Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Hart
S adie had told me she had a work thing. She told me that was why she and Bryn couldn’t come to the game tonight. She’d told me more than once that she wished she could be with me this evening.
But if all that was true, then why was she standing in the VIP section of Musik, near the balcony that overlooked the dance floor, with our signature cocktail in her hand?
Why did I have no idea she was coming here?
My text, telling her to turn around, was showing that it was delivered, and as I was slipping my phone back into my pocket, her body began to swivel toward me.
Her eyes scanned the entire bar until they locked with mine.
This was a moment that proved two things.
The first was that Sadie’s gaze sent a feeling into my stomach that told me, without question, this was the woman for me. Her presence hit me everywhere, and it wasn’t just a desire and a need I had for her. The feeling hit much harder than that. My hands had this burning desire to hold her, to slide up her face and cup her cheeks as I told her just how deep these feelings went.
And two, as she looked at me, her chest rising, her eyes bugging out, I knew I was the last person she’d expected to see tonight.
She said something to Bryn, and her best friend’s eyes darted in my direction, both women gawking at me for what felt like far too long before Sadie made her way over. I allowed myself a dip down her body, taking in her tight leather pants and a red shirt that hugged her chest and stomach, leaving her shoulders bare. A pair of heels, making her several inches taller, looked incredible on her feet.
Fuck, she was sexy.
As she reached me, with our signature drink in her hand, she wrapped her other arm around my waist and leaned up on her toes. “Hi.” She put her lips on mine and kept them there, as though she was breathing me in.
I did the same.
That scent.
The feel of her against me.
The taste of the cocktail—one I knew well because Walker and I had invented it—in her mouth.
I couldn’t get enough.
I pulled back and licked my lips, getting a second round of the flavor. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” She smiled in a teasing way.
What am I doing here?
I owned this place.
That question should be directed at her, but I started with, “I came after the game.” My head tilted as I then added, “Tell me what you’re doing here. ”
I wasn’t sure what her expression was showing, but whatever was in that mind of hers made her look away from me.
“My work thing was nearby. Since it was long and daunting, Bryn and I decided to come here after. For a drink.” When her face returned to me, a soft smile grew across it. “I’d never been. I was excited to check it out, given that it’s yours.”
“I would have brought you.”
“Oh, I know.”
This conversation felt off—maybe because it didn’t make any goddamn sense.
She had known I would have brought her.
She had known the place belonged to my family.
Yet she had come without saying a word to me.
“We’ve been texting all night,” I voiced. “You never mentioned that you were coming or that you were here. Why?”
Her chest rose and stayed high without deflating. “Are you angry?”
“Angry? No. I’m … confused.” I didn’t know how to really get into this. I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to understand. “I just assumed if you were here or at Charred, you’d say something about it. Now, I know when you last went to Charred, you didn’t know it was mine. But the situation is different now.”
“You’re right. I should have.” Her voice was getting quieter with each word. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Like I said, I’m not angry. I’m happy you’re here.” I was holding her lower back, and I moved my hands to her hips.
How could I tell her that I thought this was strange as fuck? That I found it odd that she and Bryn had been enjoying themselves in our club and I had no idea that was happening? That if I had been in an establishment she owned or near where she lived—if I knew where she lived—I would have mentioned it to her.
“Maybe next time, just tell me. At least so I can take care of your bill, waive your entrance fee, send you a bottle—something.”
She took a drink and unhooked her arm, setting her hand on my shoulder. “Next time, I’m sure I’ll be here with you. But, yes, I promise that if Bryn and I come back for girls’ night, I’ll tell you.”
I wasn’t going to harp on this. I’d told her how I felt, rephrasing it multiple ways, and digging for a better understanding would only make me more confused.
She’d heard me—that was what mattered most.
So, I kissed the bridge of her nose, and I just hoped she felt comfortable enough in the future to talk to me about things like this.
“Did you come alone?” she asked. “Or are you here with everyone you went to the game with?”
My lips left her face. “Everyone. The Spades and Coles—who we do business with—their wives and girlfriends, and my siblings. Minus Eden.”
“She didn’t come? Why?”
I shook my head. “Not her scene.”
“I get that. I get that. It’s definitely not everyone’s thing.” She gently tapped my chest. But out of nowhere, her eyes began to widen. “Wait a second. Does that mean Beck is here?”
“He’ll be here later. He has some press shit to do.”
She wiggled as she let out a bizarre-sounding hum. “Bryn is going to lose it when she finds out. You have no idea. This is her dream come true.”
I chuckled. “Then tonight is her night.”
“I’m not going to tell her. I’m going to keep it a surprise and let that nugget reveal itself when it happens. ”
I kissed her because that was cute.
And because I’d been missing her lips all evening.
And because something felt off, and I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I wanted things to feel right.
“Do you want to meet everyone?” I nodded toward the bar where everyone was standing.
“I would love to.”
When she gave me the same grin she’d just used when she spoke about Bryn meeting Beck, my stomach should have settled.
But it didn’t.
I thought that when I got home, after having a shit ton of fun at Musik with my friends and family and Sadie, the restless feeling in my stomach would fade. I certainly thought a shower and some sleep would ease whatever was happening in my gut.
But when I opened my eyes the next morning and went to my home gym to work out, the feeling was still there. I made it a leg day—the hardest of all my workouts—and maxed out on every set. That did nothing. I ran four miles on the treadmill, and that did nothing either.
Whatever this was, it was fucking nagging at me relentlessly, like a woodpecker’s beak pecking at a trunk of wood.
I couldn’t get my head straight during my commute into the office, and when I got to my computer, I forced myself to go through my emails and attended an unnecessary and unrequired meeting, hoping something—anything—would take this feeling away.
But nothing would shake it.
So, when I returned to my office, I logged in to the system that tracked the reservations for Musik.
I hadn’t wanted to go this route. It felt wrong to dig into this information—the little amount of insight I had access to. Because if I had to investigate, then I was solidifying that something was wrong.
And I didn’t want it to be wrong. I wanted everything with Sadie to be right.
I typed in the required information, which was the date and the location of the club—since we had several—and the reservations began to load on my monitor.
A small percentage of people could walk into Musik and get immediate access to the VIP lounge. But that was reserved for celebrities and business executives and names that were preapproved.
Which raised the question, How did Sadie get in?
I toggled to the name category, putting them in ascending order by first name, and found Sadie near the bottom. I then clicked the details tab, and everything that was known about her reservation appeared.
A reservation she had made four days ago, where she had entered her full name and Bryn’s, and done it online at around six in the evening. It showed her email address and the type of credit card she’d used to pay for her entrance fee.
Beneath that was a time stamp—the exact time she had checked into Musik.
9:06 p.m.
A time that set off several alarms in my head.
I hadn’t arrived until close to eleven thirty, so that meant she had been there for almost two and a half hours before I saw her.
I picked up a pen and clicked the top with my thumb; the energy pouring out of me made me click it harder and faster.
The more I stared at my screen—studying her name, the time, calculating how long she’d been at Musik, as though the simple math wasn’t really that simple at all—the worse this felt.
“My work thing was nearby. Since it was long and daunting, Bryn and I decided to come here after. For a drink . ”
Her response, which continued to repeat in my head, made it seem as if she had randomly stopped in and only for a drink. But she’d had all intentions of coming, and that time span was long enough to have more than one drink.
So, she hadn’t told me she was going to Musik. She hadn’t told me she’d made the reservation four days ago. She hadn’t told me she was there, and she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been there for hours.
She’d lied—at least it seemed that way—about all of it.
I dropped the pen and slid my hands through the sides of my hair.
Why?
Why did she need to be so dishonest?
Why does all of this feel so fucking off?
Am I missing something?
Sadie
I hated waking up alone this morning, but I loved waking up to the thought that I’m going to see you tonight.
Oh, and good afternoon.
Me
Hey, you. I just had a meeting with my family, and they were saying how much they enjoyed meeting you.
Sadie
Aww, same.
What are your thoughts on this evening? Stay in? Go out? I’m down for anything.
I set the phone on top of my desk, finding the nearest pen, and while I continued to stare at the screen, I jammed my thumb on the clicker again.
Not that I’d expected her to bring up last night and our accidental run-in. I was sure it was a topic she wanted to avoid and hoped I’d moved on from it, but what the fuck?
Was I making too big of a deal about this?
Was I not seeing things clearly?
Did I need a voice of reason?
Shit.
I left my phone on my desk and carried the pen to Eden’s office, knocking on her door, and when she said, “Come in,” I cracked it ajar.
“Do you have a second to talk?”
She pulled her hands off her keyboard. “Of course.”
I closed the door behind me and took a seat in the chair across from her desk.
I could feel her eyes on every inch of my face as she said, “Why do you look defeated?” She did another sweep. “I can’t tell if you’re hungover from last night or if you have sad puppy eyes, like you’re missing Sadie. But even during our meeting earlier today, you looked this way, and it’s past lunchtime, which would have wiped out your hangover because food solves all the hurt, so I’m going with my sad puppy eyes theory.” She pulled at the sleeves of her gray blazer.
I rubbed my palms over the legs of my suit pants, staring past my sister, through the windows and at the view of LA. Once the clamminess was off my skin, I resumed the pen clicking with my thumb. “I’m neither.”
“Then it’s not a look of defeat. It’s anger. Hmm .” She rubbed her lips together. “All right, lay it on me. What’s got you worked up?”
“I’ve got a puzzle for you to solve.”
She leaned into the edge of her desk and folded her hands together. “My favorite.” She smiled. “Give me every detail. Leave nothing out.”
“It’s about Sadie.”
“Sadie?” Her brows rose their highest. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”
Me
How about your place?
Sadie
How about your place?
I’ll bring dinner. What are you in the mood for?
She’d met my family. She’d been to my house more than a handful of times. We’d been spending several nights a week together, most of those ending in a sleepover.
I no longer wore a condom when we fucked.
And she’d told me on more than one occasion that she thought she’d found her future husband.
But she still wouldn’t invite me over.
Eden had told me a few minutes ago that Sadie would respond this way. But I had hoped that she wouldn’t, that I’d finally get the invite.
I wanted to prove my sister wrong.
And, fuck, I couldn’t.
Me
Surprise me.
The sound of my phone vibrating on my nightstand should have been what woke me. But I’d barely gotten any sleep, and I was already awake when the alerts began to come through. It didn’t matter that Sadie had brought over dinner, that the evening was perfect and it felt as though nothing was wrong, that she lay next to me in bed, cuddling my chest all night, until about an hour ago, when she’d rolled in the other direction.
I still couldn’t get these goddamn thoughts out of my head.
Every time they circled, when I recalled the conversation I’d had with Eden, sleep moved further away until it was eventually out of grasp.
I picked up my phone, first turning down the brightness so the screen wasn’t like a sun shining throughout the dark room, and then I checked my notifications.
Walker
I’m guessing Eden and Beck are probably the only ones awake right now, but when the rest of you get up, check out Seen’s review of Musik and then go to Dear Foodie’s Instagram. 2 for fucking 2, family. I couldn’t be happier.
Beck
I just saw. Fuuuck, dude, Dear Foodie is loving her some Westons.
Eden
I’ll keep an eye on the VIP reservations for each of our locations and see how many come in now that she’s praised us so highly. I’m assuming they’re going to explode.
I spoke too soon. They’re already exploding.
Colson
Damn, I love that woman. I wonder if she’s single …
Beck
Now, wouldn’t that be some shit? Colson and Dear Foodie. How do we make that happen? For the perks alone, LOL.
Before I replied, I pulled up Seen ’s website. The article on Musik was listed first with a collage of photos.
For some reason, I wasn’t interested in the review—at least not yet. There was something about the pictures that drew my attention.
One showed small, pink-painted fingernails, gripping our signature cocktail at the banister of our VIP section, overlooking the dance floor. I zoomed in, intensifying the view of her wrist, where a delicate gold bracelet sat—one I was sure I’d never seen before—and the top parts of her thumbs were bent back from the glass, a flexibility that not everyone had.
Why did that pose look so familiar?
Why—
“ Mmm . Good morning.”
I flattened my phone against my chest and glanced toward Sadie, her eyes heavy as she looked at me. I hadn’t felt her stir or roll onto her back, like she was positioned now. I hadn’t even felt her stare.
“Have you been up for a while?” she asked.
I returned my phone to my nightstand, a place that suddenly felt like the right spot for it. “Not long, no.”
“How’d you sleep?”
I gently nodded. “All right.” I fucking hated not being honest, but I didn’t want to tell her that she was the reason I’d been up all night. “You?”
“I always sleep perfectly when I’m next to you.”
“You’re sweet.”
I lifted the hand she’d just placed on my arm, and as I was bringing it up to my lips to kiss across the back of it, I noticed her nails. I held them in front of my face for several seconds before switching my grip to her thumb, casually moving it back, testing how far it would go. When I was able to easily bend it the same way Dear Foodie’s was in the photo, my chest began to pound.
Fuck me .
Is this merely a coincidence? Or is it another sign?
For now, I attempted to push those thoughts from my head, refocusing on her nails, even though my heart was still thumping away.
“Do you ever wear a color besides pink?” I asked.
“Not often. I’m just a pink girlie. What can I say?”
I was careful with the words I chose—all picked for a specific reason.
“My assistant was wearing the same color, and I made a comment to her about it. She told me Dear Foodie had inspired her manicure.”
“That’s funny.”
My heart rate didn’t go down, not even a little as I waited to assess her reaction as I asked, “Did Dear Foodie inspire your nails?”
Her stare slowly lowered to my mouth and stayed there. With her pulse banging against my fingers, she smiled so calmly. “Inspire them … no.”
I let a few seconds of silence pass. “She reviewed Musik—Dear Foodie, I mean. The article came out this morning. It was an excellent review. It’s going to help business a lot.” I nodded toward my phone but kept my eyes on her. “I was just reading the article when you woke up. Checking out the photos. Apparently, she liked the same spot you and Bryn were in—you know, the banister in the VIP area—since that’s where most of the pictures were shot. And she was drinking our signature cocktail, just like you did.” I paused. “Looks like you and Dear Foodie have similar taste.”
Her stare eventually rose to mine, and in that second, I fucking knew.
I felt it in her pulse.
I heard it in her silence.
It was confirmed in my gut.
“It’s the best spot in the club,” she whispered, her voice so soft. “It lets you put eyes on everything.”
I sighed. The realization ricocheting through me. “Except, there, you can’t see what’s behind you. Who’s watching, who’s picking up on things.” I paused. “Like I watched you that night.”
Me
Good evening. I’m going to send you a photo. Is there any way you can take a look at it and tell me what you think that white blob in the corner is that’s been blurred out?
Alexa, Sous Chef—Charred LA
That’s the photo that was posted on Seen, right? And in Dear Foodie’s review?
Me
Yes.
Alexa, Sous Chef—Charred LA
I have a few theories, but I want to look at it again in the morning when I have fresh eyes and a clear head. You’ll hear from me before lunch.
Me
I appreciate it.