Текст книги "The Good Father"
Автор книги: Taylor Quinn Tara
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
CHAPTER THIRTY
ELLA WAS MORE nervous than she’d ever been as she took the shortest route she knew. A five-minute drive.
Brett had never been to The Lemonade Stand. Not even to the land he’d purchased to have it built on.
He’d paid for it. Others had done the work.
It was time for him to stop paying and start reaping some of the benefits.
She hoped.
The exact location of The Lemonade Stand was known only to those who’d had occasion to be there. Brett’s mother actually owned the two city blocks housing the shelter and its holdings—gifted to her from Brett much as he’d planned to gift Ella his house. She hadn’t missed the connection.
Her sweaty palms slid along the leather steering wheel, leaving a visible sheen behind. She wondered if he noticed. Three more minutes and they’d be there.
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Me, too.”
Well. There, then. They were off to a good start. And were a couple minutes away from the possibility of all hell breaking loose.
“I’ve been an ass, El. I confused controlling my actions with controlling destiny.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. And couldn’t focus. Which upset her more because Brett was finally doing what she’d always prayed for.
He was talking to her. Not all stilted as though he was choosing every word, but just like a normal person.
She turned the last corner. In about thirty seconds, Brett was going to be facing what could possibly be the toughest challenge of his life. She completely understood that.
She also believed, now, that he was up for it. What she couldn’t believe was him—when he told her he couldn’t do it. He could. He just didn’t know that yet. But he thought she didn’t know because she wasn’t listening to him.
And he was right. She wasn’t listening to him. She was listening to his heart. Brett had taken up residence there. Waiting for her to listen to him. To really see him. So here she was, more than a decade late, but ready to do what he’d been begging her to do since she’d met him—to show him the way to love her back.
They’d arrived. She pulled into the nondescript parking lot and stopped the car.
“What is this place?” he asked, looking around at the small space. Over a hedge was a thrift shop. Farther down the block the computer center where Nora was working. And a street sign.
He was going to figure it out. He knew what businesses the Stand owned and operated. He knew the address.
So she didn’t give him time. Getting out, she hurried around to meet him and approached the outer door to the shelter. She’d sent Lila a text before they’d left Brett’s house.
Someone should be waiting for them inside.
He stopped just short of the door. “Wait. What is this place?” A look of horror crossed his face. “What are we doing here?”
He was too quick for her.
“Brett?” Her voice was calm. “You promised.”
He looked at her. At the door. He knew.
“Please? Just come inside with me.”
He stopped cold. But didn’t run away. “No one knows who you are.” She was giving him that. Taking his hand, she opened the door and pulled him in behind her.
The group that waited for them took even Ella’s breath away. Everyone she’d ever met at the Stand was there. All crammed into the public vestibule. They wore welcoming smiles.
Not one of them, not even Lila, who she didn’t immediately see in the crowd, knew what she and Brett knew.
They were there to give support to a victim. None of them knew they were meeting their founder.
* * *
SEARCHING FOR LILA, needing the other woman to smooth her way, Ella led Brett to the group of people. The managing director always hung back; she knew that.
“Hi. I’m Maddie Bishop.” The slim, young blonde stepped forward, her speech slurred but still discernible. “I live here, and I’m married and have a baby, who I take very good care of.”
“Good, Maddie.” Lynn Bishop, still in her scrubs, stepped forward. “Welcome,” she said. “Lila was unfortunately just called to an emergency, so I’m in charge. This is highly unusual, actually a first, but Ella asked to have some support out here for you, so here we are. I’m Lynn Bishop, and you just met Maddie, whose biggest challenge is to talk to men without fear.”
Others followed suit. Introducing themselves. Telling Brett and Ella just a little bit about their reasons for being at the Stand. Lila had come through in a huge way. She’d understood what Ella had needed—for Brett to see that there was a world where victims lived and thrived and learned to do much more than merely survive.
Not just to know it, but to experience it. To feel it.
As Chloe had done. And Nora and so many women and children before them.
Nora introduced herself. She looked better, less vacant, but still far too thin. Ella told her so, asking about Henry as Nora gave her a hug. The baby was in the nursery being watched over by a grandmotherly resident who hadn’t wanted to come out front.
One by one, people came up to them. Brett greeted each one of them with detached politeness. He was friendly. Charming. But gave no indication that he recognized any of the names he was hearing.
She knew he had to recognize them. Additionally, he knew far more about these people than they were telling him.
It was also clear that none of them had a clue as to who he was. There was no reason why they should. Ella had kept his secret. But he’d had to trust her on that one.
Her heart was in her throat, but Brett didn’t appear to be feeling anything at all as he took in the scene around him as though from a distance.
Scared all over again, Ella wondered if she’d done too much too soon. Exposing him to an overload of emotion when he’d allowed none for so long. He was locking himself away again. She could feel him drifting...
But an overload of emotion was what it was going to take to show him he wasn’t going to suddenly sprout horns because he allowed himself to feel.
And what better place than The Lemonade Stand to take his chance? She felt sick. Her knees were shaking, and she looked for a place to sit down.
And then Sara Havens was there. “This is Sara, Brett,” Ella said, ready to split apart at the seams. “I’ve spent the past couple months getting to know her. Sara, this is my...ex-husband.”
She’d brought him there to out him. To force him to face himself, for his sake, and hers, too, and for the sake of the child she carried.
But mostly because her heart wouldn’t let her leave Brett—even during all of the years they’d spent apart.
“Welcome,” Sara said. “I’ve enjoyed my time with Ella. And I’d like a chance to speak with you, as well. So—” she glanced at Ella “—does your ex-husband have a name?”
Brett looked at Ella. She held his gaze. She was in control—this was her show and the hour wasn’t up—but she was going to leave it up to him how he played it from there.
His gaze bored into hers and she watched as the light dimmed, as moisture started to appear, and then something changed. Something entered Brett’s gaze that she didn’t recognize.
“He does,” Brett said. His chin tightened. His jaw got stiff. “I’m Brett Ackerman.”
Not one person reacted, other than out of the same polite interest he’d given them. They were strangers, there if he cared to join them. If not, they’d move on.
Ella held her breath. He could leave it at that. No one would ever know who’d visited them.
He could continue to hide away in the safe home he’d created for himself someplace deep inside. But it was a home he’d have to live in alone for the rest of his life.
If he turned away now, he was committing himself to a lifetime of solitary confinement.
And leaving her and their child out in the cold... Her panicked thoughts were interrupted when Brett spoke again.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Sara, Lynn, Maddie...everyone. What Ella needs...the reason she’s called us all here together today, is because she needs me to tell you...that... I am the founder of The Lemonade Stand.”
* * *
THE ENTIRE ROOM went silent. Brett could hear every breath he took. Could feel the beating of his heart in his chest.
Sara Havens, for all of the glowing reports he’d read about her ability to handle any situation with grace and calm, gaped at him. Lynn Bishop, a woman he’d pictured as much larger and sterner than the slender, graceful, strawberry blonde she was, was the first to speak.
“You’re our mysterious founder?” She was one of the Stand’s senior employees. Next to Lila McDaniels and Sara.
“I am.”
He could feel the stares all around him. The residents. He’d recognized every single one of them. By name. By story. Not by their faces.
“Ella?” Sara was looking between the two of them, the question tugging at every sinew of her body.
“Yes.” Just the one word, but Brett had a feeling she’d told Sara far more than he was comfortable with.
He didn’t like how the woman looked at him. As if she knew everything about him. And had expectations. As if she wanted to hug him and punch him all at once.
But perhaps that was just his take on the situation.
A low buzz started in the room full of people. His instinct was to leave. As quickly as possible.
For a moment he thought he might need a seat. Or an ambulance. He couldn’t breathe all that well.
Fresh air was all he needed. Space.
To be left alone.
“You are him.” Maddie stepped forward, sounding as though she had a couple tongues in her mouth.
She’d been deprived of oxygen at birth, was neurologically challenged, Brett knew. He also knew that the young woman had been married right out of high school to a man who’d kept her locked in a room and beaten her on and off over the next decade.
“I want to thank you for paying for The Lemonade Stand,” she said, enunciating with obvious effort. “I am very happy here, and if you did not do this, I would not be happy. Or have a baby.”
“I’m happy, too.” A tall man, also obviously challenged, stepped forward, putting his arm around Maddie. “I am in love and have a wife and so my brother can be happy, too.” Darin Bishop—Brett would have known even if the man hadn’t introduced himself.
And so it went. One by one people came forward again, thanking Brett. Telling him how he’d saved their lives.
One by one, he listened. He smiled. He encouraged them.
And one by one, they pierced his heart.
* * *
“YOUR EX-HUSBAND, the one you came here to talk about two days ago, is our founder.” Sara stood just off to Brett’s right side with Ella, watching him.
“Yes.”
“You knew he was the founder of this place?”
“I was married to him when he bought the land. So yes, I knew.” She’d heard the dreams first. For a couple years. She’d helped with the plans. Had thought The Lemonade Stand was going to be their project. Together.
And then he’d cut her out of his life. And away from everything she’d invested her heart in for so many years.
She’d invested in Brett because she loved him.
And she was never going to be free of him for the same reason. It wasn’t about control or manipulation, being a groupie or too dependent, or being a victim. Some of those things played a part, but ultimately, between her and Brett, it was the love that mattered.
That was the bond that was stronger than all the others.
Stronger than fear.
As the room eventually cleared, Sara looked at her. “So what now? Does Lila know?”
Shaking her head, Ella looked at Brett. “No,” she said. “But she needs to meet him. Do you know when she’ll be free?”
“Not for sure.” Sara frowned. “I wasn’t there when the call came in, but I know it had to do with the sexual abuse of a female police officer.” At that point Sara couldn’t say more if she wanted to. “She’s probably going to be late. But I’m assuming...” she glanced at Brett as he turned to them, “you’d like a look at the place?” He looked to Ella. “It’s her call.”
Brett wanted to leave. Would probably sacrifice a limb or two to make it happen. She read that much in his expression. But he’d made it through the hardest part. She couldn’t have been prouder of him.
“It’s up to you,” she said. “I’d like to show you the grounds. It’s dark, but they’re lovely at night. And we could get a look at the offices and therapy rooms now while they aren’t in use. But...it’s up to you.”
His smile was slow in coming. But when it came, when he said, “Lead the way,” Ella allowed hope to reenter her heart.
* * *
BRETT WAS GLAD when Sara Havens finally left them to themselves. The woman saw too much.
Ella showed him the hallways, the conversation areas, the cafeteria and state-of-the-art kitchen. She showed him offices, therapy rooms, a library that rivaled the public institution downtown and a multipurpose theater-style auditorium complete with stage and sound system.
He was impressed. Beyond impressed. His money hadn’t paid for much of what he was seeing. Donors and volunteers made The Lemonade Stand what it was. But his dream had been realized far beyond his expectations.
Eventually they ended up outside in the Garden of Renewal—a natural masterpiece designed by Grant Bishop, Darin’s brother and Lynn’s husband. Ella sat down on a bench by a fountain, and he joined her. Happy to give his knees a rest.
“I know my hour’s up, so you’re no longer under obligation to do what I say, but I want you to marry me, Brett.”
All of the breath that had just started flowing through his lungs again disappeared in a whoosh.
“I know you’re worried about the possibility of a latent rage lurking within you. I know there’s no guarantee that it isn’t. There are no guarantees in life. There are only chances. I know the risks in loving you, Brett. It’s a chance I choose to take.”
Brett wanted to shoot a basket. In a really high hoop. To take a scalding hot shower and sit out by his pool. Instead, he had to sit on a bench and respond.
But before he got around to it, Ella started in again.
“The best we can do in life is face our challenges head-on. To look them in the eye and decide how best to deal with them. One by one. You taught me that.”
It was his way. To not put off the unpleasant, but rather, deal with it as the quickest way of getting rid of it.
“Well, the challenge we have here is your fear of someday becoming abusive. You thought you were doing the right thing by distancing yourself, but all it did was make us both miserable. I think you had the answer all along, you just weren’t seeing your own work. Look around you, Brett. You have provided any protection, any cure, any safety net we could ever need right here. When you offered to give me your house, when I saw myself willing to settle for what you said was the best you could give me, I knew that I was in over my head. I came here, Brett. To talk to Lila and Sara. And now I’m bringing you here.
“This is your shelter from the storms that might rage someday, Brett. This is your place where all of your secrets will always be safe.”
Something rumbled inside him. Something huge. Uncontrollable. And before he could stop himself, Brett started to tremble. His chest hiccupped. And his eyes flooded.
He hadn’t shed a tear since his first year of college. Had sworn he never would again. And as the aching pain of so many years alone, of regrets he could never appease, of lost loves he’d never recover, ripped out of him, she sat there with him. Holding him. Kissing his face. His neck. Saying words he’d never remember in a voice he’d never forget.
And when the pain was spent, at least for the moment, she told him how much she loved him.
He wanted to tell her he loved her, too. She kissed him fully on the mouth. Drawing out of him the things he didn’t yet know how to put into words.
“Will you marry me, El?”
He’d asked once before and gotten it wrong. That had to be a mistake he could fix.
“Yes, Brett. As many times as it takes.” He thought she might be smiling. He almost did, too. And then she said, “And if I ever feel you slipping back into your cave, I’m coming straight to Sara. I won’t suffer quietly and alone again.” And he understood.
She didn’t completely trust him yet. He’d hurt her. Badly.
Issues didn’t disappear overnight.
But she loved him. As he loved her.
“Give me time, love. I’ll show you that I can do this.”
“I know you can.”
“I know it now, too.”
“So this is your choice? To marry me?” In spite of her big words, he saw the doubt in her eyes as she asked the question.
“It is.” His words came right on out. No hold up at all.
“Okay, then.”
“Okay.”
He sat there, arms itching to take what was his and get on with it. Take her home with him. To his bed. Their bed.
And spend the rest of his life showing her just how open his heart could be.
Except that he wasn’t sure he knew how.
“I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
And that’s when he truly got it. He wasn’t all that different from everyone else. He had his challenges, but so did she. So did everyone.
The trick was to face them.
And to share them when you were lucky enough to have someone who was willing to sit in the fire with you.
Ella guided his palm to her stomach. And he knew what she was asking.
“I’m not panicked, El,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for it to happen, but it hasn’t.”
“No nightmares?”
“No dreams, either.” He had to be honest. “But no, no nightmares.”
“You had a dream, Brett. A big one. And it came true. You’re sitting in the midst of it. The Lemonade Stand.”
She had no idea how true those words were. His dream, his biggest one, was to have a loving family of his own. And right there, that night, she’d made it come true.
He rubbed the mound of her belly, wondering if fate had created their child that night on the boat. Knowing that with a child ending their marriage, it would take a child to bring them together again.
“We really should find out if we’re having a boy or a girl,” he told her. “It’s time she had a name.”
“I did find out,” she told him. “On my last visit.”
And she hadn’t told him. Most likely because she’d thought he didn’t care. “So?” he asked.
“You’re right,” Ella said. “It was time she had a name. So I gave her one. It’s Livia.”
He choked up again. But didn’t lose it a second time. He was too busy kissing the mother of his child. And drowning in the love gushing from a heart that had burst free.
* * *
THERE WAS A text waiting for Brett the next morning.
I’m proud of you, was all it said.
And, for now, it was enough.
* * * * *
Look for the next
WHERE SECRETS ARE SAFE book
by Tara Taylor Quinn!
Keep reading for an excerpt from ABOUT THAT NIGHT by Beth Andrews.
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Superromance.
You want romance plus a bigger story! Harlequin Superromance stories are filled with powerful relationships that deliver a strong emotional punch and a guaranteed happily ever after.
Enjoy four Harlequin Superromance stories every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience
CHAPTER ONE
CLINTON BARTASAVICH JR. tipped his Stetson in thanks to the toothy brunette who’d escorted him from the front desk of King’s Crossing Resort—Shady Grove, Pennsylvania’s equivalent of a four-star hotel. They stopped outside closed wooden double doors, the placard to the right stating Bartasavich/Ellison Party. “I appreciate the help...” He glanced at the small nametag on her chest. “Allison.”
He probably could have figured out how to get to this room—a distance of about a hundred feet straight down the main hallway—on his own. But when a pretty woman offered to lead the way, he didn’t argue.
Allison let out a high-pitched giggle that was grating enough to make a man’s ears bleed. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Mr. Bartasavich.”
He bit back a grimace. He hated having his name butchered. “Actually, it’s Bart-uh-sav-itch.”
Not Bart-as-a-vitch.
With a soft gasp, complete with a hand to her heart, she blinked at him so rapidly, he half expected her to start hovering above the ground. “How silly of me.” Sending him a look from under her eyelashes, she edged closer, her voice turning husky. “Maybe there’s...some way I could make it up to you?”
He’d eat his hat if she meant extra mints on his pillow.
“No harm done. It’s an honest mistake.”
One not made in Houston where the Bartasavich name was well-known. Even revered in certain circles.
Her lower lip jutted out in a pout no one over the age of six should attempt. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do for you,” she said in a whispery tone, “—and I do mean an...ee...thing—you just let me know.”
He cocked an eyebrow. Seemed Houston wasn’t the only place where his family’s name, power and wealth were known.
While he didn’t have any objections to casual sex—the more casual the better—he didn’t play games. No subtle hints about what either of them wanted. No coy looks or innuendos trying to convey what could be easily said with a few simple words.
And definitely no simpering.
But even if she’d held his gaze and told him in no uncertain terms that she was interested in him, attracted to him and ready, willing and eager to prove how much, he’d decline.
Having women throw themselves at him because of his name had long ago lost its thrill. He was his father’s son. Not his clone. And while Senior had always been more than happy to take whatever was offered to him, C.J. preferred knowing, for certain, that a woman was in his bed because of him.
Not his money.
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” he said. Then he pulled off his hat and used his free hand to open the door.
And stepped into his own private version of hell. A very crowded, very loud, very pink hell.
It was as if Valentine’s Day had exploded, leaving hearts everywhere. On the walls. Dangling from the ceiling. Scattered on the tabletops. There were big ones, small ones. Flat ones, poufy ones. Some with scalloped edges, some with straight. But all were shiny or sparkly and in shades ranging from the palest pink to the brightest fuchsia.
A long banner draped across the doorway wished the happy couple Heartfelt Congratulations on their engagement. Long streams of twisted pink, red and white crepe paper hung from the rafters.
Any hope he’d held on to of missing the entire party died a cruel and violent death. Because the ballroom wasn’t just filled with hearts. It was also filled with people.
Damn. He should have gotten a later flight.
He turned to his right, scanned the bar where several men and women gathered, talking and laughing, ignoring the hockey game that was being shown on the large TV on the far wall.
No hearts there. Not one flash of pink. He could set his ass on that empty stool in the corner, have a drink or two and pretend he wasn’t here. That most of his crazy family wasn’t in the next room creating only God knew what sort of havoc.
But pretending had never been his style. And he didn’t ignore his problems. He faced them head-on.
Anytime the Bartasavich family was together, there were problems. The only questions were how many—and what did C.J. have to do to fix them.
“You,” a familiar female voice said, the tone dripping with scorn, “are, like, in so much trouble.”
C.J. turned to find his seventeen-year-old niece glaring at him. Always happy to see her—even when she was giving him the stink eye—he grinned. “Now, darlin’, everyone knows getting into trouble is your daddy’s job. Not mine.”
From the time Kane had been born, it’d been C.J.’s job to watch over him. To keep his younger brother out of the trouble he attracted like a freaking magnet.
He’d failed.
“You’re three hours late,” Estelle Monroe said, the very picture of an affronted, pissed-off female who knew she was right—a man’s worst nightmare. “Three. Hours. That is, like, so rude.”
“Some of us have to work. Keep the family living in the style to which you all have become accustomed.” Ever since his father’s stroke ten months ago, it’d been up to C.J. to make sure Bartasavich Industries continued to run smoothly.
Estelle rolled her eyes. She was a beauty like her mother. Long, blond hair, big blue eyes and the face of an angel. Her scowl, on the other hand, was all her father. “It’s Saturday.”
“A Bartasavich’s work is never done.” There were no weekends off. Running a multimillion-dollar company took commitment, dedication and full-time focus. Every goddamn day.
At least for him. His eyes narrowed as he took in her dress. “Does your father know you’re wearing that?”
She tossed her hair back. Smoothed a hand down her hip. “Of course. He isn’t the one who’s three hours late. Why?” she asked, her tone daring him to actually answer.
“It’s too...” Short. Tight. Revealing. Adult. “...red.”
“How can something be too red?”
He wasn’t sure, but hers qualified. Did she have to wear such high heels? And so much makeup? “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to change,” he told her, only half kidding. Hell, he’d offer her two grand if he thought it would work. “Preferably into something with a high neckline, a boxy shape and a floor-length hem.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve had, like, a hundred compliments on this dress tonight. Evan even thought I was twenty-two.”
“Who is Evan?”
She nodded toward the five-piece band rocking a cover version of Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.” “Chimps on Parade’s drummer.”
“No drummers,” C.J. growled. “Ever.”
“Evan says age is just a number and that I have an old soul. Besides, nine years really isn’t all that big of a difference.”
C.J.’s hands closed into tight fists. “Excuse me,” he ground out from between his teeth. “I’m just going to go and have a little chat with Evan.”
She gave a life-is-so-hard-and-unfair-for-a-pretty-pretty-princess-such-as-myself sigh. “Don’t bother. Daddy already said something to him, and now Evan won’t even look at me.”
“Good to know your father can be counted on for something.” They must have taught him how to act big and tough in the army. Christ knew he hadn’t learned it growing up.
“Come on,” Estelle said, slipping her arm through C.J.’s. “Grandma Gwen’s been asking about you.”
She tried to tug him along but he planted his feet. “I think I’ll grab a drink first. Get ready to face all that pink.”
Though he’d been joking—a little—her lower lip jutted out. Trembled. She could give Allison lessons on the proper way to make a man feel like shit. “You don’t like the decorations.”
“Of course I do,” he said, remembering too late that Estelle was, officially, the hostess of this little shindig for her father and his fiancée. “They’re very...festive.”
“They’re supposed to be romantic!” she wailed loudly enough to make several of the bar patrons glance their way.
He put his arm around her shoulders. Squeezed. “Hey now, you know I’m clueless about decorating.”
She sniffed and shrugged him off. “It’s not just that.”
He glanced around, but no one was there to explain what the hell he’d said wrong. “Then what is it?” he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.
“You don’t even want to be here.”
He’d flown halfway across the country, left the civilized world of Houston—where he had work, work and more work—to be in this small town thirty miles south of Pittsburgh to celebrate his brother’s engagement. A brother he’d barely spoken to in the past fifteen years. An engagement C.J. highly doubted would make it to the altar.
Hell no, he didn’t want to be here. But he was. He always put his family first. Didn’t that count for anything?
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he told her.
“It’s just—” she threw her hands into the air, beseeching the heavens to help her cope with the disappointment “—I tried so hard to make this party special for Daddy and Charlotte, but it’s a disaster. First Uncle Zach texted me that he wasn’t coming and then you were late. Granddad’s been an absolute grump all night, making angry noises and thumping his good hand. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to be here or because Carrie’s drunk and been hanging on Uncle Oakes. Then there’s Grandma...” Estelle shivered dramatically. “Well, you’re going to have to see that for yourself.” Her eyes welled. “I just wanted everything to be perfect, and instead, it’s ruined.”
He sighed. Hung his head. Women. Care about one of them too much and they’d get their hooks into you—either by the balls or by the gut. Either way, once they had you, you were never free.
He hoped like hell that, if he ever had children, he followed in his father’s footsteps and had all boys.
He held out his arms, but Estelle lifted her chin.
Stubborn as her father.
C.J. amped up his grin by a few degrees. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t tell me you’re going to stay mad at your favorite uncle.”
“At the moment, Uncle Oakes is my favorite,” she said, prissy as a princess to a peasant. But then she relented enough to step into his embrace. Wrap her arms around him for a hug.
He squeezed her hard. Kissed the top of her head. Damn, but he was crazy about her.
“Oakes is everyone’s favorite,” he said, not offended in the least to be usurped by his brother. If she’d wanted to go for the jugular, she would have picked Zach.
There wasn’t anything he could do about his youngest brother not showing up, but he could take care of the rest for her. He looked over her head and scanned the room. People laughed and conversed around the round tables or stood in small groups, eating hors d’oeuvres and sipping tall flutes of champagne brought around by the waitstaff. Others had paired off, swaying to the band’s acoustic rendition of Guns N’ Roses’ “November Rain,” the lead singer’s smoky voice giving the song a slow, seductive quality.
Among the dancers, it was easy enough to find his brother Kane and his new fiancée, Charlotte Ellison. Hard to miss Charlotte, with that bright beacon of short red hair. Usually more cute than beautiful, she was a knockout tonight in an emerald-green dress that showed off her long legs and gave her thin figure the illusion of curves. For his part, Kane still looked every inch the badass he pretended to be. One of only a few men without a suit, he’d tied back his too-long hair into a stupid, stubby ponytail and wore dark jeans and a white button-down shirt that covered his tattoos.
“For a disaster, everyone seems to be having a good time,” C.J. said.
