anything away.
The less she’s around my boyfriend, the better. West is too perceptive. If she gives even the slightest hint that there’s something behind-the-scenes going on, he’ll pick up on it almost instantly.
He gingerly lifts my hand to his mouth and lays a tender kiss over my wrist. “The only way she’ll ruin anything is if we let her. If she starts pissing you off, just remember what happened earlier. And remind yourself that the marathon will continue once I get your fine ass home.”
Heat blooms inside my chest and travels quickly down to my belly. Images of what occurred before we left the house assail me, sending my heart pounding all over again.
After launching himself at me and taking my mouth in a pull-the-rug-out-from-under-me kind of kiss, West walks me back into my bedroom. Our mouths remain sealed together, our voracious tongues interlocked. With his hands clutching my hips, he guides me toward my full-length mirror and spins me around. My eyes catch on our bodies, positioned much the same way they were the night he taught me a lesson in flirting with his friends.
My back to his front.
His face buried in my neck while his mouth leaves a hot trail of open-mouthed kisses over my flesh.
Only this time, he’s dressed like a debonair, yet slightly more rugged, James Bond. Gun and accent not included.
“How the hell did you manage to find the sexiest damn dress on the planet?” he growls against my skin.
I lean back into him, my fingers curling in his dark hair. “I think you’re a little biased.”
His hand slides around to my stomach and yanks me flush against his jutting erection. “Oh, no, princess. Unfortunately, that’s a fucking fact. You know I’m going to have to be on my guard all damn night, right? To make sure that none of those smarmy, monied motherfuckers who bet they can still get a girl half their age—and one who looks like you—even thinks of approaching you.”<
br />
“You’ll be next to me all evening,” I murmur, lost to the demanding throb between my thighs. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
He chuckles mirthlessly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Harper. The second I leave for the bathroom, every single bastard in the room will make his move on you. Each of them will take his shot at trying to steal you away from me. You know how I know that?”
I lick my lips. “How?”
“Because that’s what I would do. An insanely stunning woman like you, you have to at least take a shot with her. And trust me, all eyes will be on you the instant you enter that ballroom until the second you leave it. At least half the men there will be obsessed with you by night’s end, even the married ones. Some men just can’t help themselves.”
“Are you saying I should change into a different dress?”
He takes my earlobe between his teeth and pulls. “Not a fucking chance. You’re too gorgeous in this dress. And I want you to keep it on as a reminder to both of us that I’m the only one who gets to enjoy you in it. Nothing and no one else matters. I just wanted you to understand why I’ll be wearing a permanent glare all night.”
I moan. “Is there anything we can do to take some of the edge off?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things. Why don’t we start with this?”
My eyes spring open—when the hell did I shut them?—as West’s presence leaves my back and comes around to my front.
Then he drops to his knees.
Oh, Mother of God, YES.
His hands inch up my dress through the wide slit in the middle. He glances up at me, his mouth hovering over the apex of my thighs.
“Remember this later,” he commands in a raw voice. “When those other men are looking at you like they want to eat you alive, remember the way I ate you in our home. And you remember that you can get this from me any goddamn time you want it.”
He hooks his finger into the black lace and roughly pulls it aside. He nibbles on my clit, stroking it with his tongue, before he sucks it into his mouth. Then his tongue pushes through my folds and thrusts deep. All the while, I’m hypnotized by the reflection in front of me. Enraptured by the sight of him kneeling in his tux, hands spreading the slit of my dress, head undulating over my sex.
The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2) Page 19
