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“Does anyone else know?” Finn asked.
“No. I thought I’d tell you first, since she’s been unsuccessful in telling
you personally.”
“Okay, good. Can we keep it that way for a while until I can figure out what I’m going to do?”
“I’ll hold out as long as I can, but I’m not going to lie for you, Finn.”
“That’s fair enough. I’ll give my attorney a call and see what he recommends, then take it from there. Knowing him, he’ll tell me to make a big opening offer, something she can’t refuse, then she’ll be happy and hopefully things won’t escalate. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Fine. But one last thing before you go, Finn.”
“What’s that?”
Sawyer considered his words before he said them, speaking with slow, deliberate intention. “If you ever, ever pretend to be me again, I’m going to mess up your face so badly no one will be able to confuse us. Am I clear?”
There was a long silence before Finn answered. “Crystal.”
The line disconnected and Sawyer slipped his phone into his coat pocket. By the time he stepped out of the library and into the grand foyer, he was surprised to find that the wedding appeared to be over. Once the happy couple left, things must have wrapped up. The guests were gone, the orchestra was breaking down and the caterers were bussing the tables. He glanced around for a blonde in a pale blue gown, but Serena was nowhere to be found.
Looking at his watch, he winced when he realized how late it was. So much for telling Serena he’d be right back. She’d probably given up on him long ago. And for good. For all she knew, he’d abandoned her on the dance floor and run off with some redhead. Serena deserved someone who couldn’t get thoughts of her out of his mind.
Kind of like the feisty and mysterious Kat was on Sawyer’s mind right now.
He strolled into the abandoned ballroom, heading toward the wedding cake, or what was left of it. A few pieces were still sitting on china plates, waiting to be eaten, even as the caterers worked to disassemble and pack up the remaining tiers. He picked up a slice and carried it with him into the kitchen. After brewing a cup of coffee and slowly savoring his prize, he remembered the business card he’d thoughtlessly tucked into his breast coat pocket.
When he fished it out and looked down at it at last, a piece of the fluffy white cake caught in his throat. Sawyer coughed for a moment, fighting to breathe again. Then he picked up the card and reread the words that had surprised him so much the first time.
Katherine McIntyre, Artist.
The District, Floor 2, Studio 210
Suddenly he remembered why her name had sounded familiar. He hadn’t lied when he said they hadn’t met. He’d never laid eyes on her before. But she had emailed him, written him and called his office so many times in the last four months that his assistant had asked for a raise.
Kat was the voice of the District’s resistance group. They were not happy about his plans for the building he’d purchased, and no amount of talking was budging either side of the argument. So far.
It was then that Sawyer was absolutely certain Kat’s appearance at that party three months ago, and possibly in his brother’s bed, was no coincidence.
* * *
Kat frowned at the misshaped hunk of wood in front of her. This was not her best work. Far from it. Honestly, it was crap. All she’d managed to produce was crap since the day she’d taken that pregnancy test and got a positive result. The creative zone had eluded her ever since then. She understood now why her parents had each been so protective of their work time and space. It was a fragile ecosystem, susceptible to imbalance when a sticky-fingered child was introduced to the situation.
That didn’t bode well for her future work, but she refused to worry about it now. She would figure it out. And not the way her parents had. Locked office doors and nannies were effective, but not particularly warm and loving for a child who wanted nothing more than her family’s love.
“So...” A familiar voice sounded from the entryway of her studio. “How’d last night go?”
Setting down her chisel, Kat turned to find one of her fellow artists and friends standing there in old overalls, fireproof gloves and a welding helmet. Hilda Levy rented the studio across from Kat, and despite the constant sounds of metal banging and sparks flying, she couldn’t ask for a better friend to work nearby. That said, she also kept a fire extinguisher on hand in case her wood shavings and Hilda’s blazing hot sparks collided.
“It went terribly,” Kat confessed.
Hilda pushed her helmet up, exposing the laugh lines and quirky black cat-eye glasses she was known for. “Well, shit. What happened?”
Kat plopped down onto an old futon she kept in the corner of her studio, and Hilda followed suit. “Well, for one thing, I had the wrong guy.”
Few things seemed to faze Hilda, but this caused her brow to knit in confusion. “What’s that, now?”
“I didn’t have sex with Sawyer Steele.”
