Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “Cake?”

  Chapter 3

  Grace

  I’m not drunk. If I was drunk, I’d feel warm and tingly. But I don’t feel warm and tingly. There is a buzz underneath my skin like a swarm of angry bees. And the longer I sit on the stool, drinking champagne, and watching Sebastian move through the crowd without once looking to see where I am, the more the swarm begins to buzz.

  I could leave now and Sebastian wouldn’t even notice. I’ve been considering it since my second glass of champagne, and I’m now on my fourth. This is the first year since becoming friends that Myla and I haven’t had a girl’s night in for my birthday. She wanted to throw me a surprise party in the dorm our freshman year of college, but I—thankfully—found out about it and begged her for a night of rom-coms, junk food, and face masks instead. She agreed, and it became a tradition.

  Now, thanks to Sebastian’s many social obligations, I’m wearing a full face of makeup and an evening gown instead of a clay mask and fuzzy pajama bottoms. Myla’s apartment would only be a fifteen-minute cab ride away, and her medicine cabinet is always stocked with an emergency stash of sheet masks. The night could be salvaged still.

  Just as I’m gathering the courage to bail on the party and face the consequences later, I catch movement to my left and turn to see a tan, square-jawed man staring at me, holding two slices of cake. A handsome man and a sugary dessert? Hello!

  “Hello,” I say, a little awestruck by him. He has black hair that is perfectly, messily coiffed on top of his head, a thin shadow of stubble across his cut jawline, and bright blue eyes that are so vibrant I briefly wonder if they aren’t contacts.

  He steps forward, a plate extended out to me. “Cake?”

  I laugh, both in surprise and confusion. I’ve never seen this man in my life, and he shows up with cake as if I’d asked him to fetch it for me.

  He shakes his head as if remembering himself. “Sorry. May I join you?”

  “The cake is for me?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.

  “Only one of them,” he says, pulling the other plate close to his chest. “One is for me.”

  I twist my lips to one side of my mouth as though seriously considering his offer, and then shrug and reach for the plate. “Sure. You can join me.”

  He smiles, and I feel my heart jump. He gracefully drags a stool over so it is right next to mine. The move could have seemed too forward, but he oozes pure confidence, which I’m sure allows him to get away with more than most men.

  “Do I have to leave when the cake is gone?” he asks, forking off a piece and holding it in front of his mouth. “Because that may determine how quickly I eat this.”

  Handsome and charming. It’s a truly deadly combination, and I consider telling him he should leave immediately. I literally can’t afford to fall in love with a stranger. Not with Sebastian and his offer in the picture.

  But of course, I can’t do that. This man is the first person to show me any attention at the party, and he also might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He is a miracle.

  “Eat your cake as quickly as you’d like,” I say, dragging my fork through the tip of my own slice. The cake is red velvet with cream cheese frosting, and it feels like cutting into actual velvet. “You can stay until I tire of your company. Or vice versa.”

  The left side of his mouth pulls up into a smirk, and I quickly shove the cake in my mouth to avoid wolf-whistling.

  “I don’t see how anyone could tire of your company.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand.

  Suddenly, he grabs my hand away from my mouth, curling it within the warm confines of his own large palm, and shakes. “Leon. Lovely to meet you…”

  “Grace.”

  He nods in approval. “That’s a good name. I’ve never met a Grace who wasn’t nice.”

  “You know a lot of women named Grace?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Only you.”

  I roll my eyes at his cheesy come-on, but I also can’t stop a smile from spreading across my face. Even when I know he is trying to woo me, it works. Some men are sly, and you don’t realize what they’re doing until you wake up in bed with them the next morning, but Leon is laying it all out there. He’s pulling back the curtain to let me see the machination responsible for his wooing. And I’m charmed by it. But I shouldn’t be.

  “Are you here alone, Grace?”

  “Presently?” I ask. “Yes, I’m alone. Or, I was until you arrived.”

  “With cake,” he reminds me, using his fork to point to both of our slices as though he wants it marked in an official record somewhere that he came bearing gifts.

  “With cake,” I agree. “But I’m not alone alone.”

  He looks around, confused. “Is there a mouse in your pocket? You look alone to me.”

  “My dad always says that.” I’m briefly uncomfortable with the fact that I’m attracted to a man who makes the same jokes as my dad, but then I push away the thought and power through the next sentence. “What I meant is that I came here with someone.”

  “A date?” he asks, looking noticeably less chipper.

  My heart sputters like an old clunker trying to get up a hill. I’m talking to a gorgeous man at a luxurious party in the nicest dress I’ve ever worn, and it should be a glorious moment—one for the Grace Miller history books—but I have to ruin it. Because the only reason I’m here at all is because of Sebastian. Without him, I’d be stuffing myself with cheesy puffs while crying over a star-crossed lover’s story, the male lead being drafted just as the female lead realizes she loves him.

  Without Sebastian, I’d be single and broke and so far beneath Leon’s dating pool that he probably wouldn’t even recognize me as the same species. So far, I’ve only fooled him with the dress and makeup. So, I look into Leon’s blue, blue eyes once more before I say the three words that will bring the beautiful moment crashing down.

  “With my fiancé.”

  The light in his eyes visibly fades, and he sits up straight as he takes another bite of cake.

  “Do I know him?” he asks.

  Before I can answer, he shakes his head. “I can’t know him. If I did, I’d remember you.” His smile is mischievous because we both know he is toeing the line between friendly and flirty. “Plus, I make it a point not to be friends with idiots, and no offense, Grace, but any man who would leave you at a party like this by yourself is an idiot.”

  Is it wrong if I agree with him? I can’t decide, so I just laugh and eat more cake.

  “This is really good,” I say, not so subtly trying to change the subject.

  Suddenly, Leon reaches out and pulls my plate and my half-eaten red velvet cake with him.

  “Hey,” I argue, trying to pull it back.

  Leon wags his finger at me.

  “You have a fiancé to bring you cake, but I’m single, so I have to fend for myself. Sorry, but this cake is now mine.” He settles the matter by taking a large bite of mostly frosting from the top of my slice and shoving it in his mouth.

  I’m too surprised to be angry, so I stare at him, open-mouthed, for several seconds before I can find words.

  “I must have been wrong about you, Leon,” I say. “I thought you might be one of those elusive gentlemen I always hear about, but any man who would steal cake from a woman on her birthday is no gentleman.”

  His attention snaps to me, eyes narrowed. “It’s your birthday?”

  I nod. “Twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five! That’s a big one,” he says. “I had a yacht party for my twenty-fifth birthday. I got so drunk I nearly fell over the side of the boat.”

  “Charming,” I say sarcastically, pinching my lips to hide a smile. It really is charming. I’m not sure why. Probably because Leon said it.

  “I’m older and wiser now,” he assures me. “Though, that is hardly the point. I called your fiancé an idiot before, but I’d like to amend my statement: Any man who would leave a beautiful
woman like yourself alone at a party like this on her birthday, of all days, is not only an idiot, but a feckless idiot. You must point him out to me.”

  “Why?” I ask, one eyebrow raised. “Are you planning to duel him for my honor?”

  He lowers his head, runs a hand through his dark hair, and looks up at me from beneath dark brows. Immediately, my instincts cry out for me to run. Predator, predator. Get out now. But I can’t. Everything about Leon draws me in, and I find myself rooted to the spot.

  His lips part in a smirk. “That depends. Would you like that?”

  Yes.

  “No.”

  He sighs and leans away. “Fine. Then, I won’t defend your honor, though someone should. Just point him out to me, so I can do my best to avoid him in the future.”

  I shake my head but stretch to see over the crowd. I’ve had my eyes on Sebastian most of the night, letting my anger feed on the fact that he never once looked around the room for me. But when Leon arrived, I lost sight of him. “I’m not sure where he is, but you might know him by name.”

  “I truly doubt that,” Leon says. “Like I said, I can’t imagine being friends with someone who would be so careless with a woman like you.”

  My cheeks flush. “His name is Sebastian Wayde.”

  Leon tries to mask his reaction, but I see the emotions cross his face one at a time like a slide show of human reactions. Surprise, annoyance, disappointment, and finally, indifference.

  “You look like you might know him,” I say.

  “I do,” Leon says, sliding my slice of cake back over to me. He ate most of the frosting off the top, but for some reason I don’t mind. “As exemplified by our attendance at this party, we move in similar circles, but I was still right, however. I am not a friend of your fiancé.”

  “Is that why you gave me my cake back?” I ask. “Because you don’t want to share my germs now you know I’m engaged to your enemy?”

  Leon shakes his head. “He isn’t my enemy, but I gave your cake back because, being in a relationship with a man like that, you deserve something sweet every now and again.”

  I know if I want to play the part of Sebastian’s devoted future wife, I should be offended to hear Leon say anything bad about him, but I can’t muster the false emotion.

  The truth is, everyone falls all over themselves to suck up to Sebastian, either because they want something from him or because they work for him or because they respect him simply because he’s one of the wealthiest men in the business. So, hearing Leon say anything other than blind praise feels nice. It feels like someone sees the Sebastian I see every day, and for the first time in a month, I don’t feel completely alone.

  “Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” Leon says. “I’ve probably made an ass of myself insulting your fiancé to you. And on your birthday, no less. You can have the other half of my cake if you want. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to get you a fresh slice, but we’ve already determined I’m not a gentleman, so here is my cake, and I’ll be going.”

  “No,” I say, a bit too quickly. “It’s fine.”

  “You don’t want the cake?” he asks.

  I grab the plate before he can pull it away. “No, I want the cake. I meant you didn’t upset me by insulting Sebastian.”

  Leon drops back into his chair and puts his elbow on the tabletop, resting his chin on his fist. “Interesting. You don’t mind that I think your fiancé is a grade-A jackass?”

  I roll my eyes but shake my head. “I don’t. In fact, I agree with you most days.”

  He pauses, and I can see him assessing how honest I’m being. “Then why are you engaged to him?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Understatement of the century.

  Leon presses his lips together like he is thinking and then stands up and extends a hand to me. “In that case, would you like to dance?”

  I’m already reaching for his hand before I stop myself, tuck my traitorous hand in my lap, and shake my head. “I can’t.”

  Leon lets his hand drop against his side. I’ve been so busy admiring his face that I almost didn’t notice his outfit. It is a sight to behold. He has on a navy-blue suit with a white collared shirt underneath, unbuttoned around his neck, and brown leather shoes that look so supple I want to reach down and stroke them.

  Even imagining what it would be like to press up against Leon in his suit on the dance floor feels like a betrayal. Not in the emotional sense, but in a contractual way. My part of the bargain is to look like Sebastian’s devoted fiancée in front of his friends and colleagues, and dancing with another man—a very attractive man, at that—would be in direct violation of that.

  “Because of Sebastian?” he asks, barely restraining a grimace at having to say his name. He really doesn’t like him.

  I nod. “He wouldn’t like it.”

  Leon glances around quickly like he is looking for someone, and then leans in and takes my hand. His fingers are soft and warm, and my skin tingles where it touches his. I catch my breath.

  Leon squeezes my hand. “Then he doesn’t need to know about it. Did you know this venue has a roof?”

  “Most places do,” I tease.

  “An accessible roof. I’ve been up there before.”

  “With other women?”

  I don’t know why I ask. It doesn’t matter. I’m engaged, and I’ve only known Leon for ten minutes. And yet, the thought of him with other women, or, even worse, the thought that he would see me as just another woman to woo at a party, bothers me. I want to be more than that. But I also know I shouldn’t want more than that.

  “No. By myself,” he says sincerely. “But I’d love to show it to you. We can dance up there if you’d like?”

  I should say no. I should sit back down at the table, eat the cake remnants Leon gave me, and wait for this party to be over so I can go to bed. Dancing with Leon would not only be unwise, but pointless. I’m getting married in seven weeks. Why should I make the decision even harder than it already is?

  And yet.

  I reciprocate the hand squeeze and stand up, my heels tapping against the floor. “Okay.”

  Chapter 4

  Leon

  Grace holds my hand the entire way up to the roof, and I begin to realize how sensual handholding can be. All the nerves in my body seem to have zeroed in on where my skin meets hers, and it’s a miracle the heat doesn’t burn us both.

  When we reach the roof, she lets go and moves to the railing. No fear. No hesitation. She grips the rail and sighs, looking out at the city and the skyline. I’ve always thought New York looked best from high up, when you can’t see or smell the trash and the people buzzing around the streets in a hurry are just tiny pinpricks against the pavement. Clearly, Grace agrees with me.

  She tips her head back, closes her eyes, and purses her dark red lips as a breeze rolls through, whipping her hair back. “I needed this.”

  “What, you weren’t enjoying the party?” I ask, moving to stand next to her. “Talking to a room full of financiers isn’t your dream birthday?”

  She laughs. “Not exactly. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I say, hands raised in surrender. “I wouldn’t want to spend my birthday with me, either.”

  “You are the only reason my birthday might be salvageable this year.”

  When Grace looks at me, I can tell she’s being honest, but I can also tell she regrets the words the moment she has said them. She is engaged, after all.

  Quickly, she laughs and adds, “Because of the cake. It isn’t a birthday without cake.”

  “Good point. And you’re welcome.”

  She rolls her eyes and looks back out at the skyline, and I look at her. The slope of her nose, the flutter of her long lashes, and the delicate intersection of her neck and collarbone are mesmerizing. I feel like I’m admiring a Renaissance painting.

  One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen is engaged to Sebastian Wayde.

  I’ve done my
best not to think about Sebastian. Thinking about him puts me in a bad mood, and I didn’t want to be in a bad mood. Not with Grace.

  I barely know her, but I know her well enough to know she is too good for Sebastian.

  I’ve seen the type of women he attracts. In fact, our circle being as small as it is, I briefly dated several women who later went on to call themselves Sebastian’s girlfriend. In a word, they are vapid. Of no substance. Just like Sebastian, they seem like a prize from the outside, but once you dig a little deeper, you realize they are hollow. Driven by their ambition and greed, leaving little energy for anything else.

  Twenty minutes with Grace is enough to tell me there is more to her than a thirst for money. The simple fact that she hasn’t asked me what I do for a living is proof of that. Usually, it is the first question women ask, and the answer determines whether you deserve any more of their time.

  With the rest of the party far below us, I can almost forget the impropriety of it all. I can almost forget that Grace has promised herself to another man. And I can almost forget that other man is one of my least favorite people in existence. Almost.

  “When do you think your fiancé will begin to miss you?” I ask.

  “He won’t,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Sebastian will only look for me when he’s ready to leave.”

  I hum disapprovingly. “Most men like to spend the evening with their dates.”

  I don’t want to continue to talk bad about him because no matter how annoyed Grace is with Sebastian for hauling her to a wedding reception on her birthday, she is still engaged to the man. On some level I will never be able to understand, she loves him. But I also can’t sit by and pretend it’s normal for him to leave her to fend for herself at a party where she knows no one.

  “Sebastian is a professional schmoozer,” she says. “These events are more like work to him than fun.”

  “What does he do for fun, then?” I ask and then quickly amend the question. “What do the two of you do for fun?”