Chapter 21
“That’s So True” - Gracie Abrams
Maeve
There are three things you should know about Loretta Donaldson.
First, she went under the knife for the first time at fifteen.
I’m all for plastic surgery, but god. Give your bones a chance to form first. Second, she can spend hours—and I do mean literal hours—talking about the merits of grass-fed beef.
Her family is practically ag royalty, and she thinks that gives her some kind of bragging rights.
And lastly, her eyebrows are overplucked. I think that speaks for itself.
It’s Monday, and I’m currently stuck beside the cow princess at a luncheon.
She is knee-deep in an exposition on the health benefits of red meat, either because she failed to notice the salmon nicoise salad in front of me or because she did and took it upon herself to set me on the straight and narrow.
I tuned her out the moment I sat down, but she hasn’t noticed.
The woman does enjoy the sound of her own voice.
“You know,” I say, when she pauses long enough to spear a piece of steak—grass fed, to be sure—“you’re smarter than people say.” Taking a bite of salad, I give her a syrupy smile.
She giggles and playfully rests her hand on my arm. “Oh, Maeve. You’re too sweet.”
My eyes widen as I poke at my food. No one has ever accused me of being sweet before.
Leaning in close, she says in a mock whisper, “We should totally get together more often. I love your sense of humor!”
I raise my fork, but something stops me. An instinct, if you will. It takes a few seconds for my brain to recognize what my subconscious did right away. I hate to be wrong, so I tilt my head toward hers to get another whiff. “I’m just a bucket of laughs,” I say as I inhale.
I was right.
There is only one bottle of that scent in the world, and it’s in Pierce St. James’s bathroom. And there are only two ways a woman would smell like that—if she’d sprayed it on herself or had his body pressed against hers long enough for the scent to seep into her pores. I ought to know.
I just spent the entire weekend with my vibrator, because now that Pierce has put me on to sex, it seems I can’t go more than twelve hours without an orgasm or two.
Preston did sneak over to see me once, but when we tried sex in the shower, he couldn’t manage to get the position right, which kills libido in a heartbeat, trust me.
Meanwhile, Pierce was hooking up with Loretta Donaldson? Does the man have no taste whatsoever? Besides, wasn’t he out of town?
“What did you do this weekend?” I ask my new BFF.
She laughs again, but there’s a definite note of anxiety tingeing it. Interesting. “Just this and that. Nothing super exciting.”
People like us don’t just putter around our houses—we have staff. So there’s no way in hell Loretta had no plans all weekend. I mean, god, even I had a ribbon cutting, a bridal shower, and grabbed brunch with Lux and Walker. If I wasn’t already convinced Pierce was sleeping with her, that seals it.
“No traveling?” I ask.
She shakes her head demurely and pushes her steak around her plate. “Nope, just at home. What did you do?”
Loretta isn’t the brightest star in the sky, so it’s obvious she has no idea what I’m fishing for. I ignore her question and excuse myself to go to the restroom. There’s no way I can process all of this while sitting next to my replacement.
Is that what she is? Has Pierce grown tired of me already? Was that why he told me he was going to be out of town all weekend?
Thankfully, the powder room is empty when I slip inside. I rest my palms on the vanity and take several deep breaths. Counting the tiles in the blue-and-green floor mosaic, I focus on what I know.
First, I know that Pierce lied to me Friday night, claiming he was going to be out of town and therefore wouldn’t be free to hook up all weekend.
Second, I know that, rather than traveling for work, he was here—in the city—fucking Loretta Donaldson.
(And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I can see it.
She’s exactly his type: blond, leggy, brain the size of a pea.)
Third, I know that I was alone all weekend with my vibrator, which doesn’t even come close to the real thing, at least not the real thing with Pierce.
And lastly, I know that I am pissed. No wonder he turned me down after the gala.
He’d probably already made plans with Loretta.
What does she have to offer him that I don’t, anyway?
I don’t return to the table. I don’t need to see Loretta’s perfectly sculpted face or those perky tits under her dress. I don’t need to imagine Pierce putting his hands on her or tilting her face back or pushing into—
God, make it stop. I bolt out of the restaurant and wait for the valet to pull my car around.
The drive back to the Wilson Foundation is a blur.
I’m torn between wanting to rip Pierce’s head from his shoulders and wanting to crush Loretta beneath the heel of my stilettos.
A million things need my attention when I arrive at work, and they thankfully keep me distracted for the rest of the day.
I’ve finally managed to push all thoughts of Pierce out of my mind when my phone buzzes with a text notification. My heart goes cold when I read the message.
Pierce: Plane just landed. Want me to come over?
The fucking git. Does he actually think I’m that stupid?
I lay my phone back down on my desk. He may think he holds all the cards in this little situationship of ours, but that’s where he’s wrong. He should have known from the moment he first suggested hooking up who he was dealing with.
I give it six hours before I text him back, making sure it’s late enough that he’s likely already in bed. Let him wonder what I’ve been up to while he was gone. He’s not the only one with tricks up his sleeve.
Me: Sorry, just saw this. I can’t.
Remembering what happened the night Preston came over and Pierce threatened to show up, I send a follow-up before he gets any ideas.
Me: I already found someone for tonight. Maybe tomorrow. xx
It’s a lie, of course. Preston would never come over so soon after a previous visit. My only fuck buddy tonight is my trusty vibrator, who should be happy about all of the action it’s been receiving the past few days.
With any luck, that text will mess with Pierce’s head the way he messed with mine. He forgot two can play this game, but I’ll simply have to remind him.
Pierce I’m already working to bring down. His little side piece is next.