“I’m not reckless.” Just ask Mimi, I almost say. If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here, watching the sharks circle as she hovers at the edge of the dance floor downstairs. Neither of us would be here. We’d be in my bed, and I’d have my head glued between her legs.
“No, you’re right. You’re not reckless. You take calculated risks, I think. You work the numbers. You like to know what’s at the end of a play.”
Something in Heather’s assumption tugs at my attention, her words morphing into Mimi’s.
It was the most sensual moment of my life.
I want the full experience.
I’m only here for six months.
The last isn’t a thread that tugs but yanks forcibly. I promised my best friend I’d make sure she wouldn’t end up with a man like me. And she won’t. Not if she’s only here for six months. I can protect her, can’t I? Ensure she’s not trawling bars and nightclubs, picking up the wrong kind of man. I could make it so she has the best experience with none of the upset.
“Can I go home now?” Heather asks, draining her glass. “It looks like you’ve just come to a decision. I assume that means my work here is done.” She puts down her glass and pulls her phone from her purse.
No. Well, yes, I suppose. Jesus Christ, what am I thinking? Connor must be spinning in his grave because fucking Mimi for six months is not an act of service. It’s one of pure selfishness. But short of wrangling her into a chastity belt, she’s going to do what she wants.
And what, or who, she wants to do is—
I cut off the thought the same way Connor would cut off my dick.
“Whit?”
“Yeah. Yes, of course you can leave. Thanks for coming.” Not that I’ve achieved what I set out to do. If anything, I’ve made things worse. “Is it okay if George takes you home?” George is the company chauffeur, not my personal one. Mainly because I prefer to drive myself around. He parked outside, probably getting paid triple time for napping. “If El is otherwise engaged,” I add, making a futile gesture with my hand.
“You didn’t drag me here just to use me as an excuse to leave with your tail between your legs,” Heather murmurs, examining her phone screen.
“You don’t understand. I just don’t want to leave her here alone.”
“Oh, but I do understand.” Heather pushes to her feet abruptly and, rounding the table, gives my shoulder a brief squeeze. “I feel like bashing your heads together. You live your life at full tilt, and according to Mum, Mimi has had a pretty hard time since her brother died. You’d probably be really good for each other.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Heath, but—”
“You’re a big boy, Whit. You’ve always done what you think is right, even when it’s to the detriment of yourself. But this is where I leave you because my lovely husband whose guts I once hated, incidentally, is waiting in the car outside. Once upon a time, if Archer had been on fire, I wouldn’t have parted with my pee to douse him. And now he’s the center of my universe. Life is funny like that, Whit. You can think you know yourself, know what’s best for you. You can plan and hypothesize, minimize all the risks, but at the end of the day, life has a plan all of its own.”
“That’s not what this is,” I reply with a weary shake of my head. Her hand tightens briefly before I feel the loss of it as she pulls away.
“I’ll have to bash some sense into you another day because the love of my life is parked on double yellows.”
* * *
Despite her protests, I escort Heather out of the VIP area and down to the lower floor. At the exit, she gives me a hug, which is both uncharacteristic and a bit worrying.
Am I such a sad sack?
Turning back to the dance floor, I make my way through the throng of people whose lives appear much less complicated as they laugh and drink, and deliver drunken pickup lines over the ear-splittingly loud music.
I must be getting old, I think as I dodge a dropped glass, then a drunken, unsolicited kiss, but when I find myself at the last place I’d spotted Mimi, she’s nowhere to be seen. I glance up at the floor above, but there’s no one at our table. So where the fuck has she gone?
“Nice handbag,” some joker yells, making me look down at the sparkly square my fingers tighten on. Mimi left her purse on the table when she’d stormed off. She can’t very well have gone far without it.
I swing around, my gut twisted in a tight knot. She’s about as far from flighty as Heather is, and it’s not like she has a drink to spike.Or money to buy one.She’s probably just dancing, I tell myself, as I cast a glance over the writhing bodies on the vast dance floor. It’s like a scene from hell, the knot in my stomach joined by another between my shoulder blades.
“Want to buy me a drink, gorgeous?”
“Not particularly,” I mutter, untangling some nameless woman’s arms and ignoring her pout. I swing away. This place is a fucking meat market.
If not you and not El…
