by MK Meredith
“But what if he doesn’t?”
Six pushed up to her knees. “But. What. If. He. Does?”
Seven couldn’t look away from the earnest sparkle in her sister’s gaze. Six grabbed her hand. “What if he’s the reason for not letting any of the other men get close?”
Shaking her head, Seven snorted. “That’s a little much, even for me, and I’m a romance writer.”
“No, it’s not. How many one-night stands have you ever had?”
Seven tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow. “Counting this one?”
Six smiled. “Exactly. I understand this all happened because of the bet, but there must have been something about this guy from the beginning.”
Laughing, Seven lay back down. “Yeah, he saved me from an overly interested fan who spit when he talked and had body odor.”
Patting her on the shoulder, Six pushed up from the bed. “You keep telling yourself that. It makes the justification that much easier.”
Seven threw a pillow at her. Six dodged the pillow and grabbed her purse. “I’m going shopping. See you after dinner. Tell him, Seven. You may not know exactly what to do with romance, how to control it or make it happen, but if you’re truly in love, you have to do something.”
The door closed with a soft thunk, and Seven stared at the ceiling. Yesterday seemed so far away, yet tomorrow was coming all too soon. If she didn’t do something, Blake would be out of her life and there would be no second chances. Was Six right? Had they been hiding from love all this time, or trying to find it with all the wrong people so they’d have a good reason for it to fail?
She blew out a breath. If she was going to make her living writing stories about lasting love, then she needed to live her words in real life. Not just hide behind the happy ever afters of her stories, but make one of her own. Her rules were a jumping-off point; Rules of Seduction had more than proved they had a place in love, but now it was time to be a grown-up and take charge of the life she wanted to live. And that meant telling the man she wanted in her life that she loved him.
Her stomach turned, and she wrapped her arms around her middle.
What had she told him? If he wanted something and went after it, he’d get it?
Well, it was time for her to take her own advice.
She dressed for dinner with care; her cigarette pants and matching blazer with three-quarter-length sleeves in cobalt blue formed to her as if custom made. She wore nothing beneath but her favorite bra and panties in a matching shade. Spritzing her hair with her favorite scent, she fluffed it out and then applied another layer of gloss to her lips. Slipping her toes into a pair of strappy black heels, she grabbed her clutch, then stepped out the door to Blake’s.
She hadn’t heard from him since lunch, but they agreed to meet that evening to eat a quick dinner before changing for the ball.
Her heart hammered in her chest. All her fears pushed at her to keep her mouth shut and simply enjoy the weekend. But that was no longer a possibility. She wanted Blake to want her, but now she wanted it for a very different reason than a silly bet.
She knocked on the door and waited, her heart racing, blood rushing to her head. She knocked again. Looking down the hall one way and then the other, she knocked a third time. Calling out was not an option unless she wanted the neighbor across the hall to join in their plans.
Pulling her key card from her clutch, she unlocked his door and made her way inside. “Blake?”
Nothing but silence greeted her, so she walked past the bathroom into the main area of the hotel room. Blake sat in a chair near the window with a scotch in his hand, feet propped up on the windowsill.
He sipped from his glass and raised it in salute.
She stepped closer, then stilled, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “What’s going on?”
He laughed, but it lacked any semblance of humor, dripping with a cynical bite instead. “You’re good. I’ll give you that.”
His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, tie pulled loose and hanging like a noose. She sank to the edge of his bed.
He stared a moment, his eyes red-rimmed, burning through her with condemnation. “It’s all an act, isn’t it? Your smile, your touch. And damn, your performance in bed deserves a standing ovation.”
Confusion laced with pain burned in her chest. “What are you talking about? Performance?”
He dropped his feet to the floor. “Don’t give me that innocent shit, goddammit. You’ve been acting since the beginning, determined to win this stupid fucking bet. Pretending to give a shit about me and my promotion, my feelings. Everything.”
She shook her head. “What in the world? Yes, I was working to seduce you. We made a bet, but I haven’t been pretending anything. I haven’t had to.”
He sneered, fisting his hands at his side. “Right, so your passionate declarations about love, about happy ever afters, those were real? You worked so hard to convince me when I don’t think you really believe any of that shit yourself. It’s nothing but a game to you.” He mocked her, sarcasm fueling his voice in a high-pitched impression. “What’s more human than love, Blake? You got one thing right. People sure as hell get screwed over it.”
Her head spun. She couldn’t wrap her mind around why all of a sudden it mattered to him what she believed, because he’d do his own thing like he always had.
This was the man she loved? The man she was planning to share her feelings with? She shook her head. What happened from lunchtime to now?
He clapped. A slow, mocking slap of his hands.
She pushed up from the bed, swallowing down the questions threatening to choke her. “And you’re an ass. What’s wrong with you?”
He shot up from the chair and towered over her. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Pretending to care for someone, playing these games, making bets?”
Pressing her lips together, she tried to make sense of his words. “You were fine with the bet yesterday, and you certainly didn’t have a problem with it earlier today. Twice.”
He looked down his nose at her. “Yeah, well, when the pickings are easy, why waste an opportunity for a piece?”
She reeled as if slapped in the face. “I think you better sit down and shut up before you say something you’re going to regret.”
Blake stepped closer and laughed in her face, the sharp heat of whiskey wafting about her. “Regret? Oh, I have my regrets. Meeting you, for one. And listening when you sold me all that bullshit about love. You’re just a salesman. So am I. I should have recognized your game a mile away. We’re done here.”
Seven stared as the man she loved mocked her world, her words—her. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from striking out, wanting to hurt him as he hurt her. Her hands numb and her knees weak, she grabbed her clutch and stepped back toward the door. Her voice shook with emotions on the brink of breaking. “I’d rather be an idiot who believes in love than a sorry excuse for a human being whose only offer to the world is the ability to close a sale. At least I offer an escape to women from men like you. What do you offer, Blake? Would you even buy what you sell?”
She bit her lip, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling.
He stared at her, his jaw clenching.
Pulling in a breath, she pushed on. “You win. The bet is off.” She pulled open the door. “At least we have one thing in common.” She held his gaze. “I regret meeting you, too.”
Stepping through the door, she turned toward her room and almost ran into the lady from across the hall. Surprisingly agile for someone who seemed to bathe in alcohol, she put out a hand. “Honey, are you all right?”
Seven choked on her tears and brushed past the woman without answering. She fumbled with her key and tried to unlock her door. “Come on,” she whispered fiercely.
The woman stepped up to her, peering at her through her cat-eye glasses, and placed her hands over Seven’s. Once Seven stilled, the lady slid the key from her grasp and unlocked
the door. Opening it for Seven, she handed back the key. “Don’t back down; don’t give up.”
Seven stepped through her door, then took her key back. She tried smiling her appreciation, but everything hurt too much. With a brisk nod, she closed the door.
People always said love was worth the pain of losing it. Seven kicked off her shoes and climbed onto her bed. Turning to her side, she pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees and cried. The pain rocking through her body made her seriously question the sanity of those people.
Unable to stand the stillness of her room, she grabbed the keys she hadn’t yet returned to Trent. Slipping noiselessly from her room, she made her way down the hall to the stairwell. A few flights would get her where she needed to be, to a place she could breathe.
Stepping through the door onto the rooftop, she pocketed the keys and dropped her head back. She walked to the two-foot wall at the edge, wrapping her arms around her waist. There was a sense of calm at the top, even with all the chaos below; from so high up it all looked quite serene.
She could see for miles in one direction and up to the small mountains in the other. So many people, so many chances at love. When the numbers went that high, the odds had to be good that real love was out there. Trent had been right to bring her up here for a change in perspective. It worked every time.
She did believe in what she wrote, and she wasn’t denouncing her belief, her world, in front of anyone. Love was real. It might not be hers yet, and there was no guarantee she’d ever find it, but she saw it in her parents. They proved every day through their triumphs and their tragedies that it was real. They chose each other, worked for each other, and in the end always had the other to hold on to. It was really beautiful, and she was lucky to have such great teachers.
Releasing the tight grip from her waist, she straightened her shoulders and pulled a breath of fresh air into her lungs until the burn replaced the pain in her heart. The work she did, the stories she told, were teachings as well. Love wasn’t easy, it wasn’t free, but it was out there and worth every ounce of effort. And in a world full of such pragmatism and cynicism, it was sometimes the only thing that separated heaven from hell.
People needed to be able to dream, they needed to be given a reason to turn the page of their life, one more time, every time, and fight through another day. The chance that love might be on the other side was just powerful enough to do that. And her job was to get that power in as many hands as she could, to fight to change the attitudes of people like Blake.
He might regret meeting her, but she’d never regret meeting him, because he’d helped her learn that though she may have lost him, she still had her career, her beliefs, and herself. And that was enough.
It was time to stop looking.
Chapter Ten
Shrill laughter from the hallway yanked him from the self-preserving shit-hole he’d dug for himself, and he shot up from his chair. The room immediately spun, and he grabbed for his bedside table to steady himself. What the fuck had he just done?
There was no going back now. He hurt in a way he’d never experienced before, and all the women he had left in his wake haunted him. Is this what it had been like for them?
The room answered him with silence. He was all alone, and would always be alone. He’d finally found the one woman who might keep him from looking for “the something better” his dad always talked about, and he’d pushed her away.
She didn’t love him, but an idiot could see she’d felt something. Hell, he’d practically run from the rooftop just to stop her from telling him. He’d lost that chance, and he’d lost all hope of any possible second chances.
Blake scowled into his empty glass and grabbed the bottle. Turning it upside down, he growled when only a drop fell from the opening. “Goddammit.” He threw the bottle across the room; it crashed against the far wall and fell to the ground. Fuck. He was going to have to pay for that, but it felt so good, he’d do it again if he had another bottle.
Finding the mini fridge empty, Blake grabbed his wallet and headed for the bar. When he stepped into the hall, he paused outside Seven’s door. He raised his fingers to the cool surface, then let them fall to his side. His chest squeezed, and he wrenched away from the temptation of knocking. What in the hell could he say now? He’d pretty much said everything to guarantee she’d never speak to him again.
The door across the hall opened, and a sour waft of alcohol hit him. He strode down the hall before he could get stopped by the nosy lady who took a shining to his and Seven’s activities. Her voice reached him before he got on the elevator. “You’re being an ass, young man.”
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped through, pushing the close button repeatedly until the doors obeyed. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet. Seven’s tear-streaked face and pleading eyes appeared, and he snapped his eyes opened to stop the vision. He shook his head. The tears meant nothing. She’d had a bet to win, and she had done everything she could to win it.
His head throbbed, and he bent his neck from side to side to stretch away the pinching between his shoulder blades. Shoving through the crowds of women, he slid into a seat at the bar and got the attention of the bartender. “Scotch, neat, anything over twenty years.”
The man next to him looked over. “Must be pretty bad for a kick like that.”
Blake pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead. His fight with Seven was running over and over in his mind, tightening the tension in his shoulders like a vise.
“Nathaniel Hennings.”
Blake’s shoulders dropped; he closed his eyes for a second. The last thing he could handle right now was a conversation. He turned to the guy next to him and froze. He was the same guy Seven had been speaking to when Blake overheard her gloating.
The bartender slid him his drink, and he took a sip. He cleared his throat. “Blake Turner.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I know.”
Blake stilled. What the fuck? Was he a joke now? The sucker Seven laughed about with her colleagues? He turned his head, nailing Nathaniel with narrowed eyes.
Nathaniel leaned against the bar, taking on a casual, bored stance. “You’re the bet.”
Blake shoved back from the bar. “Do you want to take this outside?”
Nathaniel looked him up and down, and then his lips spread wide, lifting at the corners, an odd look in his eye. “I’ve never believed violence will solve anything. And to be honest, I’d rather take you upstairs, but you don’t swing that way, and Seven would kill me.”
What the fuck? Confusion made Blake blink twice. He looked closer at his companion. “Excuse me?”
“I’m gay, and you’re an idiot. You know she loves you, right?”
Blake shook his head to clear it before his heart got any ideas. Who the fuck was this guy? “Don’t you mean she thinks I’m a sucker?” She loved him? No way. She had every opportunity upstairs to set things right, but she hadn’t said a word about loving him. He’d believe that the day his dad committed to one woman.
Understanding dawned in Nathaniel’s eyes, and he gestured toward Blake’s now-empty glass. “Is that what this is about?”
Blake lifted his glass to the waiter, asking for another. “Who the hell are you?”
“Seven’s editor, and I thought the two of you were meeting for dinner.”
“Yeah, not gonna happen. She’s in her room right now pretending to be heartbroken.” It was incredible how he could hang on to his self-righteous anger in the presence of hope.
“And how’s that?”
Blake slapped his hand to the bar top and turned toward Nathaniel with a furrowed brow. “I heard your conversation. She’s right. I’m a sucker, and I made damn sure she understood I was done with her games.”
With a nod, Nathaniel sipped from his own glass. “Then you heard the part where she said she was the actual sucker, because she fell in love with you.”
Blake shook his hea
d, a curious sensation flooding his chest. “What? No, she didn’t. She called me a sucker. And why the fuck am I even talking to you?”
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “You really are blind. She said she had to make a sucker fall in love with her, but she was the actual sucker because she fell in love with him.” He poked Blake in the chest with his pointer finger. “You.”
Blake stared at the man. Nathaniel’s eyes never wavered; he just stared back like Blake was a simpleton. An unexplainable feeling of weightlessness filled his chest, then immediately crashed. The things he’d said about her writing, about her. His eyes shot wide in horror. “Fuck.”
“What did you do?”
Blake rubbed his sweaty palms down his shirtfront and stared at the bar top. “I insulted her writing and her, and told her she was a good actress.”
Nathaniel winced and shook his head. “For such a successful salesman, you’re a real dumbass.”
Blake closed his eyes against the truth and emptied his glass with one swallow. The burn seized his breath, and he waited before blowing out against the heat. What the fuck had he done?
Seven loved him, and he’d crushed her. He’d thrown everything she loved, including him, back in her face like it was a bag of shit. He hadn’t trusted her, and it had blinded him.
Nathaniel looked to the bartender. “Add his drinks to my tab.” Turning back to Blake, he grabbed his shoulder. “Good luck, my friend. And you better fix this. The last thing I need is my star romance writer not believing in love.”
Pushing away from the bar, he nodded at Nathaniel, then weaved his way out of the bar. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to move. He headed for the thickest crowds of people, wanting to drown in the masses.
He really was an ass. Too many years of clamoring after his father’s approval by looking to him as an example really did a number on his ability to create anything real in his personal life. By believing love wasn’t real and people always traded up, he’d made himself a way to keep from getting hurt when someone eventually traded him for something better.
But there were people everywhere smiling because of love, grinning because of love, happy because of love.
