2. Piper #2
“Babe,” Paul’s pretty but clearly stressed-out fiancée Chloe appeared beside him. She gave us a quick hello, then refocused on Paul. “We’re having a crisis! They forgot the shrimp appetizers, and you need to come yell at someone.”
He grimaced at us. “Duty calls. I’ll catch you guys in a bit!”
Vincent and I stared at each other in silence, probably trying to determine who was going to draw first blood.
“You were such a—” I began.
“Listen, about what happened—” Vincent said at the same moment. “You go.”
I took a step closer to him. “I was going to say you were incredibly rude this morning. Blame aside, it was an accident, and now that I’ve had a chance to check out the damage, a minor one.”
“Says the woman who drives a fifteen-year-old car,” he sniffed. “The damage to mine was considerable.”
“Well, that’s what you get for driving a delicate little egomaniac car that probably costs more than I’ll make in my lifetime.”
“Probably?” he smirked.
I gritted my teeth at him. “You are…”
“Correct?”
“Insufferable!” I hissed.
He fixed his gaze on me, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Are you forgetting I’m paying for your repairs?”
“As you should; it was all your fault,” I huffed.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
I snorted at him. “You call that an apology?”
“I never said I was apologizing,” he shrugged and looked around the room, like he was bored with me and above it all…right up until he spotted something that made him flinch. “Oh fuck.”
I glanced over my shoulder to where he was looking and saw none other than supermodel Maya Russo swanning through the restaurant just outside the private dining room Paul had reserved for the event.
“Clearly, you’ve got your sights set on your latest conquest. I’ll leave you to it,” I fumed and started to back away.
“No, thank you. I’ve had my fill of that one.”
I frowned so hard I thought my face would break.
Vincent finally refocused on me. “She’s my ex, and if she sees me here, she’s going to glom on and not let go.”
“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Now was my turn to smirk. I turned to walk away, but the sharp click of his shoes followed, like he wasn’t ready to let me escape just yet.
“Piper,” he said. “Just listen—if she spots me, pretend you’re my date. Consider it a favor.”
I sputtered out a laugh. Was this guy out of his freaking mind? There was no way I was getting sucked into his mess. “Please! Like I owe you any favors. Maybe I’ll run over to Maya and point you out. Give her a little nudge in your direction.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find the ultimate floppy-haired, striped tie former frat boy grinning at me.
“Well hey there, Piper! I’m a friend of your daddy’s and he told me you’re quite the little lady golfer! I’m Beck Huntsman, by the way.”
He shoved his hand at me, and I gave it a quick shake while trying to hold back my gagging. Meanwhile, I could feel Vincent watching from behind me.
“Prentiss is married to my mother, he’s not my father,” I corrected.
“Right, right. Anyway, I’m a single digit handicap myself, but I won’t brag and tell you what it is,” Beck guffawed.
If I didn’t hate him the moment he opened his mouth, I did now.
“I’m an eight,” I said quickly, hoping that would be enough to shut him up. My handicap never wavered despite the fact I rarely played these days.
“You look more like a ten to me—that’s quite a dress.
” He laughed at his own joke as his eyes raced down my body.
“Anyway, I’m sitting with Prent and your mom during dinner, and I’ve got a seat saved just for you.
I think we have a lot in common. Maybe we can schedule eighteen holes, and I can give you some of my favorite pointers? ”
Huh—what about no?
Being trapped with Prentiss and this douche for the rest of the evening sounded like a double nightmare—and this after Paul had promised me I’d be seated nowhere near Prentiss.
But I could see Prentiss watching us from off to the side.
If I told this guy what I really thought of him, I’d be stuck getting lectured about it every time Prentiss saw me for at least the next few months.
I was fumbling for the nicest, most unobjectionable way to say “Go to hell” when I felt a warm hand grasp my bare shoulder.
“Hi Brock, I’m Vincent Forde,” he said as he leaned over me to offer his hand. “I’m afraid Piper’s already got a seat at the table, right next to me. Isn’t that so…sweetheart?”
I looked up at Vincent, half thankful he’d swooped in and half grumpy about what he was forcing me into. A meal with the most entitled, annoying, pompous man I’d ever met? Maybe sitting with Prentiss wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Yup,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to force myself to smile. “That’s a fact.”
“My name is Beck,” the guy corrected. “And sorry, man—I didn’t realize she was yours.”
My smile became that much more forced as I gagged internally at the guy talking about me like I was property.
Vincent ran his fingertips down the bare skin of my arm, and my breath hitched at the intimacy of it. He smiled at me, his blue eyes locked on mine, and I felt like I couldn’t inhale. “I wouldn’t say she’s mine. I think this beautiful creature just allows me into her orbit now and then.”
Hold on. Beautiful? He thought I was beautiful?
The corner of Vincent’s mouth kicked up as he studied my face, like he was taking a temperature read of what he’d just suggested. He finally looked back at Beck and laughed, which knocked me out of the momentary spell he’d cast over me.
“You have a great night, Brock…I mean, Beck!” Vincent said in a cheerful voice.
The golf prodigy slumped away, leaving me to face Vincent alone.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I insisted.
“You’re welcome.” He winked at me.
“I could’ve handled him!”
“And now you don’t have to,” he bowed. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”
I sputtered a string of incoherent sounds at him.
A waiter with a handheld gong signaled that everyone needed to find their seats for dinner.
“Showtime, sweetheart,” Vincent leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Let’s make this look good, for old Beckie-boy.”
He took my hand, and to my shock, it actually felt…nice.