Chapter 8 #2
“Fuck no, Dee. You look incredible.” And she does. Her cleavage is fuller than ever, and the deep V of her burgundy dress certainly doesn’t hide it. She also decided to rock her post-partum belly in a tight-fitting dress, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“I got us a car,” she singsongs.
It’s not a town car, it’s an Uber. But it’s black and sleek and I love her for it.
“You’re the best.” I grab her hand as we enter the car.
“Don’t I know it. How are the kids?”
“They’re good. David took them to an arcade today, so Asher was out of his mind, of course.”
“That little boy is all me,” she notes.
“That he is.” Asher’s personality is very similar to Sandy’s. Fearless and always up for new adventures. Liv is more like me, cautious, kind of dark, but full of joy somewhere deep, deep inside.
“So, you’re ready for tonight? I’ve got my list right here, of course.” She pats her black clutch, and I stifle a laugh. That piece of paper takes up half of the miniature bag she’s sporting.
“I’m going to need a few drinks first.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”
And she is. She grabs us champagne glasses 0.3 seconds after we enter the venue. The decorations are, of course, silver—giant chandeliers, tall silver vases filled with red roses and silver napkin holders.
“You’re going to look bomb in the photos, sis.”
Yup, I could probably pose anywhere in this room and look perfectly in sync with the background. A chuckle escapes me.
We mingle around the room, shaking hands with various industry professionals—other authors, publishers, and editors. Everyone is dressed to the nines, looking their best. Warm eyes wave at me from another side of the room and walk toward us .
“So good to see you, Sadie. You’re looking amazing.” Kate pulls me into a tight hug. She’s also an author, and we did quite a few romance book fairs together.
“You, too, Kate.” I smile back.
She notices someone else and heads toward them, when another figure replaces her spot.
“I heard about the divorce.” The voice is fake empathy at its finest. It’s sappy and sad, and I don’t believe it for a second.
The face isn’t much more believable, either.
Thin, pursed lips underneath thinning slicked back hair.
I wonder if he even needed product for it, with how much oil his hair produces.
“Todd,” I grit out. “Lovely to see you out of your cave.”
“Well, you know me. That’s the life of a serious author.” Todd is a jerk. And an author. Also, a jerk. He had it out for me ever since I began coming to these things, but I’m not the only one.
“Yeah, and how many National Writing Awards does the serious author have?” Sandy butts in, making his head pull back.
“Oh, the sister’s here, too. How nice. I guess it isn’t easy finding a date as a spinster.” His shoulders slump in another show of fake empathy.
“Good luck tonight, Todd! Oh wait, you’re not nominated,” Sandy exclaims and pulls me away.
I’m not nominated this year either, but I won two years ago in the contemporary romance category.
She finds us a refill on the champagne and downs half of the glass. “That’s it for me. Got to keep these babies nice and sober.” She motions to her breasts, making me laugh. “But how about that enemies to lovers trope, huh?” She nudges my shoulder with hers and I almost choke on my drink.
“Excuse me? You hate him. I hate him.”
“Duh. That’s why it’s called enemies to lovers.”
“You can’t be serious.” I roll my eyes. “That asshole thinks romance writers are boneheads. Everyone who reads romance is a bonehead. Or better yet, all women are boneheads.”
I’m pissed, but she laughs in my face. “Give me some credit, Sades. Chauvinistic pigs don’t have a place on my list, even if they fit eight other tropes.”
“Good.” I exhale, downing the rest of my drink. “Let’s find our seats.”
We’re seated at a round table with six other people.
Most of them are familiar, except for one guy in his late forties sitting across from me.
He exudes power in an immaculate tux, his wide shoulders wearing the shit out of it.
His hair is salt and pepper, perfectly styled to showcase his model-like bone structure.
He’s George Clooney in his prime, and my eyes can’t help but wander to him every few minutes.
It doesn’t help that every time I sneak a peek, he’s looking right back, his eyes grazing appreciatively over me. I try to focus on the speech and clap when it’s warranted, but it gets harder to concentrate as a certain level of excitement blooms inside of me.
My breasts grow heavier and my nipples pucker. I’m sure my skin is flushed, and it doesn’t take long for Sandy to notice.
“You good?” she asks.
“Yup.” I give her a wide smile, trying to use telekinesis to relate the message to her.
“You look weird. Do you need to throw up?”
I pinch her thigh, and she hisses. Picking up my phone, I shoot her a quick text.
Me
The guy across from me. He’s kind of hot. And staring.
Sandy
Oh.
OH.
There was no need for her to text that, because her face said it all. But suddenly, her face transforms into a huge smile, one that screams danger for me .
Once the award ceremony’s first part concludes, most of the people leave our table, including the silver fox across from me.
Sandy turns to me, whisper-yelling, “Do you know who that is?” I shake my head. “I heard them before. That’s Leo Sterling. The CEO of Sterling Publishing.”
“What? But I never saw him before.”
“Yup. Rumors say that he’s notoriously private. Usually, he sends other people to these things. God knows why he’s here today.”
Leo returns to the table, whispering something to the man next to him. The man leaves, and Leo drops into the chair next to mine.
“Umm, I think I’m going to go check on Liam and Stella.” Sandy sounds flustered, but she grabs her clutch and gets up.
“Leo Sterling,” the man next to me says in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Sadie Summers.” I shake his hand, electricity coursing through me.
“The author?”
“Yup. Self-published.”
He presses a hand to his chest like I’ve hurt him. “You indie authors tend to play hard to get, don’t you? I’m guessing if I gave you an offer right now, a far too generous one, you’d resist it out of pure spite?”
“It’s called having principles. And why would you give an offer to an author you just heard of?”
“Why do you think I’ve never heard of you? Sadie Summers, with over twenty best-selling novels and a National Writing Award for contemporary romance.”
“Well, my books aren’t looking for a buyer at this time.” I take a sip of my drink because my mouth has suddenly dried out.
“And you? What if I offered to take you out? On a date?” His eyes darken, zeroing in on me.
“Umm…” Flirt, Sadie. Flirt, damn it. “Umm, that might be arranged. ”
The right side of his lips pulls up into a devilish smirk. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll be in touch.”
And he’s gone. He hasn’t even taken my number. And he doesn’t come back for the second part of the ceremony.
“Well?” Sandy waits impatiently.
“He asked me out on a date. I think.”
Sandy squeals with delight. “An age gap billionaire. I absolutely love it.”
“Come on. I know he’s rich, but I doubt he’s a billionaire.”
“No one is actually a billionaire.” She waves me off. “It’s a word we use for people who have more money than they could ever spend, so they decide to spend it on lavish presents for their new girlfriend and her sister.”
I suppress a chuckle, but I can’t deny the thrill coursing my veins. He was hot and into me. He also looks like he’d know what he’s doing, and it’s been so fucking long.
We’re on our way back to Ocean’s Harbor when Sandy sticks her nose into her phone. I’m guessing she’s checking up on her baby, but after a minute, she lifts her head, a gleam in her eyes.
“Leo Sterling is 48, never been married, and his net worth is 640 million dollars, meaning he’s closer to being a billionaire than he is to being a millionaire.”
“Fine, we can call him a billionaire.”
“Yes.” She pumps her fist and takes out the folded paper from her purse.
Clicking the pen, she circles ‘age gap,’ and ‘billionaire,’ before sighing loudly. “Ah, being your love doctor is certainly one of the most important roles I’ve had in my life.”
I groan. “Please don’t call yourself my love doctor.”
“A guide, perhaps? A teacher? A person you’d be lost without?”
I pinch her thigh, she smacks my hand and before you know it, we’re both belly laughing.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” she says when we finally settle down.
“What do you mean? We talked to each other every single day.”
“I know, but you were different. You were distant, cold. I can’t remember the last time you laughed like this.” My smile drops, but she continues talking, “I’m just glad to have my sister back, that’s all.”
I don’t talk for the rest of our ride, but I grab her hand and squeeze. She rests her cheek on my shoulder and tears form in my eyes.
I know exactly what she means. I was a shell the last few years.
At first, every little rejection from David sliced into me.
I’ve spent countless mornings crying after the kids left for school and he left for work.
I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about, but I felt like I was losing something, like I lost someone.
After a while, the tears dried out, and I became numb.
To prevent disappointment, I’ve stopped expecting anything from him. I became bitter and resentful, and the things that used to make me happy made me indifferent.
I just never knew it was visible to others. If Sandy noticed, my kids noticed, too. They saw me being miserable and doing nothing about it.
“Don’t do that,” Sandy whispers. “I can hear your wheels spinning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t feel guilty about it. You did it. You left. You grabbed life by the balls and now you’ll be rewarded by an age gap billionaire’s balls.”
A snot bubble bursts from my nose when my half-crying face breaks out into a laugh.
“I love you.”
She hums in response. The Uber driver drops me off first. I say goodbye to Sandy and enter my dark and cold house.
The light in the backyard is on with Logan’s neatly arranged tools on display.
I’ve gotten used to him. My mornings feel less lonely with the buzz of his tools.
It gives me comfort, knowing he’s here .
We barely even talk, and he still calls me Ms. Summers, making me feel ancient, but his presence is calming. And the flirty banter isn’t too bad, either.