Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Kate reached the bar and held out the glass absently to the bartender, who brought out a hidden bottle of chilled Dom Pérignon when he saw the word Bride on the glass. It even had a tiny wedding dress around the neck with a red sash marked “for the Bride” in case the staff got distracted and tried to serve the top shelf to the bottom-feeders. Kate guessed you didn’t stay old money by splashing out on expensive champagne for the plebians.
Kate was in no rush to return to Kennedy and Spencer, not to mention Jake’s overwhelming presence. What had he been up to with that whole fake dating ploy? It was bound to come back and bite her in the ass, but she was powerless to stop him now. Not when he spread his fingers against the small of her back like that. Asshole.
She lingered by the bar, taking in the lavish decorations. The ballroom was certainly a centerpiece of the Manor, a two-story affair with observation railings above and crystal chandeliers hanging from an ornately carved wooden ceiling. The dinner tables were covered in rose-hued linens and coordinating mauve napkins. Each place setting had at least four forks, which felt like two forks too many to Kate, but what did she know about multicourse meals? She considered eggrolls, fried rice, and a fortune cookie a three-course meal. Glass sculptures filled with vibrant pink tulips adorned each table, which Kate heard had been cultivated for Kennedy by a Dutch tulip master. The bar served a signature cocktail made from small-batch liquors distilled especially for the wedding weekend.
Kate had never gotten very far in her wedding planning with Spencer—truth be told, she’d held three cake-tasting sessions and zero dress fittings—but she knew it would have been a far simpler affair than this. It wasn’t that Kennedy flaunted her wealth, but it was obvious in the designer quality of her clothes, the Lexus she drove, the expensive sheen to her hair. Kennedy had never worried about money; she’d never really thought about it. That was the security that inherited wealth afforded her, and try as she might to be egalitarian about it, Kate couldn’t help envying such stability.
“It’s a fucking disgrace is what it is,” someone slurred beside Kate in a husky voice with the faintest hint of a posh accent Kate was never quite sure was authentic. “All this money on a party, and they can’t pay authors a living wage. An absolute disgrace.”
“Serena,” Kate said, turning to the voluptuous older woman draped halfway across the bar beside her. “I didn’t know you would be here this weekend.”
Serena Archer wore her yellow-blond hair styled in forties’ curls and bumper bangs, her generous figure poured into an hourglass dress in a deep green with her boobs propped up like an appetizer course. A fascinator hung precariously from the side of her curls, threatening to tumble into the half-empty martini glass in front of her.
“Oh, they did their best to keep me out, didn’t they?” Serena said, recovering some of her posture and her dignity at the prospect of an audience. “That little chippy tried to ‘friends and family only’ me, but I put her in her place. I told her ‘Honey, I knew Spencer before you and I’ll know him after you’re gone. Eleven books we’ve done together.’ I was his first author, you know. First one to believe in him and take a chance on him despite some shaky editorial choices. Do you know he wanted me to rename the Gutter Angels series to something more marketable? I get dozens of emails a week from readers who picked up the books precisely because of the title.”
“I’m… sure,” Kate said. She’d attempted to read one of Serena’s books when she’d first sold the Loretta series, but there had been a lot of heaving parts that Kate couldn’t keep track of enough to follow the plot.
Serena snorted into her now-empty martini glass. “Don’t you tell me about marketing, you little… She wouldn’t know good marketing if it slapped her in the face, which it will if she doesn’t watch herself.”
Kate nodded along mutely, knowing from extensive experience at other Simon Says events what a risky combination Serena and alcohol could be. She’d once ended a company Christmas party early by putting on a pair of antlers and offering free reindeer rides to the hired Santa. She seemed in fine form tonight, her cheeks stained a pink that matched the room motif, her upper lip dotted in beads of sweat despite the cool evening air. Lightning flashed through the glass dome overhead, throwing her thick makeup into sharp relief.
“Eleven years, eleven books, and now they want to ghost me?” Serena said, blinking at Kate as if she’d forgotten who she was talking to. “Oh, Kate. When did you get here?”
“Why don’t we just…” Kate said, reaching for the martini glass to take it away.
“Good idea! Barkeep, another of your finest!” Serena announced, slapping her hand on the bar top. “They think they can let that little fool tank our sales, hold out on our contracts, and refuse our calls? After all we’ve done for them? Authors like you and me, we made them. They’re nothing without our talent and skill. They can’t treat us like this!”
“Treat us like… what?” Kate asked.
“Oh, please, I know you’re Miss Superstar right now, but I was on top once. All it takes is one bad sales cycle, thanks to abysmal marketing by little Miss ‘I’m Head of the Department Now,’ and suddenly Spencer isn’t returning your calls, isn’t extending your options on the next book, and whenever you stop in to speak to Simon, he’s conveniently out of the office. And I’m not the only one, not by a long shot. The writing’s on the wall, Miss Superstar, and you’d better get your big-girl panties on because shit’s about to hit the fan.”
“They’re delaying contracts?” Kate said in surprise. She hadn’t heard anything, but that was probably because she was a good six months past her deadline. “Everyone?”
“Nearly,” Serena said with a snort, chewing viciously on the olive from her fresh martini. “To them we’re just cogs in a machine, easily replaced. Well, we won’t make it so easy for them. We won’t go quietly into that good night. Are you in?”
“In for… what?” Kate asked, at a complete loss. What if she wasn’t just in breach of contract over her missed deadlines? What if she didn’t have any more contracts to look forward to? Surely Spencer would have said something to her.
Serena leaned in so close their noses almost touched, her vodka and vermouth breath basting Kate’s face. “Midnight,” she breathed. “You’ll see. Be there. The lion will roar.”
“The lion? Midnight? Where?” Kate asked.
Serena winked as she pushed herself off the barstool, sloshing half her martini. “Midnight, Kate. The little chippy will see we mean business .”
“Serena, I don’t think— ”
“ Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!” Serena announced, tottering off away from the bar.
“That… can’t be good,” Kate said, frowning. Whatever Serena had planned at midnight, Kate was sure she wanted to be as far from it as possible. Still, the news about the contract delays was distressing. Serena’s books didn’t sell nearly as well as Kate’s, but she was right about being a staple of Spencer’s list from the beginning. Kate needed to find Marla, ask if she’d heard anything. Marla always had the gossip.
Kate headed toward the bridal dais with Kennedy’s glass in hand as the first wave of waiters brought out the soup course, a creamy, buttery smell filling the ballroom and making her stomach rumble. Maybe she’d stop off at her table for a quick bite, a little sustenance before she dropped off Ken’s champagne glass. Actually, the Dom smelled pretty good, too. Kennedy wouldn’t notice a sip or two, and Kate could never afford Dom on her own. Just one tiny sip.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jake murmured, intercepting her as she raised the glass. His hand slid across her lower back, so smooth and intimate, as he guided her toward the front of the room. “You’ve already launched the bride into her wedding presents like an American football defensive line. What do you think people will say when they see you drinking out of a glass with Bride etched into it?”
Kate had only wanted a little taste of the luxurious life, but when he put it like that , she sounded unhinged. “Why did you let everyone think we were…” Kate trailed off, telling herself to put some physical distance between them even as her spine rounded into his hand.
“Having sex?” Jake asked, infuriatingly chill about the whole thing.
Kate swallowed hard at the blatant description and the way it made her feel like panting. “Dating. I was going to say dating.”
“Then you should have said it.”
“You’re impossible.”
“People were talking,” Jake said with a shrug. “Besides, Spencer’s a twat, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to let him know it.”
The bad blood between Jake and Spencer had started from their first editorial meeting after selling the Wandering Australian book. Kate had been working contract ghostwriting jobs for Spencer, but when she’d met Jake she knew his story was too special to pass up. Spencer had been less than enthusiastic, so she’d convinced Simon to take a meeting and let Jake work his magic. He’d done more than that—Simon had badgered Spencer into signing him on the spot. Spencer assumed Jake had put Kate up to it, despite her protests that it had been her idea, and had taken his revenge during that first meeting by eviscerating Jake’s ideas. They’d nearly come to blows, and the atmosphere between them hadn’t improved much since then.
Jake turned toward her, nuzzling her ear. “He’s up there next to his bride now, staring at you, isn’t he?”
Kate swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting the English language. “I don’t… What?”
“Should I give him something to look at?”
And then— then —his teeth grazed her earlobe before biting softly and giving it the lightest tug. She let out a sound that was borderline inappropriate for the bedroom, much less a ballroom full of wedding guests. It was craven, lusting, halfway to an orgasm, and Jake’s chuckle against her skin nearly pushed her over the edge.
“Please don’t… don’t do that,” Kate huffed.
“You don’t like it?” Jake asked.
She rather liked it too much, which was the problem.