Chapter 21 Toxic Ménage à Trois #2
“Heavy-handed with the heat, though,” the woman pointed out.
“Girl! I still have heat damage from a 2025 blowout,” said Sasha. “But I regret nothing. My hair was laid.”
“You live on the edge.” The woman laughed. “I’m Patricia Moreno.”
“Hi, I’m Sasha Cruz.”
With the unique fervor that happens between women in public ladies’ rooms, they were instantly bonded. “Can I ask, are you Dominican?” asked Patricia. “I always know my people.”
Surprised, Sasha gasped a little. And then smiled at Patricia, in the mirror. She’d never been identified this way, before.
“I-I am,” she said. “Half. But I don’t—” She cut herself off.
“What’s wrong?” Patricia looked concerned.
“I don’t speak Spanish well. And I didn’t grow up in a Dominican community. So, it means a lot that you could tell.”
Why was she apologizing for her father’s mistakes, to a stranger?
“Sasha, no one can take your heritage from you. You are what you are.”
Feeling slightly buoyed by her vote of confidence, Sasha said, “I can read Spanish a lot better than I speak it. I’ve read a few novels in Spanish, actually.”
Patricia shut her clutch with a satisfying click. “Yeah? ?Cuál es tu libro favorito?”
Too insecure to use her Spanish, Sasha responded, “I’m making my way through the Reina Roja series. I love a thriller.”
“Listen, I have a book club. All Dominican girls. I started it with my sister-in-law and my homegirl, and we’re at thirty-five now. Wanna join? It’s my month to bring someone new.”
“Seriously? But you don’t even know me.”
“I’ll get to know you.” She shrugged, patting her T-zone with translucent powder. “It’s fun. We make dishes inspired by the book, we drink, we theme dress . . .”
“Theme dress?” Sasha gasped. “Done. I’ll bring the moro de guandules.”
Patricia handed Sasha her phone. “Put in your info, I’ll text you mine.”
Sasha did. Patricia couldn’t imagine the significance of their exchange.
The fact that, instead of rushing in and out (which was her usual routine in public bathrooms), she spoke to a stranger.
She had a full-on conversation, bonded, gave out her real phone number, and revealed a piece of herself.
This was a staggering amount of growth to experience in a ballroom bathroom.
Patricia took the phone back and smiled at her new friend. “I should get back. I left my fiancé at our table with my colleagues, and he hates Wall Street banter.” She smiled. “Why are you here, new friend?”
Sasha didn’t feel like lying. She knew what her story was supposed to be. She was Wes’s—no, Roland’s—business partner, here as his plus-one. But she was tired of lying. And she wanted to say the words out loud.
“I’m here with an associate.” She swallowed. “But it’s tricky. We’re supposed to be professional partners. But we’re more than that.”
“How much more?” asked Patricia.
Sasha grimaced a little. And then, she blurted it out.
“I’m crazy about him. I’m overwhelmed by it.
When he’s near me, my brain shuts off and my heart explodes, and I can’t resist anything about him,” she said.
“It hurts, because the odds are against us. But I’m in love with him.
Every moment we’re not together feels wasted. ”
Spontaneously, Patricia gave Sasha a hug. Sasha hugged her back, this kind, openhearted stranger with exquisite hair.
“Don’t waste any more time,” said Patricia. “Tell him.”
Afterward, they said their goodbyes. Patricia slipped into a stall and Sasha headed back out into the ballroom.
At the border of the dance floor, she collided with Wes.
Wes walked right into Sasha.
He’d been pacing the length of the ballroom, searching for her. Since Sasha’s earpiece wasn’t working and she wasn’t answering texts, his protective instinct surged. Had her anxiety ratcheted up? Did she leave in a panic? Was she with Teo? If so, was she safe?
But, about five minutes ago, her earpiece kicked in. And Wes could finally hear her end of the connection. But what he heard, he wished he hadn’t.
It hurts, because the odds are against us. I’m in love with him. Every moment we’re not together feels wasted.
Wes didn’t know who Sasha was talking to.
But it was obvious who she was talking about.
All signs pointed to Teo. The odds were, indeed, great.
And she was obviously in love with him. Look at the lengths she’d gone to find him.
This wasn’t news to Wes. But it was a wake-up call, hearing Sasha say those words—directly into his ears, no less, the raw emotion in her voice on full blast. I’m in love with him. The truth was inescapable.
This was on his mind as they stood facing each other, while partygoers around them slow-danced to a terrible, big-band version of “This Is How We Do It.”
“Oh, hey. Where were you?” His voice sounded off-kilter.
He’d just been assaulted by so many emotions, he didn’t know how to be normal.
And her beauty wasn’t helping. There was a feverish flush to her cheeks.
She was wringing her hands together, her eyes bright.
She looked impassioned, like she was on the precipice of a revelation.
What was going on with her? And was she not wearing a bra?
He hadn’t noticed before. But the silk of her low-cut gown clung to her erect nipples.
My God, he thought, the things I’d do to her right now if I could.
“I was in the ladies’ lounge,” she said. “Where were you?”
“Your earpiece must not be working. You couldn’t hear me?”
“No! And I forgot I even had them on. Um . . . could you hear me?” Nervously, she smoothed down her hair—rustling up her fragrance, some darkly sexy combination of vanilla and rose. It was stultifying.
His heart was breaking.
“No, I couldn’t hear anything,” lied Wes. “Maybe mine’s faulty, too.”
“What should we do now?” she asked.
“You should dance,” suggested a string bean of a man wearing all black. He held up a full-frame Canon camera with an external flash. The event photographer. “But first, look at me.”
Wes said, “Nah, we’re good. But thank you.”
“Come on, you’re a beautiful couple. And the night is young.”
“We’re not a couple,” corrected Sasha. The photographer huffed off, shaking his head.
She looked at Wes. He looked back. And he decided that, if this was going to be their last night together, he wanted one more chance to breathe her air.
He tilted his head, lightly scratching his jaw. “Should we?”
“Dance together? Here? Now?”
Wes drank her in, this extraordinary woman gazing up at him with wide, feline eyes, and he had no choice but to touch her.
Stepping forward, he closed the space between them.
Boldly, he slipped his hand between her arm and waist, stopping at the small of her back.
He pulled her against him. In the gesture, her spaghetti strap slid down her shoulder.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to not run his tongue along the luminous skin there.
Instead, he gently slid the strap back up on her shoulder.
Sasha took in a soft, shuddering breath. Her hand found his, and he placed it over his heart. His brain went fuzzy.
They swayed slowly, barely moving, with no regard for the song playing.
Their breathing was in sync. With merely an inch between them, from head to toe, they were close enough to smell, taste, feel—but they didn’t.
They couldn’t, not anymore, and certainly not there.
Wes understood this, but it was excruciating.
Feeling the warmth of her skin through her dress was insane. Intolerably erotic.
Tell her, he thought. Tell her before you lose all decorum and fuck her right here.
“He’s here,” Wes blurted out. “Teo’s here.”
He felt her stiffen. Something flared in her eyes and went out. “How do you know?”
“I asked around. I haven’t seen him. But listen. I want to meet him before you do. To make sure you’re safe. Understand?”
“Of course,” she said. “Good. This is great. Exciting.”
Wes said nothing, just continued to hold her close.
“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “We’ll still talk, right?”
“Honestly?”
“Please tell me the truth.”
“I can’t be your friend. I’m sorry. I want you to be happy. But I can’t see you and pretend not to feel anything.” He cleared his throat. “It’s too easy to forget that I’m just a guy you hired.”
She nodded, in a daze. “I still have your pencil.”
“My what?”
“Your pencil. From that night. You tossed it to me, and I caught it, majorette-style. It has Dane & Son Detective Agency printed on it. And your bite marks,” she said with a weak smile. “It’s silly.”
Unconsciously, Wes tightened his hold on her. “Why did you keep it?”
“I wanted a Wes souvenir, I guess. To remember how you cared for me. That it’s possible to find a kindred spirit, even in the dark.”
Wes didn’t think the hurt could slice deeper. All he could manage was a crooked half smile. “I was doing my job. But it’s good to know that I meant something. That I left an impression.” He paused, trying to streamline his thoughts. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know,” she said, “that you’re not just some guy I hired.”
The inky depths of Sasha’s eyes fixed him to his spot.
They stopped moving, still locked in their extremely close but not touching embrace.
Well-heeled couples swirled and swayed around them, to a song Wes couldn’t even identify, because it didn’t matter.
He dipped his face into her hair, breathing her in.
At that, she made a sweet, breathy noise—and it hit him so hard, he shut his eyes.
Like when you squeeze them shut on a roller coaster, to ground yourself.
“Who am I to you?” she asked, eyes pleading. “You told me all the reasons it wouldn’t work. But how do you feel?”
And then, only then, did he let her go. And turned back into Detective Wes.
“It doesn’t matter. Because the truth is, I am a guy you hired,” he said lightly, still with a half smile.
“And I still have work to do. Right? Here’s what’s gonna happen.
I’m doing one last sweep of the place. You wait for me at that cocktail table, over there.
I don’t want you speaking to him before I do, so call me if you spot him first. And I’ll come over. ”
Jarred by his sudden energy switch, she said, “Perfect. Yes. Great plan.”
“When I find him, I’ll text you. While we’re talking, you come over and lurk nearby. Size him up. Decide if you want me to move forward with the letter. If it’s still a yes, I’ll make sure he has it before the night’s over.”
Just like that, the spell was broken. Sasha headed for the cocktail table. And Wes? Well, Wes went straight for the bar. And he downed three shots of whiskey, one after another.
He was furious with himself that it had come to this.
That he needed to get drunk to face this fool.
With a ragged groan, he scrubbed his face with his hands.
This was his fatal flaw. When life got too intense, his compass vanished.
Confidence plummeted. He got drunk. He fought.
He bent rules. He hadn’t changed at all, had he?
Caught between self-hatred, jealousy, and thunderous heartbreak, he ordered another shot.
By the time Wes looked up from his mini-bender—his vision blurred and out of sync—he realized the world had continued to turn without him.
His gaze fell on Sasha, standing at a high cocktail table to the far right of the bar. There was a man standing with her. Both were wearing stunned, giddy expressions.
And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was Teo.