4. Smacked with My Own Hubris
4
Smacked with My Own Hubris
CARLY
To-do list—November 1
?? Pick up dress from cleaners
?? Hair and makeup mood: fierce
Rub Bianca’s and Audrey’s noses in it
I t’s funny how, even if you don’t miss a person, you can still miss the concept of them. For example, when I walked into the ballroom at the Merchant’s Exchange, I didn’t miss Brad at all. I didn’t miss his constant searching for networking opportunities, or his tight grip on my elbow as he towed me toward dull strangers, or his too-loud laugh that made me cringe.
But after entering formal events as part of a couple for the past twenty years, I missed having an arm to clutch or at least another target for some of the attention because every eye turned to me as I stood there, alone.
I used to get admiring looks, back when I was young and confident in my beauty. Now, I felt the whispers of, “Why is she here?” and “The nerve,” deep in my bones .
My racing heart took me back to my last pageant, Miss Teen North Texas, when I wore a daffodil-yellow gown of fluffy tulle, and my mother hissed from the wings, “Shoulders back!”
Rolling them back, I stood straight on my towering heels and resisted the urge to check that the draped neckline of my black Dior slip dress had behaved itself and stuck to the fashion tape on my boobs. I propped a hand on my hip and scanned the faces the way I’d run my hand over a rack full of gowns, searching for the right one.
But the wrong one pricked me like a pin left in a seam.
“Carly, what a surprise.” Audrey glided up to me wearing an elegant burgundy velvet jumpsuit. “If I’d known you were serious about coming to the gala, I’d have sent you a ticket. I’m sure your finances aren’t what they were.”
From anyone else, those words would’ve seemed kind. But Audrey knew exactly how to tweak my pride.
“It’s a business expense,” I said. “I’m here to network. You can’t have dragged my reputation through the mud to everyone here.”
Her red lips turned down. “That again. If you’d like to accuse me in front of everyone, I’m sure the emcee would let you borrow his microphone.” She whirled on her black patent kitten heels and stalked away.
My jaw clenched when she stopped to talk to Brad and his new fiancée, whose white lace Oscar de la Renta gown was an exclamation point against the clump of black tuxedos.
I panned to the other side of the room and smiled with relief. Unsurprisingly, Tessa had pulled her hermit act again and blown off the event, but my friend Lucie stood next to the buffet table, piling shrimp onto a small plate. Lifting my chin, I strode toward her.
I’d warm up by talking to my friend, then I’d work the event like I planned. I gripped my beaded clutch stuffed with my flashy new business cards, which were die-cut into an hourglass shape to look like a strapless dress.
A waft of fresh, clean air cut through the fog of perfume. An awareness made the back of my neck prickle.
My gaze locked on the back of a man standing nearby. Broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. His sharp black tuxedo pants hugged a taut behind. The suit itself was nothing special, a run-of-the-mill Brooks Brothers, but it fit him like a dream.
Oh, no.
I tipped my gaze up to his slightly too-long sandy-blond hair as he turned to face me.
I’d pulled fifteen hundred dollars out of my fuck-you-Brad account to attend this gala, and spiteful irony had thrown this man into my path again. I’d planned to dazzle the crowd with the old Carly magic and convince them I still belonged. More, that they needed me.
Hubris smacked me across the face like a Real Housewife.
Andrew Jones stood not six feet away, all muscular shoulders, chiseled jaw, and bottomless gray-blue eyes. His blond hair? I’d pulled it while he buried his face in my pussy. He had the power to upend my life by telling everyone I’d temporarily lost my sanity after a few glasses of chardonnay.
No styling client would take me seriously if they knew I’d slept with one of their sons.
I’d never meant to do it. Andrew had seemed sweet, someone you could trust to bring in your mail and water your plants while you were on vacation. Not that I’d ever asked him to do that. When I was married to Brad, our housekeeper took care of the plants and brought in the Wall Street Journal and Financial Times.
I’d never thought of him as anything more than the nicer of Audrey’s two sons until seven weeks ago when I’d spotted him across the bar in Monterey. He was no sweet kid that night. He’d gone and grown up in the ten or so years since I’d given him a purely platonic hug at his college graduation party.
When he’d peeled off his button-down shirt, I’d run a finger across his hard pecs. His voice went deep when he called me his fantasy come true. I’d been sore for two days, unused to a thirty-two-year-old’s impressively short refractory period.
I’d lost my mind.
It was the only way to explain how I’d hooked up with Andrew Jones, a man who was thirteen years younger than me and the son of my frenemy.
His handsome face split into a broad grin. Those dimples—my kryptonite—dented his cheeks. He’d laughed that night. I’d laughed, too, more than I had in the lonely year before.
In his hotel room, he’d made me feel powerful and adored, like I was the only woman he’d ever cared about. Something reckless inside me wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, to see if my skin still sparked when it met his. I felt my lips curving into a reflection of his smile.
But tonight, exposed here in the ballroom, those gentle hands were dangerous. Those soft lips threatened my plans. My heart hammered, demanding I flee. But my feet stayed firmly planted on the carpet. Maybe they were right. Running away would only draw attention.
Two of his long strides brought him in front of me. “Carly, you look amazing, as always.”
I focused on the sharp points of his bow tie. “Andrew, what are you doing here?”
“My mother asked me to come.”
Ice coated my belly. Audrey Jones Hayes could not see me talking to her son. I glanced to the side, where a heavy curtain created an alcove by the window. But dragging Andrew behind a curtain would look more suspicious than talking to him in the middle of the ballroom.
I stared at the center of his tie, trying not to think about the hollow behind it where I’d dipped my tongue that night. “It’s great seeing you again, but?—”
“That’s what you want? To be strangers? After that night? You left without saying goodbye, without saying anything at all. And I couldn’t call you because of the rules?—”
“Shh!” I stepped closer and almost put a hand over his mouth. There were people everywhere, people who’d love to pocket the currency of a juicy bit of gossip like that. That’s why I’d made rule two: we’d never tell anyone, especially his mother, that we’d slept together. The one he was talking about was rule three: it could only be one night.
“Dance with me.” He held out a hand, palm up. “We should talk. No one will hear us on the dance floor.”
“No!” I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were the color of storm clouds in spring, dark and dangerous. If I danced with him, everyone would notice the indecent heat in his stare.
“Come on. I danced with Bianca Waddingworth. No one will think anything of it. It’ll look like we’re networking.”
My stomach clenched. I’d danced with dozens of Brad’s business colleagues over the years. But I hadn’t slept with any of them.
“One dance,” I said. “And then we go our separate ways.” I tore my gaze off his eyes. One dance was like rule three…with our clothes on.
His mouth was a flat line. “Then we talk until we’ve said what we need to say.”
Damn it. I knew I should have left him a note, one that didn’t leave room for a future. Or talking. But staring at his gorgeous, unlined face smiling in his sleep, his thick hair crushed into the pillow, the sheet pushed down to his hips, and all that skin on display, skin I’d tasted, I couldn’t.
That was my mistake, leaving an open loop when I could have closed it and cut off any chance of an encounter like this. So I smiled up at him, the fake one I used to use on Brad’s dull colleagues, and placed my hand on his. “I don’t think there’s much for us to say.”
“We’ll see.” He swept me toward the dance floor and into his arms.
I kept a stiff distance from him, pressing against his palm and his shoulder to keep our chests as far apart as possible. I braced myself for the denunciation I deserved.
“You look beautiful tonight.” The softness of his tone, like warm honey, was not what I expected.
“Thank you.” My voice was as hard as my diamond earrings, the ones Brad gave me for our fifth anniversary.
“Of course, you’re always beautiful.” He leaned forward to whisper in my ear, and his hand tightened on my hip. Only a thin layer of silk—and my spandex shapewear—separated his skin from mine. “Especially when you come.”
His words brought back memories of that night. I’d come again and again, each orgasm tipping into the next until he’d climaxed with a shout. And then, instead of rolling over and immediately letting out a rumbling snore like Brad had always done, he’d coaxed one more out of me with his fingers until I’d flopped back to the pillow, exhausted. He’d held me after, just like I wanted. Like I needed. My core clenched with an echo of those remembered orgasms, and I shivered.
I pressed his shoulder until he was a safe distance away. “We can’t talk about that here.”
“If not here, where? Can I take you for a drive?”
“No. I’m here to network, not to…to…” Hook up, my neglected vagina screamed.
“Okay, maybe after you’re done networking? We need to talk.”
“Why? What do we have to talk about? We agreed to pretend it never happened.” My jaw tightened. “It was a mistake.”
His expression had been so wide and open that night. We’d both laughed when he told me about the crush he’d had on me when he was a teenager. But now it shuttered. “A mistake?”
“It was reckless. And being together right now is even more so. That’s why we made the rules.” I glanced at the nearest couple, but they were too far away to hear. “It was only a fling for—for both of us.”
It didn’t matter that it had been the strongest connection I’d felt in a long time. The dozen years that separated our ages, plus the professional relationship I needed to maintain with his mother and her friends, forbade anything more. I never should have allowed myself even one night, but that terrible seminar had left me vulnerable. He’d smashed through my weakened defenses like the Kool-Aid Man.
“We agreed to reassess in the morning, but you left.”
I winced. I’d been a coward. “There’s nothing to reassess. Your mother would destroy me.” A chill started at my scalp and dripped down the back of my neck. “Wait—is that what happened? Does she know?” I missed a step in the dance.
He steadied me, then shook his head. “What happened?”
“Bianca Waddingworth. I was supposed to style her, but she canceled on me at the last minute. Did Audrey tell her to do that because you told her we…we…we lost our minds?”
“No, I didn’t tell her. She—” He winced. “She said you accused her of something she didn’t do.”
Frost erupted in my stomach. “Does that sound like something I’d do?”
He met my gaze. “No. But sabotage doesn’t sound like something she’d do, either.”
“Hmm.” Audrey was a force. Was there anything she wouldn’t do to protect her family?
“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly.
The words bubbled out of me without thought. “I couldn’t stay.”
“You wanted to?” His blue eyes practically glowed with hope.
I hated to snuff out that light. But I had to. “No. It would never work out. We’re too different. Not just the…the age gap.” I’d broken rule number one by mentioning our ages, so I rushed on. “Look, my divorce left me with almost nothing. The lifestyle I was used to, my old friends, even my self-respect, they’re all gone. I need to rebuild my reputation and a life I can be proud of.”
“And that life couldn’t include me?”
He gazed into my eyes, and the intensity brought me back to Monterey. We’d talked and shared our secrets until it only seemed natural for my lips to meet his. My heartbeat slowed, remembering how strong and treasured I’d felt in Andrew’s bed. He’d made me laugh. He’d made me feel beautiful.
Stupid heart. That was the last time I’d let it be in charge.
I’d come here to act like a professional, to grow my business. None of the women in this ballroom would take me seriously if I were screwing Audrey Jones Hayes’s son. She’d make it her personal mission to destroy me.
I took a deep, bracing breath. “No. If the past twenty years have taught me anything, it’s that I can only rely on myself.”
The music hadn’t ended yet, but he stopped moving and jerked his hands off me like I’d burned him. I stumbled to a stop.
“Then I’ll leave you to your networking. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.” He spun on his heel and strode away, leaving me alone at the edge of the dance floor.
It was exactly where I wanted to be, according to my brain. My heart disagreed, beating against my breastbone like it could race after him.
I turned and took a few wobbling steps toward the buffet. The farther I got from the dance floor, the surer my stride became. It was a good thing my brain was in charge.