Chapter 11
Eleven
ZOE / VICTORIA
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness clearly never rode in a car that cost more than my old apartment building.
Not that I was focusing on the car’s price tag—I was too busy trying not to focus on the man driving it.
Which was proving increasingly difficult since every time Jason shifted gears, his forearm muscles did this thing that made my brain short-circuit.
Seriously, was there a law against looking this good in a suit? There should be. Public safety hazard and all that.
Focus, Zoe.
Right. Focus. On anything except how Jason’s cologne was making me want to do very inappropriate things to him in this very expensive car. Things that would definitely get us uninvited from this lovely family dinner. Which… actually didn’t sound like such a bad idea?—
No. Bad Zoe. Think about something else.
Like how nothing in this story was going according to plan.
Take this afternoon’s board meeting, for example.
In the book, Sophia was supposed to be hopelessly pining after Jason while bringing him coffee.
Instead, she’d been making eyes at Ethan across the conference table like they were filming a workplace romance.
I mean, the way she blushed when he complimented her marketing mock-ups?
The subtle smiles they kept exchanging? That wasn’t in the script at all.
Ethan was supposed to be Jason’s supportive best friend who helped him realize Sophia was his true love—not the guy stealing lingering glances at her new pencil skirt.
And Sophia? She should have been sneaking adoring looks at Jason, not ducking her head to hide her smile every time Ethan leaned close to “discuss the quarterly projections.” Those weren’t quarterly projection looks unless Excel spreadsheets had gotten a lot more exciting since I last checked.
Jason took a turn that made his bicep flex against his suit jacket, and I completely lost my train of thought. Again.
“Everything alright?” he asked, and his voice did that low rumbly thing that made me want to climb him like a particularly well-dressed tree.
“Fine!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “Just… mentally preparing.”
We pulled up to a building that made my old diner job look like it belonged in a different century. Possibly a different planet. The doorman—because of course there was a doorman—practically bowed as we entered the marble lobby.
The Hayes penthouse was exactly what you’d expect from people who probably thought “budget” was a dirty word. Everything gleamed with the kind of aggressive luxury that screamed “we have more money than taste.” Crystal chandeliers, gilt mirrors, and enough marble to rebuild ancient Rome.
Elizabeth Hayes air-kissed my cheeks with all the warmth of a cobra sizing up its prey. “Victoria, darling. That dress is… interesting.”
Coming from someone wearing what looked like an entire jewelry store, that was rich. But before I could say something that would definitely get me written out of the will, Jason’s hand settled on my lower back. The touch sent electricity up my spine, but it also anchored me.
Richard Hayes didn’t bother with kisses, just assessed us both like we were stocks he was considering selling. “Jason. I trust the Asian markets are performing well?”
And there, sprawled on a silk fainting couch—because apparently those were still a thing—was Violet, already working on what was definitely not her first drink of the evening. She caught my eye and raised her glass in a mock toast.
We might be sisters, but we couldn’t look more different.
While we shared the same olive-toned Hayes complexion, Violet had that effortless glamour that made everything look naturally sexy.
Victoria—or, well, my current body—was all polished socialite precision, but Violet rocked the trust fund rebel look with a natural confidence that made everything she wore look designer.
Her dark hair fell in artfully tousled waves compared to my sleek style, and her makeup walked the perfect line between just got out of a club and about to go to one.
Somehow, she made her barely appropriate for family dinner dress look both expensive and like she didn’t give a damn, her easy sensuality probably giving our mother anxiety.
I had to admire her style, even if Victoria’s memories suggested our mother was about to have opinions about it. Many, many opinions.
I fought the urge to grab her drink and down it myself. Instead, I leaned slightly into Jason’s touch, letting his solid presence remind me that I wasn’t facing these perfectly coiffed sharks alone.
Though I really wished I’d brought that spoon.
And speaking of Elizabeth Hayes… She embodied old money aristocracy, cold elegance personified.
She had the same sharp gray eyes as Victoria—currently mine—but hers were more calculating, constantly assessing for weaknesses.
Her perfectly maintained figure spoke of decades of rigid self-discipline and probably several very expensive surgeons.
Every diamond on her fingers could have paid off my mom’s medical bills, and she wore them like armor.
Elizabeth’s smile could have frozen champagne. “Violet, really, that’s your third glass already?”
Richard Hayes made a disapproving sound from behind his crystal tumbler of scotch, which was pretty rich coming from him.
He carried himself like a man who collected souls as a hobby, his silver hair and tailored suit a reflection to old money and older grudges.
Those same gray eyes—apparently a Hayes family trait—dissected everything they landed on, probably calculating profit margins.
“Jason,” he said, ignoring his daughters completely, “I heard interesting things about your renewable energy initiative.”
I felt Jason tense beside me, his hand still burning through the silk of my dress. God, his hands were distracting. Focus, Zoe. Evil Father talking business. Not the time to imagine those hands doing other things…
“The board approved it this afternoon,” Jason replied coolly.
“Did they?” Richard’s eyebrow lifted as he looked at me. “And you supported this… interesting direction?”
The way he said interesting made it clear he meant terrible. I fought the urge to point out that his fossil fuel investments were about as forward-thinking as his social views.
“Actually…” I smiled with all of Victoria’s social training but none of her submission. “I was quite passionate about it.”
Violet nearly choked on her drink. Elizabeth’s perfectly arranged features slipped for a moment. And Jason… I could feel him looking at me, but I didn’t dare turn to see his expression. Those eyes of his were dangerous enough without direct exposure.
“Passionate?” Elizabeth’s voice suggested passion was something that happened to other people. “How… unexpected.”
The dining room could have hosted a state dinner, but instead it was just the five of us around a massive table. The chandelier above cast strategic shadows that somehow made everyone look more dramatic. Rich people lighting was a whole other level.
A silent server appeared with the first course—something tiny and architectural that probably had a French name longer than its ingredient list. I eyed the portion size, already missing Gregory’s risotto. No wonder Victoria was so thin if this was what passed for dinner.
“The marketing campaign launches next quarter,” Jason was saying, his voice clipped. I could practically feel the tension radiating off him as Richard continued his subtle interrogation.
“Quite aggressive.” Richard swirled his wine like he was plotting world domination. “Some might say rushed.”
“Some might be stuck in the last century,” I muttered, then realized I’d said it out loud when Violet snorted into her fifth—sixth?—glass of wine.
Elizabeth’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Victoria?”
Well, in for a penny… “The data supports immediate action,” I said. “The market’s ready, the technology’s viable, and frankly, waiting would just put us behind the curve.” I smiled sweetly. “But I’m sure Father’s oil interests have contingency plans for the shifting energy landscape. Right?”
Richard’s expression suggested I’d just committed an unforgivable social faux pas. Elizabeth looked like she needed smelling salts. And Jason… I could feel him staring at me again, his thigh pressed against mine under the table in a way that made it very hard to remember my point.
“Speaking of shifting landscapes,” Violet drawled, her smirk pure mischief, “that video of you at the charity luncheon has five million views.”
“Violet!” Elizabeth hissed. “We do not discuss social media at dinner.”
“Why not? Victoria’s gone viral twice this week. That’s more excitement than this family’s had since Uncle Philip’s yacht club incident.”
The butler chose that moment to bring the second course—something that looked like a garden having an identity crisis.
“Both incidents showed remarkable… grace,” Jason said unexpectedly, his deep voice doing unfair things to my insides. “The press coverage has been overwhelmingly positive.”
“Positive?” Elizabeth looked pained. “She’s becoming an internet sensation.”
“For helping people,” I pointed out. “How horrible of me.”
“Victoria.” Richard’s voice carried a warning, but I was done playing the dutiful daughter.
“The wine incident video raised awareness for the charity. The second one’s already increased donations by thirty percent. And the memes are actually pretty funny.” I paused. “Though I do question the one comparing me to a renaissance painting.”
Violet actually laughed out loud. “The one where they put your face on the Mona Lisa? Pure genius.”
“I prefer the Distracted Boyfriend edit myself,” I said before I could stop myself. “Very meta.”
Elizabeth looked like she was about to faint. Richard’s face had gone an interesting shade of purple. And Jason… his hand found my knee under the table, and suddenly I couldn’t remember what memes were. Or possibly my own name.