by K. A. Linde
He shook his head and took his seat. He couldn’t explain to Gigi how much it bothered him. His father’s approval had always hung just out of his grasp. Brady had always had it, of course. But Clay had always been determined to get it outside of the political arena. To be good enough for dear old dad without the backing of political supporters and a carefully planned election. He’d keep on dreaming for that day to come.
Dinner seemed to take forever. Clay wasn’t in a mood to entertain, but he smiled and talked with the people they were seated with for the event. Soon enough, plates were cleared, and the silent auction began, raising money for the local orphan charity that Cooper & Nielson sponsored. At this point, people could walk around and mingle.
Clay was itching to be back on his feet and away from these people. “I’m going to get us drinks. Vodka?” he asked, resting his hand on the back of Gigi’s chair.
“Please.” She looked up and him and smiled.
He returned with drinks in hand and extricated Gigi from the conversation she had been having.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she said. “Those women were so annoying. Is it about time that we can leave?” She teetered in her high heels.
“One more sweep, and then we’ll go.”
They were walking a circuit through the room during the silent auction. A man pressed pieces of paper in their hands so that they could bid on items. Gigi tried to cajole Clay into putting money down for the seats behind home plate at the Washington Nationals baseball game. He laughed and added a sticker to the list. He was more of a basketball person himself, but any sports were entertaining to watch from the best seats in the house.
Gigi was still laughing when Clay stopped dead in his tracks. The next thing displayed for the auction was artwork with a sign next to that read, Donated by Billings Gallery.
“What?” Gigi asked, reading the sign.
But it wasn’t the sign that kept him from answering. It was the stunning blonde standing in front of him in a long black evening gown.
“Andrea,” he whispered in shock.
Gigi squeaked next to him.
“Clay,” she responded.
The energy between them crackled. He hadn’t been face-to-face with Andrea in three whole months. Three very long months. While he’d seen her beautiful face a month ago, it was different, looking at her. It was worse, knowing she was with someone else and whatever was passing between them didn’t matter.
“What are you doing here?” he asked immediately.
“As you can tell, I donated some paintings for the auction. You know I support the orphan charities. This felt like too good of an opportunity to pass up,” she said softly. Her words seemed to hold two meanings. As if she were here to see him, as if this were her opportunity, but her eyes told a different story.
“I’m just going to…” Gigi muttered behind him.
“Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? Andrea, this is my date, Gigi. Gigi, Andrea.”
“Hi,” Gigi muttered, politely extending her hand.
Andrea took it and shook it firmly. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You look very familiar.”
Gigi retrieved her hand and smiled warily. “I’m sure I would remember you if we’d met. If you’ll just excuse me, I’m going to, uh…go get another drink.”
Both of them glanced down at her still full glass, but she disappeared without another word.
“Charming,” Andrea said.
“Yeah. Gigi’s great,” Clay said, not letting himself fall into the trap she was laying. “We work at Cooper and Nielson together. When did you start your own gallery?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“It’s recent. Still in the works,” she said vaguely. “Look, I really hoped I’d run into you tonight.”
“Really?” he asked.
“I just wanted to apologize for hanging up on you.”
“Oh.”
“I know it was a while ago, but I just thought…we could still be civil to one another…even if we’ve…” She cleared her throat and glanced behind his shoulder. “Even if we’ve moved on.”
Clay clenched his hands at his sides. She’d come all the way here and cornered me to tell me that we should be civil? Is this about the wedding? Is she worried I’d do something stupid?
Well, he’d been the one to walk out of that art gallery. He wanted her to be happy. If she needed him to say that all of this was fine, that her being with someone else was fine, to get through a whole day at the wedding, then he’d do that.
He held his hands up to stop her from continuing. “It’s fine,” he said roughly. “I get it. You and I are…civil. If you’ll excuse me.”
Before she could say anything else, he turned and walked back toward Gigi, seething all the while. Worry creased her brow as he approached.
He took her arm and guided her toward the exit. “Time to go.”
“What happened back there? She looks really upset,” Gigi said.
“Nothing. She confirmed she’s with someone else and wanted to make sure I wouldn’t make a scene. That we’d be civil when we next saw each other at Brady’s wedding,” he ground out. “Fuck.”
“Clay, there’s no way that’s what she meant,” Gigi told him. “You didn’t see her face when you walked away or when she saw you with me, for that matter. She was totally jealous…totally devastated.”
“I think you were seeing things.”
“I was not,” she snapped.
“Why would she look devastated when she’s the one who is seeing someone else?”
“Look, I don’t know. But you should go talk to her. Figure it out.”
Clay shook his head. “There’s no chance of that happening. She made her point clear.”
Gigi grabbed his sleeve and stopped him in place. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Are you coming or not?”
Gigi hazarded one more glance over her shoulder, taking in the sight of his ex-girlfriend talking to other people about the paintings, and then she nodded. “I’m coming.”
The cab back to Clay’s place was silent. Gigi seemed to be brooding, and all Clay wanted was to get his hands on the scotch in his liquor cabinet. Seemed fitting to crack it open tonight since Andrea was the one who had given it to him.
They went through half the bottle before Gigi looked like she was about to fall over at every turn. Clay was still pretty coherent, but the liquor was potent. They had been guaranteed the rest of the weekend off because of the event, which thankfully meant neither of them would have to see the office tomorrow.
“Oh my God, I need to go home,” Gigi croaked. She stumbled toward her bag and then tripped over her own feet, landing hard on all fours. “Shit!”
Then, she burst into giggles.
“There is no way you can go home right now. I don’t trust a cab for this,” he said.
He helped her to her feet, and she swayed.
“I can’t stay. I’d feel bad,” she slurred.
He laughed at her. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just…take the couch,” he offered.
“You’re serious?”
“Hey, you said we’re just friends,” he reminded her. “And I think you’re right. It’s a good idea. Plus, you’re trashed. Just crash here.”
She giggled again as she tried to steady herself. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” She held her hands out. “But I can take the couch.”
Clay shook his head. “Even if I’m an ass, I’m a Southern gentleman at heart. You take the bed. I’ll take the couch. End of story.”
He climbed the stairs to the second floor and helped Gigi along the way. He fished out some clothes for her to wear, and she changed in the bathroom, somehow managing to get out of her dress. He grabbed a few blankets and a pillow just as Gigi crawled into his bed and promptly passed out. He sniggered at her and shut out the light.
The couch wasn’t half as comfortable as his awesome fucking bed upstairs, but
this was safer than letting her drunk ass take a cab home. He had just stood up to turn out the lights when a knock came from his door.
He yawned and went to check to see who the fuck would be here at two o’clock in the morning. He stumbled into the doorframe, ran a shaky hand back through his hair, and then straightened himself before opening the door.
His eyes widened when he saw who was standing at his doorstep—Andrea.
Chapter 17
WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF
Clay just stared at Andrea in disbelief.
She was here.
He couldn’t seem to process this fact fast enough. Her being here this late at night…her being here at all made no sense to him. Why is she here?
But he realized then that it didn’t matter.
Here was everything that he wanted…that he’d been dying to have for the last three months. She was standing right in front of him, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked, pulling the door open wider.
She seemed just as shocked to be on his doorstep as he was that she was here. But she gathered herself together, nodded, and crossed the threshold into his townhouse without a word.
He shut the door behind her, wishing he were a little less wasted for whatever was about to happen. He was regretting that bottle of scotch right about now. But whatever she had to say must be important or else she wouldn’t be here. All he could fixate on now that he had her in his place was the way her hips moved in the silky black dress and the peek of leg from the slit.
Then, all he could think about were those lips as she whirled back to face him. Uncertainty rippled through her body. Her gorgeous blue eyes were wide. Her soft pink lips parted, as if to speak at any moment. Worry lines hit between her eyes as her brows drew together.
“Clay,” she whispered.
And she sounded different than he’d ever heard her.
Helpless.
Something shifted in that moment. He didn’t care if she belonged to someone else. He didn’t care if she had walked out on him. He didn’t care about the last three months of torture. All he cared about was that the woman he’d spent damn near fifteen years in love with was here.
A tear trickled down her pale cheek, unchecked and uninhibited. Her eyes were raw with emotion. Her body was tense yet vulnerable.
He couldn’t help himself. He cleared the distance between them in one easy stride. She barely breathed when he reached up and wound one hand up into her hair while sweeping the loose tear from her cheek with the other. She just tilted her face up to look at him, to judge and weigh him.
“Why are you crying, baby?” he finally asked, breaking the weighted silence.
She swallowed hard but kept their gazes locked. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
Clay leveled her with a disbelieving look. She had a reason for being here. And she had a reason for crying. Andrea did nothing without a purpose.
“Yes, you do.”
She shook her head but didn’t dislodge his hand from where he still held her. “No. I just know that I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are.” He kept his voice firm.
She was here. He couldn’t leave her standing there, crying in his apartment, without an answer…some kind of reason. He needed to know what this all meant. He couldn’t read her mind. If he’d been able to do that, then they wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with.
“Yeah.” She breathed out heavily. “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re many things, Andrea, but stupid is never one of them.”
Andrea’s eyes filled with surprise at the comment. She seemed to be debating with herself as to what else to say. He just wanted to push her. To make her admit why she had come crawling to him in the middle of the night…why she was letting him touch her so affectionately when she had ended it all.
“I ruined everything,” she whispered.
Clay stilled completely. “You think so?”
“We…we were fine before, right?” She seemed so hesitant, like she needed confirmation for all the questions she had in her head. Like she had no clue what he was thinking when he was sure it was clear on his face.
But before what? Fuck. He just wanted her to be clearer. Before Bad Suit? Before the attack? Before what?
Yet he couldn’t say any of that. He couldn’t voice the ugly thoughts that crept into his head, at how cruel he wanted to be with her. He should send her home, send her packing right now, like she’d done to him. Give her a taste of her own medicine. But he couldn’t do it.
Andrea was a hard woman. He’d always loved her for it. He’d thought that her tough exterior meant that she didn’t care about anything. Thought it meant she didn’t want a diamond ring and a happily ever after. He’d been wrong about a lot of things.
So, he just shook his head. They hadn’t been fine before. If they’d been fine before…they wouldn’t be in this spot right now.
Confusion seeped into her features at his denial that their relationship had been all right before she’d left. Before…before…
God, he desperately wanted to know what was going on behind those eyes. Learn all the secrets left buried in this woman. Lay her bare before him until nothing could tear them apart again.
“I tried to stay away,” she said. Her voice shook, and her hands reached out to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “I promised myself that, after you left the gala, I’d just let that be it. The end.”
“So, why are you here?”
“I mean…I can’t change how you reacted,” she said, ignoring him. “How you just walked away. I deserve it, right? After I just walked away.”
She retreated from his gaze, letting his shirt go and taking a step away from him. She hugged her arms around her waist and shivered. He could see that something was eating her up from the inside out. Maybe this whole time, she’d been suffering as he had. Maybe they could just fix this…here and now.
No.
Fuck.
What the fuck am I thinking?
Am I that stupid to see her sad eyes and think that everything could change in a matter of minutes? Did I just forget the gallery so easily?
She had Bad Suit.
He’d seen them together.
He couldn’t just give in to this. But, fuck, he wanted to give in to this. Hear her moan his name, hear her beg for his kisses, hear her ask for him again and again. To put the broken pieces back together with such ease.
But that ease was an illusion. A dirty illusion he’d conjured up due to the blistering silence. That would never happen while she had someone else. This was just old memories floating up to the surface…that was all.
For three long months, he’d been waiting, just like Brady had said, for her to make a move. He’d gotten the courage to do it himself anyway. He’d chased her. And, each time, she’d slapped him in the face.
If she were here on misguided terms, he wasn’t here to help.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She swung around to face him again, her face open and stark. “Anything.”
“Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m not a mind reader. Be more specific.”
“I miss you. God,” she said, dropping her head back to look up at the ceiling, letting the weight of her words sluice off of her. “God, I miss you. Against all fucking logic. And watching you walk out with her tonight was pure torture of my own devices. I just had to see you. So, what do I want from you?” She splayed her hands out in front of her. “This.”
Hope zapped through him, and he tried to squash it. No, God, he couldn’t just give in. He needed answers. “And what about Bad Suit?”
Her focus snapped. She stumbled back a step in surprise. That reaction nearly stole his breath. He considered forcing her out of his house right at that moment. What more did I need to know?
It had been mostly a joke when he’d
tried to steal Liz for his own. It was quite another thing to think he’d survive doing that with Andrea.
“What about Asher?” she asked.
“Does he know you’re here? Does he know that you’ve missed me? That you showed up at two a.m. to see me instead of returning to his bed?” he asked the words that were cold and dark on his tongue. “Tell me, is he not giving you everything you’d hoped for? Or are you really just a masochist?”
“What?” she stammered out. “Clay…that’s not…”
He shook his head. “Fuck. Do I even want to know?”
“Asher and I aren’t together!”
“Don’t lie to me, Andrea,” he said with pure venom in his voice. “I saw you two together.”
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but we’re not together,” she insisted.
“Really?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes. We’re…we’re just friends.”
“Right.” He couldn’t bite back the sarcasm that was heavy in his voice.
Andrea glared at him. “How dare you stand there and lecture me, Clay Maxwell! How dare you talk to me like that and accuse me of things you know nothing about when you were the one who showed up to the gala with a new girlfriend!” she cried. “Not to mention, the exploits I’ve heard about since you’ve been single.”
“Girlfriend?” Clay asked. He didn’t bother refuting the revolving door he’d given in to, starting with the idiot Snowball girl.
“Gigi,” she accused. The old familiar flare of anger shot through her.
“She’s not my girlfriend. We work together. I told you that at the gala.”
“Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“Look, I don’t have to fucking justify anything to you!” he shouted, towering over her. “Don’t throw accusations in my face, at my house, in the middle of the night when you’re the one who left.”
“Fine,” she spat in his face.
Oh, shit.
That’s not good.
Brady had said that was not good. That was not the way to end an argument. It only meant she was pissed, and things most certainly were not fine.
“Clearly, coming here was a mistake.” Andrea stalked back to the front door and yanked it open.
