Текст книги "Pure Abandon"

Автор книги: Jeannine Colette

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I’m pleasantly surprised he likes most of what I’ve completed. If he’s disappointed that I don’t have some things in the final stages, he doesn’t let on. Not surprisingly, he has a few good suggestions of his own. I write them all down with pure anticipation. This concert is going to rock!

When we’re finished, Asher has our private concierge deliver a special meal from Mr. Chow. We spend the rest of the early evening eating sushi, drinking saki, and talking about how we made our respected careers. My career path is shorter and not as exciting, so my contribution to the conversation is short.

The sun starts to set as he tells me about interning at his grandfather’s insistence and learning about buying companies and rebuilding them. I was shocked to learn his first business venture was more about impressing a girl than it was about making money.

“Candy.”

“Candy? Was she a stripper?”

Asher laughs. “No, she was not a stripper.”

“Was she a candy striper?”

“No! She was not a candy striper.” He laughed. “What is it with you trying to ruin the story of my first love?”

“Spill it, Asher. Was she a palm reader?”

Tossing a bite of sushi in his mouth, Asher holds up a finger, his mouth still chewing.

“Candace was the daughter of an executive I worked for. He didn’t think I was good enough for her because I worked as a broker and he had bigger plans for his little princess. You see, even though my name is Asher, I was a troublemaker and people assumed I only got the job because of my grandfather’s connections. Well, actually, that is why I got the job. No one thought I’d amount to much. Truth is I didn’t care if I did or didn’t. All I wanted to do was play music. I wanted to work for a record label, but my grandfather insisted I take a job as a broker.”

I eye him inquisitively. “You don’t seem to me like the kind of person who does what others tell him to do.”

My words must have caught him because his brows furrow with a look bearing a hint of resignation. “At the end of the day, I am an Asher, and with the family name comes great responsibility. My grandfather… he has rules and is very strict about how they should be obeyed.”

From the little I know about Asher, I understand he’s an orphan. A boy who lost his mother at ten years old and went to live with his grandfather, who it seems was a tyrant at home. From my head to the tips of my toes, I am dying to ask him more about his family, but I know with Asher, there is only so far you can go without him diverting the conversation.

“So how did you prove to the girl you were good enough?” I ask instead.

Seemingly grateful for the question, he nods and answers, “By making my first million buying a small textile company and reselling it, which I was only able to do because my grandfather gave me the capital. I don’t like to lie about how I got started. After my first big venture, everything snowballed from there. It was easy to buy and sell, and if all goes well, I will be buying my own record label so I can live my true passion, music.”

“And philanthropy!” I interject.

“And philanthropy. Yes, it’s a large part of my life.”

“So what happened? Where is Candy? Why aren’t you married with kids and living in Greenwich or somewhere?”

He kicks back a shot of saki. “Well, she did want me, but for all the wrong reasons. I knew then that I would never know who loved me for me and not for this,” he says, waving his hand in the air at our surroundings. “I don’t trust people for a reason.”

I swallow a lump and try to keep my mouth from falling. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”

“But I do. I assumed you liked being a bachelor, that you liked having a different woman every night.” I pause before making my declaration. “You wanted more in life.”

Asher leans back and laughs, his hand winding behind his head as he rubs his neck, his eyes darting around the table. “I think you’ve misunderstood. I quite enjoy the women I have in my bed.”

My head tilts to the side as I continue to look at him. As his hand returns around the front of his body, Asher lifts his head and his eyes meet mine. His cavalier grin melts as his eyes take in mine. His forehead crinkles.

Asher is avoiding my observation and he knows I know it.

He looks at me as if conflicted about responding. “My grandfather pushed the thoughts of settling down out of my head. Said it causes more heartache and distraction than it’s worth. He should know. He lost a daughter and took in her kid.” His gaze drops to the table. “The truth is, growing up without a family makes me want one even more.” There is a pause before he adds, “I’ve never said that out loud before.”

Tears well up in my eyes. What kind of life is that to live? When Asher said he wanted to be friends, I thought his tale of not being able to trust anyone was some sort of ploy. Now I see it’s merely the truth. Can it be possible the sinful Asher who feasts on Twinkies is really a romantic deep down? Can I have been so utterly wrong about this man? Have I been wrong about… everything?

Asher slowly leans across the table and gently cups my face, wiping my check with his thumb, catching a stray tear. “No, please, don’t cry. Not for me. I don’t deserve tears.” My breath hitches at his touch. His hand is so warm and comforting. My head falls slightly into his palm.

His eyes are sincere and I bite back the sting of my tears to show him I’m okay. “You are a great man. You deserve so much more than you’re allowing yourself.” I mean it. Getting to know him over the past few weeks has been a pleasure. He may be inappropriate at times and even bossy. God, he can be downright pompous. Yet, he is without a doubt the most amazingly contradictory person I have ever known.

“I have done some bad things over the years. In life, in business, and to women. Especially to women. They’re my toys. They use me and I use them. I like my lifestyle. I don’t have to answer to anyone, and at this stage, I’ve grown accustomed to doing whatever the hell I want.”

Asher releases my face from his grasp as I wipe the dew from my eyes. I can’t make him out. He is damaged, but not irreparable. Why does he continue his cavalier lifestyle when he can have so much more?

“You need a shot!” Asher motions for the waiter. “Tequila, por favor!”

“Oh no! I haven’t had tequila since college!”

“Oh, how I would have loved to have known you at eighteen.”

Letting out a slight laugh, I release a deep breath and shake my head. “I’m sure you would.” There’s the Asher I know so well.

The waiter brings back three shots of tequila… each. I explain to Asher that this is way too much alcohol, but he assures me this is top-grade liquor and I can handle it.

“Lick your hand,” he directs me.

I scrunch up my nose at the thought but shrug my shoulders and figure I’ll give it a shot, pun intended. Tentatively at first, I poke my tongue out and touch the back of my hand.

Asher raises his hand to his mouth and glides his smooth, slick tongue across the back like he’s licking up ice cream. My lips part with a breath. I lift my hand back to my lips and try again, this time sliding my tongue across my soft skin, and look up to see Asher’s eyes as they follow my tongue as it glides across my hand.

Asher lifts the saltshaker and sprinkles our hands. “Lick, sip, and squeeze.” He offers me a lime. “Ready?”

I nod. Here goes. I lick my hand, gulp the shot of tequila, and squeeze the lime into my mouth. Wow, that burns!

“Feels good,” he says and pushes the next shot of tequila in front of me, and we repeat the process.

We share a few good laughs, talking about some of our worst drinking experiences. My head feels lighter, and I start to sing along to one of the songs playing over the loudspeaker. It’s a popular dance tune that has been remixed to a lowdown beat, more laidback for our setting. Something I learned from Asher.

After the third shot, I feel like dancing. “Dance with me.” My voice sounds impish and naughty, which makes me laugh because I am neither of those things.

Asher grabs my hand and we stand, still inside the secluded cabana. Our bodies close, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in tighter. My breasts rest on his chest; our groins connect. Not being the best dancer, I allow him to lead the way.

I’ve danced with him without music before. He was magnificent then and even better now. The freeing feeling I have from the little bit of alcohol I’ve drank allows me to move along with him, and I feel comfortable, even confident in my movements. Our hips bound together sway from left to right and around in tiny circles.

Asher traipses his hand until it’s firm on my lower back, causing my upper body to arch. He dips me and places his other hand on my chest and lets it travel down my body, from clavicle to navel. As he returns me, my body inches up in one smooth movement until I’m resting back on his chest. My eyes widen when I feel his arousal through his bathing suit. My pulse quickens. My ears burn with heat and energy. And my body is awakened.

Placing his hands on my hips, Asher spins me, facing away from him. His palms rest low on my belly and heat stirs within me, low in my sex. His arousal pressing hard against my backside, I lay my hands over his as I feel my own throbbing deep in my core.

I rest the back of my head against his chest. We continue to move with each other, our hips now dipping into each other in deep, erotic sways. His mouth at my ear, I can feel hot, moist, erratic breaths against my neck. His lips lower to my skin, this time taking my neck in his mouth with warm, wet kisses. Tingles travel down my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stand and my nipples erect, pleading, wanting, and needing. My breath hitches and I drink in every sensation his luscious mouth gives me as he devours my skin.

With my hands still over his, I lower them, guiding him lower down my body, pleading for him to touch me.

Asher twists his hands in mine and grabs them to spin me back around. He is breathing hard and his face is flush. “I’m taking you to your room,” he whispers.

The walk to the room is faster than I thought it would be. My head spins a little. I think I fumble a few times on our way back. I drop my bag as I try to gather my room key. Asher takes my bag out of my hand and removes the key to open the door.

Before I can move my feet, he bends down and lifts me off the ground. We enter the room and he kicks the door closed behind him. The room is dark, but the moonlight illuminates the space. Asher places me on the ground beside the bed and walks over to the chest of drawers and removes something.

“Lift your arms.” His voice is sultry.

I comply as he removes my cover-up. I feel bashful in my bikini. Even though I just shared the most erotic dance of my life with him and felt his lips on the skin of my neck, it feels entirely too sinful in the confinement of my hotel room.

“Again,” he commands, and I lift my arms again as he places the nightie over my head and it falls down my body. Spinning me around, Asher undoes the strings of my bikini top and they fall to the floor. He removes my hair tie and my hair tumbles past my shoulders.

Asher leans over the bed and pulls back the blankets. He lifts me in his arms again and lays me gently onto the bed. Tucking the blankets over me, he leans down and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“Good night, Gray,” he says.

Backing away from the bed, Asher turns and walks out the door. It takes me a few moments to get my bearings.

What the hell just happened!?

Breathe, Kat. Just breathe.

The room still spinning, my head is a mess of confusion and I don’t have the energy to fight. When the door closes, I lean over and place the pillow over my head to block out the moonlight.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll suffocate.

I have no idea what time I went to bed. I wake up at an ungodly hour with an ungodly hangover and an ungodly temper. How could he have done this to me… again!

Okay, so the first time we met in the car wasn’t quite as compelling, but still. The night at the museum was intense, and he just disappeared. Now, last night, I thought he was going to make love to me. I thought he wanted me. I felt his need for me last night. I felt his lips on my skin, his palms on my body… I felt him!

When we came to the room, I thought this was it. But no, he made me look like a fool, again! I can picture him laughing at me. “I use women. They are my toys.” He probably ropes them all in, like the puppet master he is, with stories of his dead family and wanting one of his own. The big brooding billionaire can’t find anyone who loves him for him. Liar! I can’t believe I let him get to me. And with tequila!

Tequila.

My stomach dances and I can’t make it to the bathroom fast enough. The contents of my stomach expel from my body. My limbs go limp. My head pounds. I wish I could die here on the bathroom floor. This is the second time in two days I’ve found myself lying on porcelain. I seriously have to stop having such intimate moments with bathroom floors.

And then I hear the door open.

“Are you okay?” Asher rushes to me and wipes the hair away from my face.

What is he doing here?

“Get off me. I’m fine. Get out of here!” I shout and feel the need to get sick again. This time, Asher grabs my hair and holds it as I empty the rest of the contents of my stomach into the latrine. If I weren’t so sick, I’d be embarrassed.

No, scratch that. This is definitely the most embarrassing moment of my life.

When I’m done throwing up, Asher hands me a hand towel and I wipe my face. I look up at him, wishing it were all a bad dream.

“Come on, back in bed.” He leans down and carries me back to the bed. I get a striking sense of déjà vu. Did he carry me last night? Oh God, he carried me to bed. What’s with him and wanting to carry me everywhere? I am officially the most pathetic person on the planet.

“What are you doing here?” My head throbs and pulsates. Remember that throbbing I felt last night in my groin? Yeah, its relocated to my brain and it hurts. Or is it my heart? Could my heart have relocated to my brain? It’s quite possible.

“I brought you room service. I figured you’d be in bad shape so I ordered the Alexander Asher hangover kit.” His smirk needs to be smacked off his face.

He thinks this is funny. The bastard.

Asher sits on the bed next to me, while I lie in my shame.

“First order of business,” he says, “is Tylenol. Extra strength. Open up.” I open my mouth as he places two white tablets on my tongue. “Now wash it down with this.”

I shake my head. “A Bloody Mary? I think I’ve had enough to drink.”

“Nothing cures a hangover better than more alcohol.” He puts a straw to my mouth and I inhale. I feel so shitty. I’ll try anything to feel better.

“How are you not hung-over? You drank as much as I did,” I say, taking a bite of the toast he holds to my mouth. I take the toast from his hand and watch as he uncovers a dish of varied greasy breakfast foods.

“I’m twice your size. I should be able to handle more liquor than you. Though, I must admit, I didn’t expect you to get as out of control as you did.”

I drop my toast and feel the need to get sick again. For a second, I almost forgot about what almost happened.

“I want to apologize for getting… carried away. Last night, I…”

My eyes shut in mortification. “Save it, Asher. I was drunk and clearly had no idea what I was doing. There’s no way I would have danced like that if it weren’t for the tequila… and the sake… and the Sex on the Beach…” My stomach rolls, causing my eyes to open and face the source of my unease.

Asher’s face is pulled in, the corners of his eyes pushed down. His shoulders fall and he lets out a breath.

“That’s good news, then. Here I thought I’d have to let you down easy or something. I will now make a vow never to drink with you again.” He smiles and gives me his phony scout’s honor salute.

I know I said the words first, but his stung and hurt my heart. Both the one in my chest and in my head. My throat feels sore and my chest surges upward and I fight the urge to cry. I take a deep breath instead.

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. I promise it will never happen again.” I feel tears forming behind my eyes. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get ready. Please leave.”

Slowly nodding in agreement, Asher places his hands on his thighs and rises from the bed. His hand on the knob, Asher opens the door and pauses for a second. His broad shoulders rise and fall a few times, his muscles expanding up and out, visible through the button-down shirt he’s wearing. His head sweeps to the right and he talks over his shoulder. “You are expected downstairs in the spa at two to get ready for the benefit tonight. They know not to let you pay for a thing. No arguing.”

Asher closes the door behind him, and I sob into my pillow.

I sleep the morning away. I call Gwen when I wake to check on Jackson and feel much better after hearing my little man squealing on the other end. I search my phone for any missed calls from Gabriel, but there are none. If it weren’t for Jackson, I’d swear off all men.

When I put the phone down, I notice Asher has left an invitation on the nightstand. It’s for tonight’s event. The Asher Foundation is hosting a soiree in the hotel event space. I glance over to the closet and spot the emerald-green dress peeking out. I guess that’s my uniform for tonight’s event.

I make my way to Bliss spa on time. When I check in, I’m surprised to see I have a full itinerary prepared. This must be Asher’s consolation prize for the unwanted. Whatever. I’ll take it.

For the first hour, I have a steam shower and my body scrubbed… literally. A brute of a woman rubs my body down with sea salt and washes all the toxins of Asher and tequila off my body. I’m thankful for her.

Next, I have a full body mask. Sitting in a pile of seaweed and mud, I let the good nutrients enter my body. I indulge in a full massage, a facial, a manicure, and a pedicure. I can’t believe how fast the last four hours have gone. I can get used to this.

Finally, I’m escorted to the salon, where my hair is washed and styled. Due to the heat, I ask for something simple and off my neck. The makeup girl is heavy on the eye makeup. She wanted my green eyes to “illuminate.” I let her have her way but ask her to go soft on everything else.

When it’s time to check out, I consider paying for the experience myself, out of principle. I know Asher said not to, but I have an issue with gifts, especially when they’re from him. However, upon looking at the extravagant total on the bill, I decide this is the one time Asher owes me and I charge it to the penthouse.

I make it to the room with just enough time to dress. I pull out the Lanvin, one-shouldered, crepe dress that falls above the knee. It is exquisite without being too formal. The stilettos go perfectly with the dress, but I’m not surprised, as a personal shopper selected them. I wish I had a bangle or cuff to go with the outfit, but I’m happy to have worn gold earrings yesterday.

Asher never said whether or not we’d meet in the lobby or in the room. Hell, he never said if we were to meet at all. I decide to head downstairs on my own.

The ride in the elevator has my stomach in knots. I still feel so foolish for the way I acted last night and angry over his reaction to it all. If I didn’t have to work with him, I’d vow never to see Alexander Asher again.

The elevator slows and the doors open revealing a beautiful figure standing in the center of the space. A white dinner jacket, crisp white shirt, black pants and no tie. His blond highlights look lighter from the afternoon sun. Further confirmation they’re natural.

Placing my hands on my belly, I try to calm my nerves. Pushing my shoulders back and lifting my chin, I exit the elevator. As if feeling my presence, Asher turns in my direction. His golden eyes light up as I approach him, and it forces me to stop and take a deep breath.

His lips part as his eyes travel the length of my body, taking in my appearance. He opens his mouth farther to say something, swallows, and then speaks. “You. Look. Beautiful.”

The words travel off his tongue like a song. My favorite song. I wish I could stay mad at him, but against better judgment, I smile back at him and feel my guard being quickly let down.

“Shall we?” Asher offers me his arm. Hesitantly, I take it as he escorts me to The Grove, an outdoor area at the hotel where the cocktail portion of tonight’s event will be held. Retro antiques and lanterns adorn the space, making it overflow with sensuality. Twinkling lights line the palm trees, illuminating the space with a heavenly glow. Waiters walk by with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. After last night’s fiasco, I forgo the champagne. I need to keep my head on tonight.

Asher escorts me around the room, introducing me to Miami’s elite and the many from the southeast region whom Asher invited here for a siesta. Most people have at least a decade on us, yet all show extreme respect for Asher. For someone so young, Asher radiates wisdom and his presence displays authority. People respond well to it.

Our goal for the evening is to solicit large sums of money for the Asher Foundation. Since these people won’t be traveling to New York for the gala, we’re looking for people to promise five or six-figure checks to be presented during the broadcast. For Asher, it’s their way of showing respect. From a producer’s standpoint, it would make for better television if we can display an unbelievable amount on the screen of monies being donated.

Asher makes a short speech welcoming everyone and explains why funding music programs is important. Knowing his crowd, Asher keeps things very professional and speaks in numbers. The number of schools whose music programs have lost funding and the rise in adolescent arrests and drug use, which he feels is because young people need a place to focus their energy after school, and music is the answer.

He gets a huge laugh when he assures everyone their donation is tax deductible, and he seals the deal by discussing the public relations explosion it will be for everyone and their businesses.

When Asher is done he gets a few promises on the spot for sums of money I can’t even believe these people can give up so easily. When people have further questions about the production going on, Asher lets me explain the various elements we have planned and when and where they can see it once it’s filmed.

We continue to circle the room, mingling with guests, but there’s one I have my eye on. One of the out-of-towners. We make our way over to a short, balding man and his well-tanned, ever-youthful wife.

“Oswald Thompson, may I introduce you to Kathryn Grayson. Ms. Grayson is heading our private benefit concert at Lincoln Center. Gray, Mr. Thompson here is…”

“An avid sportsman I understand. Pleasure to meet the man who recently purchased a minor league team. Congratulations, sir,” I say.

Asher gave me a few names of who would be at the event tonight, and I remember Malory telling me about one in particular. I wasn’t about to let Asher take this away from me. I was here to prove myself.

“Thank you, Ms. Grayson. May I introduce you to my wife, Ellie? Ellie has been incredibly bored since we got here. Perhaps you two could enjoy the party together.”

Ellie looks at me in disdain, the same look I get from Heather at the office. I eye Thompson, who has already started chatting with Asher. Accepting his dismissal of me, I turn to Ellie and speak a little louder than usual.

“Ellie, you must be quite impressed by your husband’s accomplishments. Especially his early career markings in the minor league.” I direct my attention back to Thompson. “I understand you had a 1.23 ERA. I heard you have a curve ball that would send the Babe swinging.”

Thompson’s ears perk up, as do his brows. He turns his attention from Asher. “I do know how to throw a ball, but my damn shoulder ended my career.”

“Better off. The way they build parks today, they’re made for homerun derbies with the fences drawn so close. Pitching isn’t the art form it used to be. It’s all about the hitting now.” I’ve been privy to plenty of conversations with my uncles.

“Sports fan, huh? What’s your team?” Thompson asks. I know he’s a White Sox fan from his minor league purchase within the franchise, but I’m not taking the bait. If I learned one thing from Asher, it’s that men of their caliber are tired of being told what people think they want to hear.

“New York Mets,” I say proudly.

“Mets? I thought all respectable New Yorkers were Yankee fans?” Thompson laughs. “At least you didn’t lie to me and say you’re a Chicago fan to get on my good side.”

Asher puts his hand on my back. “If I can assure you of one thing, Oswald, this woman doesn’t lie. That’s why she’s on my team.” The heat of his hand burns into my backside.

Despite my distraction, I try to speak calmly. “Actually, Mr. Thompson, my father was a ball player. Have you heard of Frank Grayson?”

“Holy God in heaven. Your father was Catch Grayson?” Thompson throws his hands in the air in surprise. “Fine ball player. Mighty fine ball player. I saw him in New York right before he died. What an arm. What an arm!”

“Thank you, sir. He was a good man. It warms my heart to hear you speak so well of him.” I will never tire of hearing stories of my father.

“I think this conversation calls for some champagne.” Thompson waves over a waiter and we each take a flute. Once she has a drink in her hand, Ellie looks pleased for the first time all night.

As Thompson and Ellie take a sip, Asher leans into me, his voice low, “Be careful with this one.” He steps back and eyes Thompson. I roll my eyes at him and sling back my glass of champagne. “I can handle it.”

The four of us toast and Asher steps away as Thompson and I spend the next thirty minutes or so sharing sports stories. He asks me what it was like growing up as a kid on the road, and I ask him about his minor league career and thereafter.

The evening is going beautifully until Asher returns, letting me know there is someone he’d like me to meet. His voice is commanding, as if he thinks I’m going to say something wrong to Thompson and he wants me away from him.

“I’ve been enjoying the company of your date, Asher. Where did you find such a woman?” Thompson says.

His lips in a tight smile, Asher replies, “Not my date. Mrs. Monroe here is already spoken for.”

Thompson looks from Asher to myself and then winks at Asher. Their exchange is halted when someone taps Asher on the back. Both Asher and Thompson can’t take their eyes off the busty brunette that enters our circle, and my mouth falls to the floor to see it’s Simone, the woman I saw many weeks ago exiting Asher’s office.

She’s dressed in a skintight fuchsia cocktail dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her long, dark hair cascades down her back, with one side tucked behind her ear. Her hazel eyes look up at Asher and from under her lashes, I can see her giving him “the look.” The one that’s says, “I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress.”

“Sorry to crash your party, but I was hoping for a dance,” Simone says.

Asher looks over from Simone to me to Thompson, his eyes landing back on Simone in agreement. “When a beautiful woman calls…” He smiles and slowly backs away. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Thompson’s eyes are fixated on Simone’s backside. Ellie doesn’t seem to care.

I watch as Simone leads Asher to the dance floor. There are very few people dancing so it’s hard to not watch. She leans up and wraps her arms around him. Her short fuchsia ensemble climbs higher up her thighs as she dances. Asher places his palms on her hips as he did with me yesterday, and a pit drops in my stomach.

Their bodies are so familiar to one another. They’re graceful and fit together perfectly. The pair is also so perfect together. Her dark skin against his bronzed statuesque figure, they look like a Rodin statue in a heated embrace at the gates of hell.

The gates of hell, the exact place my thoughts have gone time and time again with this man. The place my thoughts are right now.

“If you continue to stare like that, your eyes will fall out of your head,” Ellie says with a mischievous laugh. Thompson chuckles along.

Snapping out of my daze, I turn back to my company. My cheeks redden and I fluster.

“It’s okay, girl. It’s hard not to be taken by Asher. He has so many… assets.” Thompson sneers.

My mood turns quickly from feeling foolish to furious.

“I am a married woman, Mr. Thompson. The fact that you think I would be interested in Mr. Asher for his… assets is the most intolerable thing I have ever heard.” I declare and then regret raising my tone to the man I came here to beg for money.

I’m relieved to see Thompson chuckling again. Okay, so he’s not insulted by my outburst. He looks at me knowingly.

“Asher was wrong about you, Ms. Grayson, or shall I say Monroe?” The little man continues to smile.

“Excuse me?”

Thompson rests on his heels, his finger pointing at me in an accusatory manor. “He said you didn’t lie.”

I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do with myself. I excuse myself and stalk toward the exit, glancing at the dance floor, but notice Asher is gone. I stop and scan the room, looking for his white dinner jacket, but I don’t see him… or Simone.

My stomach drops and I quickly make my move toward the lobby. Where did they go? I can’t believe he left me like that, again.

I shouldn’t be surprised he would leave my side the second a sexy brunette approaches. He is a cad and a snake. He uses women like I use Kleenex.

I spot a waiter walking into the party with a tray of champagne glasses and a bottle in his hand. I grab a glass of champagne and quickly pound it before grabbing another. I drink that one before cutting to the chase and grabbing the entire bottle of Veuve Clicquot from his hand.

Briefly considering entering the party again, I think of what a fool I’ve made of myself and turn in the opposite direction. Heading out a glass door, my bottle and I follow the path to the beach. My steps start by walking and speed up quickly. Faster my feet move toward the shore until I’m running. Faster and faster. The champagne spills out of the bottle as I leap across the sand. In the darkness of night, the only sounds I can hear are the waves crashing. There is nothing. Just me in the darkness where no one can hear me.