Chapter 5
Reyana was certain this was what an out-of-body experience felt like. Or, maybe she was dreaming. There was no way this could be happening.
First, she’d bonked heads with this handsome stranger. Now, they were accidentally kissing, because she completely (and foolishly) misdirected a quick peck to the cheek.
What the heck was she doing? This was all wrong.
But then why did she hear him grunt at the back of his throat, as if he liked it?
Then use his free hand to turn her completely to face him, their mouths still attached, pressing her into him so their bodies were flush.
And why did that deep, utterly manly sound awaken her lady bits, making her shiver in pleasure all over, even though her ex-boyfriend was there, too, and up until an hour ago, she thought they would be the ones doing this on the dance floor?
More importantly, why was she not pulling away! ?
Suddenly, Danger did pull away, exhaling a long, warm sigh that caressed her cheek.
She detected a hint of something malty that blended with the leather and man-smelling scent of him.
Damn, it was a fucking fantastic combo. Her eyes glazed over from it, from him, from the unexpected, but not bad at all, kiss they’d just shared.
They were standing in an awkward position, his one arm around her, the other still holding her phone up high.
She distinctly heard the repeated staccatoed clicks as he captured the moment with her phone’s camera.
Her gaze came into focus as he grumbled softly in her ear, “I don’t know about you, but this won’t do.”
“It—” She swallowed hard. “It won’t?” Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment, and her head swam from one too many pumpkin martinis.
“I mean—you’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a weirdo, and kissing you, and you don’t even know me.
It’s giving … cringe.” She closed her eyes, trying to grab semblance of anything rational in her brain.
She was behaving exactly like someone who had just been dumped, was heartbroken, and confused about their feelings.
Technically, that’s what she was (though she was pretty sure she would be doing the dumping), but it was pitiful, running into the arms of the first person who gave her any attention.
This was not the advice she ever gave to her podcast listeners, and here she was, lolling in this hottie stranger’s strong arms, like he was a rebound.
Ick. She hated that, though his arms were comforting.
She studied Danger’s wide chest and the fluffy black cravat that rippled down from the intricate knot at his neck, trying to rationalize her behavior.
After turning him down before (which admittedly was a woman completely off her rocker), she meandered aimlessly.
She searched for her bathroom buddy but never found her.
She ended up making small talk with the few work people she recognized through Sameer.
She admired the talented Moulin Rouge performances stationed at the four corners of the large room and checked out a presentation about Axel Parfumes.
The company was co-hosting the party with Deutsche Bank.
She’d found the organization’s material interesting.
It was French-based and family-owned and had been around since the early part of the last century.
It had stagnated with its last fragrance product—a celebrity fragrance Reyana remembered from the early 2000s that she’d begged her parents incessantly to get her from the department store.
If she recalled, the brand had died fairly quickly, only after one product launch.
The racy pop-star celebrity behind it had a come-to-Jesus moment and completely backtracked with her brand image.
It had been a disaster. Now, twenty years later, the company sought to make a comeback with a sleeker, nature-based line—one that spoke to their French heritage and lifestyle.
Better, she thought.
She’d worked on and off as a consultant in the beauty world. This was definitely a huge trend in the industry. She wondered if they needed someone to help with promotions. She was in between jobs. Perhaps they were hiring. She made a mental note to look into that later.
She’d moved on to the giant dark chocolate dessert fountain that she’d spied by the buffet earlier.
She’d indulge in the sweets while she waited for the best costume contest winner announcement, and then she’d get her grab bag and head home.
No one could say she hadn’t at least tried to have a great Halloween this year.
Thank goodness she’d had the chance to hand out candy in her neighborhood earlier, too.
She got to see the cute kids all dressed up in costumes, and revel with them in the ghoulish decorations she put up outside the townhouse she was house-sitting.
She eyed an assortment of colorful bonbons, candy-tinted fluffy macarons in every color of the rainbow, along with other delightful confections.
They sat prettily on black acrylic pastry stands, waiting to be dunked thoroughly in the glossy chocolate before consumption.
She greedily grabbed two pistachio macarons and a fluffy crème puff when she spotted a familiar figure on the other side of the room.
She had to do a double-take as she munched, almost choking on the rich flavors.
There was no mistaking the handsome full head of jet-black hair, gelled back in that suave way. It was Sameer.
Her chest hiccupped excitedly, hope dancing in her breast. He was here after all!
He was headed toward the balcony that overlooked the city skyline and the orange-lit Empire State Building.
But, wait, that couldn’t be right. He had the biggest fear of heights imaginable.
And, to top it all off, he wasn’t wearing the costume she’d hand-picked for him.
The niggling feeling she’d buried for the last few weeks finally burst out front and center, coaxing her to listen to her instincts: he’d been lying to her.
She intended to face him and ask him what the hell he was up to, but she stopped dead in her tracks. Sameer wasn’t alone. He was hand in hand with her tall redhead bathroom buddy from before.
Her chest felt like it was being punctured right through the center with one of her satin booty’s stiletto heels.
She followed them. There was no way she couldn’t. Her feet kept moving even though her head kept telling her there was a reason for everything—a foolish thought because she’d felt deep down that something hadn’t been right between them for some time now.
She approached the balcony, tasking herself to remain steady to what she might see.
But when she peeked around the corner, she reeled back from the sight.
Nothing could have prepared her for seeing her boyfriend playing a heavy and slobbering match of tonsil tennis with her bathroom friend.
Cold chilled her to the bone as she saw him grab a handful of Redhead’s butt and squeeze—the way he’d done with her countless times (Sameer was an ass man).
For some reason, after the initial shock, she was calm, as if she were watching something on TV. Had her brain misfired its circuits? Shouldn’t she want to tear into the little mother-fucker and pull Redhead’s hair out until she was bald?
Hold on a minute, did Redhead even know she was making out with someone else’s boyfriend? From the way she’d been all about women supporting women, Reyana had to give her the benefit of the doubt—though, who knew?
Too many feelings amassed inside her breast as she slunk back.
Hurt that he could cheat on her—lie to her for so many weeks.
Hadn’t she only wanted honesty from their relationship?
Embarrassment that she’d let him get away with it because usually she had a keener eye for trickery.
Lastly, with a crushing defeat, she acknowledged that her instincts had been right, and she should have trusted them long ago: Sameer wasn’t her perfect Indian Prince.
The one she’d thought might make her feel more respected by her parents.
It was a sobering thought because maybe that meant it had always been too lofty a goal for someone like her—the daughter who always let her parents down, though she tried her hardest to never let it affect her (spoiler: it did).
What were her next steps here? She could slink away and then dump him.
But that was probably what he would want, or was it?
She felt like she had no idea who this man was that she’d been spending the better part of the last twelve months with.
All she knew was that she had a good bottle of wine at home that she would consume all on her own, and chocolate-covered strawberries that she couldn’t bear to eat. She’d have to trash them.
She’d approached the bar and was immediately served an orange-hued drink. After one sip of the deliciously spiced pumpkin concoction, she tossed it and two more, back.
Think Reyana, think. Was there a way to make Sameer feel just as horrible as she did that night?
Though he didn’t love attention in person, he definitely preened on social media, with biceps out during workouts, shots of his boring Brooks Brothers tailored suits, which he got a hefty discount on for working at the bank.
There were a handful of pictures of her and him, but none that would get the Indian gossip mongers talking.
No holding hands, kissing, or anything that might allude to their relationship.
His parents weren’t ready to meet her, he’d said.
But she hadn’t been ready to tell her parents about them either.
Ugh. This was getting too deep for tonight.
Here were the facts: he’d been cheating on her; he had no intention of breaking up with her if he thought she was home waiting to perform a striptease for him.
He was a giant walking red flag, and she needed to do something.
She needed to hurt him the way he hurt her.