Sure enough, Kip the Gigolo rounded the corner of the vegetable stand.
The sight of him shot straight to her heart, which started beating hard enough that it was actually painful. What is he doing here?
Cassidy asked the same question in a whisper, and Victoria momentarily jolted. How in the hell did Cassidy know Kip? But, then, she would, wouldn’t she? She’d hired Kip to start with. There would have been a picture at the very least.
Victoria hated her hope that Kip had sought her out to make up.
“Ah,” Kip said to The Master. “There you are, Mother.”
Thud. Victoria’s speeding heart abruptly stopped.
It was at precisely that moment—when there was no way in hell Victoria was disguising what she was feeling—that Kip seemed to see her for the first time.
He stuttered to a stop at Masterson’s side. In his hand was a burlap shopping bag filled to the brim with produce. Their gazes connected, and now with him standing side by side with Georgiana Masterson, she could see that the shape of their eyes was, in fact, identical.
Because The Master was her lover’s mother. The lover whom she had shared all of her secret advertising plans with. For the client over which his mother and she currently competed.
Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.
Victoria opened her mouth. To say what, she didn’t know, but Kip beat her to the punch.
He tilted his head toward The Master. “Who is this?” he asked conversationally, smiling Victoria’s direction.
What is he—? Were they going to pretend they didn’t know each other? What the fuck was going on!
While social niceties had been a struggle for Victoria moments earlier, The Master did not suffer from the same conflict, apparently. “Kipling, this is a competitor of mine: Victoria Hastings. Hastings,” she said, waving a hand in Victoria’s direction and then back at Kipling fucking Masterson, “my son.”
“Oh, shit,” Cassidy mumbled. Victoria was pretty numb, but she was able to feel Cassidy’s hand on her arm nonetheless. “Nice to meet you both, but we have to go.”
Victoria tried to speak but ended up grunting instead.
With that, Cassidy began ushering her away. “Forget everything nice I said about him earlier. He is a hooker!”
“What just happened?”
“Well, sweetie, I think you just got the shaft, and not in the way you paid for.”
“Oh, God, his mother!” She jerked to a stop. “Cassidy, I told him everything!”
“Victoria!”
Kip? They turned, and, sure enough, there he was, streaking across the parking lot to get to her.
• • •
“Victoria!” he yelled again. Not that he needed to. She and the woman she was with had stopped the first time he’d shouted at them. They were both standing next to her silver Mercedes and glaring daggers his way.
The daggers gave him pause.
She had, just the night before, shown him exactly what she thought of him, and it wasn’t an opinion he was willing to accept from anyone, much less the woman he had considered a relationship with.
But the way she’d looked at him when he’d found out who his mother was—like she was utterly devastated—he couldn’t ignore that. His heart wouldn’t let him.
Why she cared who his mother was, he hadn’t a clue.
He stopped running while he was still several feet away, so that by the time he was approaching them, it was at a wary walk. “Victoria?”
Something within her seemed to snap. “How could you not tell me The Master is your mother?” she hissed.
Kip’s head drew back. “The Master?”
“Kip! You’ve seen every single advertising plan I have for The Ricchezza. Even if you didn’t tell Masterson what you’ve seen, at the very least, any decent person would have warned me he was related to my biggest competition before I gave away my biggest dream to him!”
Oh. Holy shit. Victoria was competing for The Ricchezza against his mother. No, they can’t be similar. The women had nothing in common! He wouldn’t be so stupid as to throw his heart at the feet of another heartless woman.
“Victoria, there’s something you need to know about my mother and me.” She has destroyed every shred of confidence I have. And you seem to be molding yourself in her footsteps. He shook his head, displacing the errant thought. “We don’t talk. I had no idea that she was who you were competing against for the account.”
Victoria snorted a laugh. “How much of what comes out of your mouth is a lie, Kipling?”
And that’s when he got angry. “Why would you care who I am? All I am to you is your hooker!” He shoved a hand through his hair and tried to calm down. “You know what? I’m tired of this. Do you know how I would have known you and my mother were out for the same client? If you would have fucking opened up to me. Even once. But every time shit got personal, you bailed.” He couldn’t deny it anymore. Not with such blatant evidence. The similarities between Victoria and his mother were glaring. Two days ago, he would have never thought Victoria was the type of person to climb over others in pursuit of success. Now?
“You know what?” she hissed, leaning in. “You and The Master can have those old, tired plans. I’ll spend every moment between now and Monday morning revamping everything, and by the time I present them against your mother in that boardroom, she won’t know what hit her.”
And, like an idiot, the first thing Kip wanted to say was, No, don’t change those plans! You worked so hard on them! Instead, he leaned back and completely detached himself. Yep. Just like my mother. “I guess you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.” His tone was the same dead tone he used every time he talked with his family.
Her warm brown eyes hardened. “Yes, I do.”
Despite her revealing her true colors, Kip found himself regarding Victoria with pride. She was incredible. Resilient. Bitter. “Good-bye, Victoria. I wish you the best.” He meant it. The discovery felt groundbreaking. Freeing. Maybe he was ready to move on. From his mother. His family. Anyone—he met Victoria’s gaze—like them.
She didn’t say good-bye back. Instead, she spun on her heel, flopped into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door behind her.
The woman she was with shifted awkwardly from foot to foot for a moment before saying, “Well, this was fun.” She smiled sadly at Kip. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
With that, she walked around to the passenger’s seat and got into the car.
“No, you won’t be seeing me around,” he whispered. I never have to see them again.
Oddly, the thought did not comfort him as he’d intended.
Chapter Sixteen
Victoria blinked blearily at the changing red numbers of The Ricchezza elevator. It had been a whirlwind these past forty-eight sleepless, frenzied, work-filled hours, but she was here, and she was confident.
She could sleep later. After she’d signed The Ricchezza.
Unfortunately, she’d been unable to save the crying for later. Her fingers delicately prodded the swollen skin beneath her eyes. It felt like her makeup was still intact. She glanced at the mirror on the ceiling of the elevator. Yep. The dark circles and baggy skin were covered up.
She’d devoted too many precious minutes this weekend to mourning both Kip’s betrayal and—because her heart liked to be contradictory—his sudden absence in her life. Luckily, her dream had not suffered twice because of him.
Her new plans kicked her old plans’ ass.
When the elevator dinged, Victoria jerked upright, surprised to find she’d nodded off somewhere between checking her makeup and arriving at the business suite of The Ricchezza.
Yes, sleep definitely needed to happen soon.
When the elevator doors opened, she found none other than Just Tiffany sitting at a reception desk situated directly opposite the bank of elevators. Tiffany’s head rose from where it was bent over the desk as she typed away. She smiled.
Victoria pulled in a fortifying b
reath, smoothed her hand down her business suit jacket, and walked toward the desk, gripping her folio between her arm and side hard enough to crack a rib.
“Ms. Hastings,” Tiffany said. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
Well, at least she’d recognized her. That had to be a good sign, right? “For me, too.” Victoria smiled and hoped she was awake enough to make it vivid and sincere instead of a grimace.
“Ms. Masterson has already arrived and is setting up in the boardroom.” Tiffany floated up from her seat. “I can take you there now.”
Of course, Masterson beat me here. “That would be great, thank you.”
With each step down the hallway, Victoria’s minimal nerves dissipated. She was as ready for this meeting as she’d been for anything in her life. Mr. Davis had already hinted he was going with her. This was a formality.
Tiffany stopped beside an open door and gestured for Victoria to proceed inside. “May I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
She straightened her shoulders. “No, thank you.”
With a final nod, Just Tiffany was gone, swaying her way back down the hallway.
Victoria walked into the room and spotted The Master immediately. She was standing by an easel holding some projected numbers and clicking away at a laptop attached to a projector by a cord. She didn’t even bother looking up.
Fine by me. Victoria laid her portfolio on the magnificent mahogany table and began to pull out her own easel.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Victoria paused, coached herself not to overreact, and raised her head. “Excuse me?” Bravo, Victoria! You sounded semi-normal!
The Master nodded toward Victoria’s still-collapsed easel. “Bother setting up. There won’t be a need.”
As quickly as Victoria’s nerves had disappeared, they were even quicker on the rebound. She suddenly remembered something grief, frenzied work, and lack of sleep had not-so-conveniently erased from her short-term memory: the cryptic comment Masterson had made before Kip showed up at the vegetable stall. Something about Victoria’s choices.
Oh, so many shits. This was bad. Please don’t know what I think you know. Masterson’s smile was predatory, and Victoria’s heart sank to her gut. Her rival knew Victoria had hired a gigolo.
Ouch. She palmed the ache in her chest. Who knew she’d actually been harboring hope that Kip hadn’t been playing her the whole time? That pipe dream was over. The only way Masterson would know about Victoria’s indiscretion would be if Kip had told her. And if that were the case, it was probable that The Master had been in on it from the start. That it had been some sort of subterfuge. A plan.
How . . . horrifying. And fucking painful.
He’d never wanted her after all. And she’d never forgive herself if her ill-advised business agreement with Kip cost her the only thing in life she cared about.
Against all odds, she was able to put her game face on. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Instead of an answer, Georgiana Masterson merely cocked an eyebrow.
It was the exact same expression Kip favored. Victoria looked away and swallowed hard.
For the first time since Friday, her confidence not only wavered, it shattered. Her hands shook as she set the easel on the tabletop.
“Ah, you’re both early.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria saw Masterson look toward the door and Mr. Davis. Victoria stared at her closed folio. Odds were, she’d never get a chance to open it.
Bracing herself, she finally looked up. Several people filed into the room after Mr. Davis, and they began taking seats, with Mr. Davis, naturally, in the place of power at the head of the table on the far end of the room.
He looked at her and smiled. She needed to say something. What would stop Masterson’s bombshell of information in its tracks?
She came up empty. Mr. Davis’s smile slipped. “Miss Hastings,” he said, “are you all right?”
Victoria bit her bottom lip.
“Actually,” Masterson said, “I have something that may interest you before we begin our pitches.”
And here we go.
Mr. Davis glanced Masterson’s way and then slowly dragged his gaze back to Victoria. She saw the moment he realized something was going on flicker in his eyes. “Okay,” he said, his gaze bearing the weight of an anvil as it remained on her.
Someone got up and closed the door.
The Master stood front and center and pressed her palms onto the tabletop. “Mr. Davis, sir—”
How absurd for The Master to call someone younger than her sir. But, hell, Victoria was a suck-up, too, for ingratiating herself to this man.
“—and I’m sure your background check was thorough, but our firm also employs a private investigator, and he turned up something I think you should know.”
After a brief pause, Mr. Davis said, “I’m listening.”
Wait, a private investigator? So, not Kip? Another lie, perhaps?
The Master squared her shoulders. “For the past month, Ms. Hastings has employed the services of a paid male prostitute.”
There were several audible gasps in the room, and Victoria, oddly enough, found herself fighting the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t Victorian England. These were grown-ass men who worked at a casino. It’s not like they’d never heard the word prostitute before.
But none of this made sense. This woman now tucking non-existent stray strands into her oh-so-proper bun would never open herself up to the possibility that Victoria would tell Davis that the prostitute she’d hired was, in fact, Masterson’s son. Mr. Davis would no doubt find that just as incriminating as the act of hiring one. Which meant . . .
Georgiana Masterson did not know that the gigolo Victoria had hired was her own son.
“Oh, my God,” Victoria muttered.
Masterson’s lips spread with a cocky smile. How sad. The Master had someone like Kip in her life, and she’d alienated him to such a point that she didn’t know what he did for a living.
What an unimaginable loss.
Well, not that unimaginable, is it? Victoria, too, had alienated him. Had allowed fear and the past to keep her from happiness. Kip, who was nothing like her husband, would have made her happy. For the rest of their lives.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Mr. Davis glared at her, drawing her from her thoughts. “Miss Hastings,” he grumbled, “what do you have to say to these charges?”
And this would be when the old Victoria Hastings did whatever it took to secure her dream. Threw Masterson under the bus, and in the process Kip, who would never be able to make it in his legitimate business if it got out, especially in this circle of vipers, that he’d been a gigolo.
There was no way she was going to do that. Pressing her lips tightly together, Victoria said nothing.
“Young lady—” Mr. Davis began.
Um, say what? And she’d wanted to work for this prick?
“—I cannot believe you would have dared to expose this casino to another scandal so shortly after the first. It is completely unconscionable.”
“I agree,” piped in The Master.
“And I assume this was the man you brought to dinner to meet my wife?” Mr. Davis’s face was an impressive shade of red.
“Mr. Davis,” Victoria raised her chin, “I don’t regret any of my choices.” It wasn’t entirely true. She just didn’t regret the ones he was accusing her of.
Mr. Davis blustered over that for a moment. “Well, you’ll regret them soon enough. Needless to say, The Ricchezza will not be hiring you or Precision Media Services.”
“If that’s what your heart is telling you to do, you should do it,” she said. “And so should I.”
Mr. Davis’s brows drew together at that, but she didn’t wait for him to say anything else. She gathered her folio and easel, and, turning toward the door, stopped for a moment beside The Master. “Congratulations, Georgiana,” she said softly. “I hope this is everything you dreame
d of.”
As for Victoria, it no longer was. It seemed her dream had morphed sideways on her when she wasn’t looking.
Unfortunately, she had more than likely made sure she’d never get that dream either. After the way she’d treated Kip, she didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve him.
Now, she just had to find a way to live with that.
Chapter Seventeen
The weekend had been interminable, and this week wasn’t shaping up to be any better. Not only had he been cruelly reminded of his place in life, he’d had to spend Saturday morning with his mother, who, for some godforsaken reason, had insisted he escort her to the farmer’s market when his father couldn’t make it. Then, after Victoria had turned into a stranger and broken his heart into a million pieces, he’d been expected at the usual weekly Sunday dinner. He hadn’t yet shored up the courage to cut ties with his family, though he was working on it and expected to do so any day now.
So why—dear God, why—was he at his parents’ house again this Monday night? He hadn’t spent this much time at his childhood home since he’d had the option not to.
His mother had demanded his presence, saying dinner tonight was a special occasion. And here he was, half hoping he’d be able to cut ties tonight. But the other half of him was here because if his mother was happy and celebrating today, that meant Victoria wasn’t.
And, glutton for punishment that he was, he wanted to know the details. Even though he didn’t have a right to anymore—had never had the right to, apparently—against all reason, he was worried about Victoria.
There were flutes of champagne at all three of their place settings, and Kip had already drained his twice. Why didn’t he chug champagne like water at every family gathering? He was finding his parents’ company moderately tolerable, and everything was slightly fuzzy. In other words: an improvement over the past three days. He was even eating his dessert, and, honestly, eyeing his father’s, too, even though as a rule he avoided sweets to keep his body fat down.
And then his mother had to open her mouth. Well, damn.
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