13. Cole
The next day—Wednesday,the middle of an already busy week—I can’t bring myself to focus on anything in the office.
I stare at the same file for approximately two hours. It’s a portfolio of last month’s investments, and it’s completely fucking irrelevant at this point, but it’s the only thing open on my computer as I sit in my office, stare at the screen, and think about Riley.
What was she dreaming about?
The image flashes through my mind of her in bed, the tank top strap slipping down her shoulder. I wanted to reach out and adjust it—or better yet, tear the whole thing off.
The thought alone is enough to turn me on. I’m half hard beneath my slacks.
It’s starting to get a little obsessive, I have to admit.
I shake my head, trying to put her out of my mind. There are more reports I need to go over before the day is done, and the longer I spend daydreaming about Riley, the longer they go unopened.
Handling investments is something I can sink my entire focus into. Something else to think about, far less complicated and far less dangerous. I bury myself in it. Just the way she described me last night, I have to admit.
My distraction is all lined up for after work. I leave the office at five-thirty, a little earlier than I normally would, to meet up with Declan and Reed for dinner.
The dinner was Declan’s idea. I guess Reed kept pestering him about spending more time with us guys, and Declan responded by setting things up, a time and a place and a reservation. That’s one way to shut Reed up: give him exactly what he wants. It’s almost like he spends all his time daring people to do it, but never thinks they actually will.
My driver drops me off in front of the restaurant. We’re part of the early crowd with a six o’clock reservation, and none of us are particularly used to that, but it’s fine by me. I want to get home in time to tuck Archie into bed tonight.
When I enter the restaurant, I approach the host and give him a nod. “I’m meeting with Mr. Wright for dinner,” I say. “I’m assuming he’s already here.” Declan’s not one to be late, and it’s two minutes past six.
The host smiles and inclines his head. “Yes, he is. Right this way, sir.”
He leads me off to the side, away from the main dining area. Declan likes to request accommodations like this when he goes out to dinner, preferring to stay out of the public eye to the best of his ability. Whenever he goes to a restaurant, he pays extra to secure a secluded table, either behind a curtain or in a private room.
Tonight, we get the latter; lucky us.
The host shows me inside, and there’s Declan, seated at one end of the table with his jacket hanging off the corner of the chair. He gives me a casual wave.
“Reed with you?”
“No. It looks as though our boy is running late this evening,” I say, taking the chair beside him.
“There’s a shock,” Declan mutters, but there’s a teasing gleam in his eye. Despite his words, I know that he’s just thrilled to have an excuse to make fun of Reed when he finally shows up.
We only have to wait for a few minutes before Reed enters with a melodramatic sigh and spread-out arms. “My friends,” he declares, “it has been an absolute shitfest of a week. You will not believe what I’ve been through.”
“Oh, here we go,” I mutter, shooting a look at Declan. Declan, for his part, seems much more amused by Reed’s antics. He steeples his hands and grins.
God, Sophie has really mellowed him out.
“Tell us everything,” Declan says, holding out a hand to usher Reed into the third chair.
A waiter comes by to take our drink orders, and once we’ve requested three bourbons, neat, top shelf, Reed launches into his tale.
“This may come as a surprise,” Reed tells us, “but I am currently experiencing some woman-related troubles.”
I heave a sigh, looking back toward the door in hopes that our waiter will be lightning fast with our drinks. I could use some whiskey right about now.
“This latest one… un-fucking-believable, really. I don’t think I’ve ever run into anything crazier.”
Luckily, before Reed can elaborate on the turmoil he’s experiencing, the server blesses us with three rocks glasses of aged Kentucky bourbon. I lean back with a sigh, sipping mine and savoring the burn in my mouth.
“So, here’s the situation,” Reed begins. “You ever heard of Sofia Bellafonte?”
“The singer?” Declan raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t she a judge on one of those talent shows?”
“That’s right. So, this was all a couple weeks ago. I’m at the club, and the place is a fucking wasteland, so I decide to head out a little early. Maybe try to hit up a different spot. People are buzzing that there’s a little more action two doors down.”
“Don’t you think it’s unprofessional for you to be at the club trying to score?” I ask. Sometimes, Reed still acts like we’re all in college.
“I wasn’t ‘trying to score,’” Reed scoffs. “I was at the club with the intention of courting.”
“Courting,” I repeat dryly. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
Reed grins at me, like he’s actually enjoying the taunting. “Anyway, I get outside, and you’ll never guess who I run into on the sidewalk.”
“Sofia Bellafonte,” says Declan.
“Bingo!”
“Let me guess—” I start, but Reed cuts me off.
“You were about to say, ‘Oh, you obviously hit on her,’ blah, blah,” he interrupts. “Well, you’d be wrong. Because she actually comes up to me.”
Declan snorts a laugh, swirling the ice around in his glass, and catches my eye.
“She comes up to me and she goes, ‘Are you Reed Eastwood? Like the hotels?’” He mimics the singer’s high voice in a falsetto.
“She did not say that,” I mutter, deadpan.
“She did! Just like that. And of course, I say, why, yes. Yes, I am. The very same.”
“I don’t see how this story is going anywhere crazy,” Declan comments. “It sounds like you just fucked a pop star. That’s pretty standard for you.”
“Just listen, just listen. So. I’m outside of the club with Sofia Bellafonte. And she asks me where I’m going next, so I tell her, I thought I’d see what was on down a couple doors down. By this point, there’s a little action on the street. Little crowd showing up. Sofia’s bodyguard starts getting antsy; he wants us to move—probably before the paparazzi shows up.”
I pick up my glass, staring down at the caramel-colored liquid, and inhale the sweet scent of bourbon. “The last thing you need is to be on the cover of another tabloid,” I tell him.
“Tell me about it,” he agrees, but without much feeling. “She seemed to feel the same way, so we head down the street to the other club. VIP section, of course, ’cause the bouncer immediately recognized her—I didn’t even have to identify myself. We’re sitting in a velvet booth in the back, the music’s loud—”
“And you started fucking in the booth,” Declan interrupts, trying to guess.
Reed scowls at him, clicking his tongue. “No, we did not.” He pauses, hesitating, then finally admits, “There was some… groping. And a little bit of sucking. But the clothes stayed on in the club.”
Declan and I laugh.
“Her bodyguard was right outside the curtain,” Reed says sheepishly. “It would’ve been weird.”
“I still don’t see how this is ‘crazy,’” I say. “You just had a night out with a pop star.”
“Not exactly.” Reed bites his lip. “I thought I was having a night out with a pop star. Then I started to, uh… notice some stuff.”
Declan leans forward, clearly intrigued. “Like what?”
“Well… every star has their signatures,” Reed says. “I’d seen photos of Sofia in the past and started to think that something was a little off. So when ‘Sofia’—” he lifts his fingers to form air quotes— “went to the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and did some searching.”
“And?”
“Sofia Bellafonte has a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her right shoulder. My Sofia Bellafonte didn’t.”
Declan guffaws, and I snort into my whiskey. Figures. If you’re going to be a player, you’re going to get played.
“So, what—she was an impersonator, or something?” I ask.
Reed shakes his head, a sly grin appearing on his face. “Not even. This is where it gets nuts. It turns out that Sofia has a twin sister.”
Declan chokes on his bourbon, setting the glass down. “No fucking way.”
“Right? Absolutely insane.”
“Did you confront her about it?”
Reed scoffs. “What was I supposed to do, tell her, ‘hey, while you were gone, I Googled you and found out that you’re actually not who you said you were?’” He shakes his head. “No way. I rode it out.”
“Why would she do that?” I wonder aloud. “It’s not like she needs your money, right? Her sister is a pop star. Couldn’t she just—”
“I thought about that, too,” Reed says. He leans back in his chair, tipping his head to one side. “But from what I discovered, it seems that Sofia and Angela Bellafonte don’t exactly get along. They’re basically estranged.”
“God, this just gets messier and messier.” Declan sighs. “So she tried to impersonate her pop star sister to seduce you—either for your money or just to get in your bed.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” says Reed.
“What about the bodyguard?” I press. “You said she had a bodyguard.”
“Turned out to be a friend of hers who agreed to a favor.”
After a brief pause, Declan asks the real question that’s lingering in both of our minds: “Wait. What did you do about it?”
“Oh.” Reed’s grin widens. “Well. I fucked her.”
Both of us howl with laughter, almost spilling the whiskey as we jostle the table. Reed reaches out to steady it, one arm folded across his chest.
“Of course you did,” I say, once the laughter has died down.
“Of course I did,” Reed echoes. “I mean, come on. She was a pop star’s identical twin. She was every bit as hot as the real deal. Why would I pass that up?”
“Did you ever confront her about it, though?” I ask.
“Eventually.” Reed shrugs. “She didn’t take it great, obviously, and the past week or so has been a complete nightmare, but… well, I’m gonna say it was worth it.”
Declan rolls his eyes, taking another sip of whiskey. When he lowers his glass, he says, “You know, you wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this if you found someone who would actually give you a run for your money.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Dec?” Reed sighs, trying to make knowing eye contact with me. I avoid looking back at him.
“Find a woman who’s actually worth falling for,” Declan says, and Reed groans dramatically, shaking his head.
“We can’t all be lucky enough to meet a woman as great as Sophie,” he says. “Like, I’m happy for you, man, but… that kind of situation is few and far between.”
I glance over at Declan, wondering if he’ll be annoyed, but he just grins and shrugs. “I have to agree with you there,” he says, love in his expression.
For some reason, my thoughts flit to Riley, sitting in bed with the comforter pulled up to her chest, her eyes soft as she asks me about my nightmares.
I shove the thought away—quickly. Obviously, I’m attracted as fuck to her. I can’t deny that. Just thinking about her at the office today was enough to get me worked up. I’m not an idiot; I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to fuck her.
But… it’s not like I want more than that. Like Reed, I’m happy for Declan—happy that he’s found love. I never expected it to happen, but now that it has, he seems blissfully content every time I see him. That’s great.
It’s just not for me.
It’s not what I want, and it’s not what I need.
The affection in Declan’s eyes when he talks about Sophie, and the way my thoughts keep straying to Riley, eventually starts to make me uncomfortable.
“So,” I say to Reed, changing the subject smoothly, “you slept with Angela Bellafonte. Are we gonna be seeing this in Us Weekly anytime soon?”
There’s a spark of relish in Reed’s eyes as he leans forward, eager to tell us the rest of the story. “That’s where this all starts to get good. A few days after, I get a phone call from Sofia Bellafonte’s talent agent…”