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Lightheaded, I climbed the brick stairs toward the house in what felt like slow motion, gripping the handrail as it if were my lifeline. My legs weren’t going to carry me all on their own.
Devon? Balling? That meant having sex, screwing, fucking, right? A woman other than me, right? My Devon? We’d been married a happy three years. No issues. None at all. Barely any fights. We’d had sex just…well, shit, I couldn’t remember.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I wove through the throngs of well-dressed people. Left, right, left, right. If I continued like that, I’d eventually get to the driveway in front of the house, where I could find my waiting limo and get the hell out of there. I turned to see Ed and his gaggle of friends. They were back in conversation with each other, with the exception of Ed, who was watching me walk away. If I wasn’t mistaken, his doughy face looked a little sad.
I left behind the partygoers, there to see and be seen. And in Ed’s case, to hurt, maim, destroy, and if possible, kill.
I’d finally reached the ho
use. As I stumbled through it, a door flew open—I presume from a restroom—and the cute ponytailed waitress of earlier came rushing out, tucking in stray hairs. She looked embarrassed when I caught her eye, looked down, and dashed off. And wouldn’t you know, right behind her was a tall, good-looking man with a strong brow and a dimple in the middle of his chin. His black hair was mussed, and he was tucking in his shirt. I knew him from somewhere…
Was everyone messing around—except for me?
“Oh. Hello,” he said, stopping.
Had I just caught him in a hook-up?
“Hello…”
“Sumner. Sumner Larlaith. It’s nice to see you.” He extended his hand. “Avril, right?”
I was in no condition for small talk.
“Right. Hi, Sumner, good to see you again. Enjoy the party,” I said, hustling for the door.
How did I know that guy?
I fumbled through my bag for my phone. I needed to call my driver. And while I was waiting—I don’t know why—I dialed Devon’s phone again, hoping against hope that Ed had been wrong, or just plain mean.
Or both.
Chapter 4
CHASE
God, was I glad to be back home, and for having spent the night in my own bed. Manhattan was funny that way. Once you were hooked on it, you hated being away from it. I mean, the Hamptons were great and all, but they weren’t the city.
It had been another boring-ass Hampton’s party with the guys—same people, same cocktails, same conversation. I wasn’t sure why I did it to myself, going to these things, especially when I had something much more important waiting for me at home, except that the rest of my buddies thought it was really important. The two hours it took to get there and back really threw off my schedule. And yeah, it was good to hang with my business partners, but I spent too many of my waking hours with them, anyway. However, when you’re ambitious like we were, you had to be sure to keep your name and face in front of the people who mattered.
Even if, in a perfect world, they wouldn’t normally give you the time of day, and vice versa.
I had an hour or so before I had to leave for the office that morning, so after my workout and shower, I pulled on some sweats and a T-shirt. I settled onto the sofa with some coffee and the New York Post, although I didn’t count on being able to read much of the paper. My eight-month-old, Ruby, would be stirring in her room, and the nanny would be bringing her out to me shortly. The highlight of my day, really, laying eyes on my beautiful daughter. But until she was in my arms, I flipped to the page where my team and I had been interviewed about last week’s business deal. I wanted to see what the Post had to say.
They placed us in a little section that usually featured the city’s up-and-comers, complete with a crappy black and white photo of me and the guys. We did look like the young masters of the universe we fancied ourselves as, which would make Smith, Ashera, and Gio very happy. Sumner could take or leave that sort of thing. He thought that stuff was pure vanity. I’d always figured his perspective was the result of being a senator’s son and always being in the spotlight—or in his case, always on the edge of the spotlight. But I didn’t ask. It was better not to.
I knew he’d been tweaked that someone at the party had asked him about his dad, U.S. Senator Victor Larlaith. I’d cringed when I overhead the conversation. The poor bastard couldn’t seem to go a week without someone connecting the two of them and jumping to the conclusion that they were a real family. I’d heard bits and pieces of the story about how the senator flat-out dumped Sumner and his mother, and yet, the questions about his father dogged him, each time re-opening a wound he probably would have liked to heal.
From what I’d heard, the man had left them for his secretary when Sum was small. Apparently, he’d paid only the bare minimum child support back then, which hadn’t amounted to much because at the time he’d been managing a moderately successful car dealership in New Jersey. He worked his way up the ranks in local politics, though, and ended up owning several dealerships before heading to Washington as a senator. The child support payments had increased, but his visits had not. Sum did tell me once that he’d gotten only one birthday card from his father in his whole life.
As the nanny placed Ruby in my arms, and I gazed down at her perfect little face, I couldn’t imagine walking out on my kid. Ever.
Men did some fucked up things. But so did women. Particularly Ruby’s mother. She’d bailed when out baby was only two months old. Our relationship had been a rocky one, so it was no surprise that we split. And if she could walk out on her kid that easily, good riddance to her.
So I could really understand why Sum chafed when people put them together, and even more so when they assumed his success was owed to his being a senator’s son.
Which it was not. He, like the rest of us, earned every goddamn penny we had with no help from anyone.
The happy buzz I’d earned from my workout had drifted away, but came flooding back as soon as my squirmy girl was in my arms. She smelled like fresh, clean baby, thanks to the nanny. As I fed with her, I flicked on the TV to keep more news running in the background. I clicked channels and stopped on an image of the black-haired woman I’d seen at the Hamptons party—the one who’d been sitting alone, fiddling with her phone. If I remembered correctly, she didn’t seem to be having much fun, and now I could see why. Her husband was the Devon Crane, one of the biggest wheelers and dealers in Manhattan, and it seemed he’d just dumped her ass.
