Chapter 37
“Mr. Brightside” - The Killers
Pierce
After figuring out which room is mine, I toss my duffel onto the bed with a sigh.
This weekend is already off to a fucking great start.
Maeve and I hooked up in the library, then within minutes she was yelling at me, all because her weasel of a boyfriend showed up and she didn’t appreciate me asking questions.
The old-fashioned I had earlier has done nothing to calm my nerves, and as soon as I unpack my stuff, I’m heading back downstairs to find another drink.
There’s a basket on the dresser containing a bottle of vintage red, some artisanal chocolates and snacks, and a folder containing a floor plan of the house, an intricate overview of the grounds and their activities, and a detailed itinerary for the next forty-eight hours. It has Maeve’s touch all over it.
I’ve been assigned one of the east-facing bedrooms, but fortunately, the windows have blackout drapes.
I have no intention of getting up before noon, not if it means I have to watch Maeve pine over a fucker who will never leave his wife for her.
She claims she didn’t have anything to do with him showing up here, and I want to believe her—I really fucking do—but it can’t be a coincidence, right?
Walking over to the large arched windows, I remind myself that this party will be over in two days. I’ve watched Maeve with plenty of guys before; I can handle a single weekend. Besides, they’ll have to be discreet with his wife around.
I look out at the grounds, beautifully manicured lawns and gardens of flowers and shrubs stretching in all directions.
The hedge maze, topiary walk, and koi pond mentioned in the brochure are visible from here, and below me is the large terrace spanning the back of the house.
I’m just about to turn back and unpack my suitcase when a couple on the stone pavement catches my eye.
My body registers it before my eyes do, my blood running cold before I’ve even had a chance to recognize who I’m looking at.
Preston pulls Maeve into his arms—right there in broad daylight—and she goes willingly, just walks into his embrace as if she belongs there. Which, for the record, she doesn’t. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that she deserves a million times better than that cheating bastard.
They stand there pressed together, and when they don’t pull away after several seconds, I snap the curtains shut and turn toward the bed.
Fuck them both. If that’s her choice, fine.
It’s the shittiest one she could possibly make, but if it’s what she wants, I won’t get in her way.
But fuck her if she expects me to believe this wasn’t her plan all along.
* * *
Drinks are being served in the drawing room, and I’m relieved to see Slate, Rhett, and Saylor already there when I walk in, each of them holding a glass. After getting a Negroni from the makeshift bar by the fireplace, I join my friends near the windows overlooking the front lawn.
“Ready for this, mate?” Rhett asks, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
I toss back my entire drink in one go. “I will be soon.”
I’ve just grabbed a refill and am turning back to rejoin them when I bump into Caroline Hatchett, who is standing behind me. Liquid splashes over the side of my tumbler, and I set it back on the bar to grab some napkins.
“Shit,” I say, offering several to her. “I’m so sorry.”
Her laugh is slightly high-pitched, and my first thought is of how much it would annoy Maeve. “It’s fine.” She blots at the droplets on her arm. “No harm, no foul.”
Caroline is a tall blond with the kind of face that belongs on magazine covers. In fact, if I remember correctly, she’s done some modeling in the past. “I didn’t realize you were here,” I say. It feels rude to walk away after spilling my drink on her. “Did you come with someone?”
She laughs again, and I get the distinct impression it’s something she does often. “No, I’m here alone. What about you?”
“The same.” I pick up my glass again, but it’s all sticky now. I ignore the prickling sensation I get from that knowledge and take a long sip.
“We’ll have to look out for each other,” Caroline says, placing a hand on my arm and giving me a conspiratorial look. “During all of the couple-y things.”
This isn’t a couples retreat, I want to tell her, but I don’t, because at that moment, Maeve walks into the room.
It takes exactly two beats for her to spot me, and when she does, she shoots me a filthy look.
I see the scene through her eyes—Caroline’s hand on my arm, residual smiles on both our faces—and I suddenly feel a million times better than I did five minutes ago.
Tearing my gaze from Maeve, I turn to the blond beside me—Maeve’s opposite in every way. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”
* * *
Spending the evening with Caroline on my arm has the desired effect. Maeve looks pissed enough to blow a gasket. I’ve been on the receiving end of more glares than ever, and each time I look over to find her scowling at me again, my heart trips over itself. No one said two can’t play this game.
Caroline meshes with the rest of our group well—better than I would have expected. Then again, I’ve never brought a girlfriend around my friends before, so maybe this is normal. I’ve never had a serious enough relationship to go there.
I’m ordering another round of drinks for Caroline and myself when I smell it: toasted vanilla with smoky afternotes. Biting back a smile, I don’t turn, just wait for her to speak.
She doesn’t disappoint. She never disappoints. “You sure you should get that martini full strength? Barbie over there seems like a lightweight.”
I release the grin and lick my lower lip as I turn to look down at Maeve, who barely reaches my shoulder—a whole head shorter than Caroline. “Nah, she’s got a long way to go before she’s wasted.”
Maeve nods in agreement. “And that’s the end goal? Get her wasted?” Without waiting for my response, she adds, “Let me guess—that’s the only way she’ll sleep with you.”
I snort a laugh and accept the glasses from the bartender. “Actually, we’re having a great time. We might duck out early.”
Her face hardens into stone, that jaw clenching tightly even though she’s pretending with all she’s worth not to be bothered by our conversation.
“She certainly fits the girlfriend mold. Do you think she’ll mind if we call her Carolella instead?
I’m just not sure we’ll be able to remember her name otherwise. ”
I take a sip of my whiskey before answering, enjoying the way her discomfort grows the longer the silence between us stretches.
Years ago, I made the mistake of dating four women in the space of two years whose names ended in “-ella.” No one has let me forget it since.
And maybe they have a point. I like what I like.
Namely, I like to date the opposite of the little vixen standing in front of me.
Leaning down so we’re not overheard, I desperately hope that wanker she’s fucking is watching us. “You’ll get used to it soon enough if things go the way I hope.”
It’s nothing but a bald-faced lie, but the way Maeve’s lip is trembling with the exertion it’s taking to keep her emotions in check tells me she’s buying every word. Unfortunately, her jealousy doesn’t satisfy me as much as I thought it would.
“Great,” she says through clenched teeth. “Preston just told me he’s filing papers after he gets back to the city.” Turning her back to me, she approaches the bar and orders another drink.
As I rejoin everyone else, my heart feels like it’s hanging out in my shoes.
I have no idea if Maeve’s telling the truth or if she’s spewing bullshit as fast as I was.
What happened to the understanding we had a few days ago, when she finally started to lower her guard and let me in? God, I’d do anything to have that back.
I hand Caroline her drink, and she starts telling a story about something that happened to one of her friends.
The others all laugh, so it must be funny, but I can’t focus on a word she’s saying.
My brain has decided now would be the perfect time to torment me with images of Maeve and Preston hooking up.
Who knows how the fuck he plans to sneak away from his wife, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Maeve is the queen of sneaking around.
There’s a reason she’s the cat burglar during our revenge plots.
The two of us have been hooking up for nearly five months, and none of our friends have a clue.
She’s been seeing the cheating dick for over a year without detection, so if anyone can do it, it’ll be her.
My stomach churns, and I think I might actually be sick. I know we’re not exclusive—fuck, we’re not even a we—but the thought of her sleeping with that pig, sleeping with anyone who isn’t me, sends a giant wave of nausea through me.
I can’t do this. I can’t watch her leave with him, or stumble upon them in the hallway—or fuck, the library.
I can’t see him put his hands on her the way he did outside.
The fucker doesn’t even know how to touch her, that much is obvious.
I bet he doesn’t ever get rough with her, and Maeve Wilson sure as fuck likes it rough.
Don’t worry, I’m not so stupid I don’t understand what’s happening here.
My feelings for her are growing. The problem is, they’re growing too fast, and they’re not reciprocated.
Maybe if she felt the same way, we could figure this shit out.
But she’s made it abundantly clear she hopes I burn in hell.
Meanwhile, I look like a fucking fool, falling for a woman who doesn’t give a shit about me.
No, worse—hates me with a passion. I play along with her game, but only because it forces her to pay attention to me.
And I love to see that spark light up in her eyes, the one she gets every time she’s challenged.
What kind of wanker gets sucked into something like this? I’m bigger than this, better than this. I’m a fucking St. James, for god’s sake. It’s time to start acting like it. If Maeve prefers a married bastard to me, fine. I wish them many happy fucks.
“Are you okay?” Caroline places her hand on my arm again. She’s weaseling herself into a future girlfriend role with the finesse of an expert. It was probably only a matter of time.
I drain the rest of my whiskey and smile at her. “Actually, do you want to get out of here?”
She doesn’t say anything, but the blinding smile she gives me speaks louder than any words.
As I set my empty glass on the sideboard and wave good night to my friends, I’m rewarded by the look of quietly simmering rage on Maeve’s face.