Chapter 50
FIFTY
I’ve been standing here, alone, for about twenty minutes now.
Not long after Henley went back inside, the emcee called everyone to the adjoining room so they could start the auction.
Listening through the open door, I hear my mother’s auction number announced over the PA system as the winning bid.
That makes five out of seven lots so far.
The emcee jokes that my father is going to have to buy another penthouse just to house my mother’s winnings and everyone laughs.
I know I should go inside.
That I should be in there, sitting next to Curt, laughing right along with them.
Showing them that nothing that’s happened over the last few months bothers me.
That the fact that the woman—my cousin and best friend—who inexplicably made it her mission to ruin my life is being welcomed back into the fold as we speak, means nothing.
Instead, when Curt came out here looking for me, I hid.
Pushed myself behind the row of tall, potted shrubbery that lines the ballroom’s exterior wall.
I watched while he walked the length of the terrace—even looked over the side of it like he thought I might’ve jumped rather than face the fact that Paige and Dean are here together.
Because he knows.
Everyone must know by now.
Must’ve seen them together and concluded that once again, Millie Blackwell is playing second chair to her beautiful, back-stabbing cousin.
Not finding me, Curt stepped back inside. A few seconds later, my phone started vibrating in my clutch. Pulling it out, I find a text waiting for me.
CH: Are you okay?
Tapping out a quick reply, I hit send.
Me: I’m fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes.
I meant it. I had every intention of walking into that auction room with my head held high but every time I try, I imagine Dean sitting at the back of the room with Paige.
I can practically see her whispering in his ear, hand in his pants under the table.
Stroking him like she did at my rehearsal dinner, while she tries to talk him into the nearest bathroom so she can give him one of her infamous blowjobs.
If I saw that, I really might jump off the balcony.
Laughing a little, even though it’s not even remotely funny, I tell myself enough is enough. I can’t keep hiding all night and if I can’t scrape up enough courage to walk into that auction room, I can, at the very least, find enough courage to leave.
Go downstairs.
Book a room—any room.
Take a shower.
Cry myself to sleep.
I can do that.
Reopening my clutch, I pull my phone out again and send my mother a quick text.
Me: Not feeling well. I’m staying in Boston for the night. I’ll call you in the morning. Please tell Curt I’m sorry.
My mother’s not stupid. She’ll know why.
She’ll know I left because I’m a spineless coward who couldn’t stand to watch Paige get everything she wants, and the thought of sitting on a plane with her while she gloats about it is absolutely unbearable but right now, I don’t care. Right now, I just want to—
Head down while I reclose my clutch, I move out from behind the row of potted shrubbery and plow head long into a wall of starched white fabric. Looking up, I bounce back, dropping my phone on a soft, startled gasp.
“You don’t listen, do you, Princess?” Dean growls down at me, rough hands wrapping around my bare arms while he advances, pushing me back until my shoulders hit the brick wall behind me. “I told you to stop making those noises around me.”
“Well, what sort of noises am I supposed to make when I’m being stalked and manhandled,” I hiss up at him while I try desperately to ignore the way my heart starts to ping pong around my chest because Jesus, he’s beautiful. So beautiful, I can’t think straight. Can’t see anything else.
“If memory serves, and it does,” he says, giving me one of those irritating smirks.
“You like it when I stalk you.” Leaning in just enough to knock me off balance, Dean lowers his gaze, letting it trail across the swell of my breasts before looking up at me through his lashes.
“And you fucking love it when I manhandle you.”
Because denying it would make me a liar and lying about it would just give him more reason to gloat, I give up. “What do you want?”
Tilting his head at a predatory angle, he makes that warning sound in the back of his throat.
The one that curls my toes and makes me want to do stupid things.
“I want to know who he is, Mills,” he says quietly, his hands tightening around my arms. “And then I want to know why he thinks he has the goddamned right to put his mouth on you.”
Stunned, all I can do is stare up at him because he sounds jealous and that’s ridiculous, right?
Dean’s not jealous. He doesn’t care about me.
He never cared about me. He came here with Paige.
I saw them together. I’ve spent the last half an hour, driving myself crazy, imagining the two of them in every conceivable compromising position—and suddenly, I’m the jealous one.
“Fuck you,” I hiss at him through clenched teeth. Lifting my hand, I crack my palm across his face as hard as I can. He doesn’t even flinch which makes me even angrier. “Fuck you, you lying, cheating, smug—” Rearing back I slap him again, this time so hard my hand goes numb. “egotistical bastard.”
Glaring down at me, my bright red handprints crisscrossed over his cheek, the corner of his bloodied mouth twitches in a humorless smirk. “You forgot couthless.”
Letting out a thin, strangled scream, I swing again, wanting nothing more than to knock that self-satisfied look off his face but Dean catches me by the wrist before I can deliver slap number three.
“Goddamnit,” he growls down at me, pinning my captured wrist against the wall above my head. “Stop—you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Not finished, I drop my clutch, but before I can swing with my free hand, Dean snags my other wrist and pins it to my thigh, not even giving me a chance to lift my hand.
“I hate you.” Twisting my wrist in his grip, I pull but it’s no use.
Gaze narrowed down to slits, I aim it up at him while I fight the urge to spit in his face. “I fucking hate you.”
“Who is he, Millie?” His tone is calm but the look he’s giving me tells a different story altogether.
For a second I’m so angry I can’t think straight. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Who he is. And then I remember.
“Curt?” Answering his question, I say his name like I’m not even sure what it is.
“That’s Curt?” He pulls me closer, glaring down at me. “The infamous Curtis Horne—that’s who you came here with?”
“Yes, Curt,” I hiss in his face. “That’s who I came here with—not that it’s any of your business.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes, the shadows of it so sharp, I can feel the stab of it in my throat.
He makes that noise again, jaw clenched while he glares down at me like he’s struggling to keep himself under control.
As scary and unhinged as Dean looks right now, as certain as I am that he’s on the verge of doing something crazy, I’m not afraid.
“Why?” He growls, the sound he makes barely recognizable as a word.
Chest pumping, I stare up at him, confused. Completely mesmerized by the sight of him. The feel of him pressed against me making me so dizzy my knees are shaking. “Why what?”
He lets out a breath, the tendons in his jaw flexing around a curse. “Why are you here with Curtis Horne, Millie?”
“Because he asked me, Dean. Because he’s nice to me,” I tell him, ticking off all the reasons I gave myself on the plane ride to Boston. “He comes from a good family. He—”
felt sorry for me.
Before I can completely humiliate myself by saying it out loud, Dean tightens his grip and turns, pulling me off the wall so he can push us deeper into the shadows cast by the wall of shrubbery I’d been hiding behind.
Hitting a dead end, he pins me against another wall with his hips, angling himself over me. “He what?”
“He…” Swallowing hard, I feel my breath stall in my chest when Dean’s gaze drops to my mouth. He’s hard. I can feel the thick, rigid length of him pressing against my belly. “He…”
Lowering his mouth to mine, Dean teases his tongue along the curve of my lower lip.
“Go on…” Loosening one of his hands from around my arm, he slides it along the slope of my shoulder.
“It’s okay… you can say it…” Fingers trailing up the side of my neck, he wraps them around the back of it. “He what?”
“I don’t…” Shaking my head, I feel shame burn a hole in my gut. “I can’t…”
Looking down at me, Dean frowns. “It’s okay.
” He strokes the line of my throat with the callused pad of his thumb.
Dipping his head, he brings his mouth to within a breath of mine.
“Whatever it is, you can say it …” tracing the tip of his tongue along the loose seam of my lips, Dean watches me through his lashes, his expression dark.
“I promise not to kill him.” The corner of his mouth lifts again in a vicious smirk.
“I might fuck him up a little bit but I won’t kill him. Promise…”
“He…” Squeezing my eyes shut on a whimper, I push it out on a rush.
“He felt sorry for me. He said that wasn’t the reason why but I know…
” Cheeks stained an ugly red, I shake my head on a bitter laugh.
“Does that make you feel better? Is that what you want to hear? Curt asked me to be his date tonight because—”