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We've been through hell and back together. Absent parents, crappy homes. He's been my one consistent thing, my one shining light guiding me through.
Deep down, I know that if I can't have Denise here, there's no one else I'd have going with me than him.
* * *
The dinner starts well,and, for the most part, Bash seems to behave himself. He cheers a little too loudly as Harris makes his toast, treating the whole affair too much like a raucous baseball match than a professional dinner. But he seems to settle in pretty nicely once the food and drinks are served, and he's one beer down. It's good to see the more business-minded side of Bash, the one that has managed to build a successful business for himself.
A thought strikes me as I watch him, and as he turns to say something to me, he pauses, catching something in my expression. "Oh," he says, teasing, "there's that face again. Ol' reliable."
"What face?" I ask him.
He takes another sip of his second beer. "That face you get when you're lost in your own thoughts. You get like that sometimes. Just go off on this train of thought that pulls you into yourself. So, what is it this time? The massive payload you're about to get dumped in your lap? The Parisian beach house you're going to buy?"
I snort. "There are no beaches in Paris. It's riverside."
"I stand by my point."
I stare into my glass. "I'm just thinking about… well, about how proud I am of us, Bash," I say halfheartedly. "Considering what we came from… for both of us to have achieved our dreams? It seems incredible."
Bash lowers his glass and chuckles. "If you really think that, then tell your fucking face."
I elbow him in the ribs. "Knock that off. It's my party. You're not allowed to speak to me that way."
"Sorry, yourhighness," he says sarcastically. "But you can't say things like that while you look so bummed. Might make someone think being a partner isn't your dream."
He raises his glass to his lips, prepared to take another drink, but he pauses, seeing something new in my eyes. "Oh no," he grumbles. "There it is again. The Look." He chugs the rest of his drink before standing. "I'll leave you and your mind alone for a moment. Besides, there's this cute redhead across the way I've had my eye on all night."
As he turns to leave, I open my mouth, wanting to say something to refute his point. And for the first time in years, when I'm supposed to talk about how much I love my work, I come up empty.
What the hell is wrong with me? What's changed?
Bash trots through the crowd to a table on the other side of the room, and I quickly take another drink, waiting for some kind of clarity to return. I feel the floor turning sideways beneath my feet again, threatening to throw me off of it.
Is Bash right? Is being a partner not what I want?
A fist of anger fueled by sheer stubbornness forms in my chest. Of course, this is what I want. I've spent my life getting here. I've made it. I've got the title, got the clout. I've gotten everything I've ever wanted. I should be fucking happy about it.
Taking another drink, I glance over at Bash again, at him fawning over some girl. She's a skinny little thing half his age, with a tight black dress and a matching clutch purse. She starts to shake her head at him, obviously rejecting his advances, and as her face turns to me, I almost choke on my drink.
I recognize her. It's Brittany. The assistant manager of the Sugar Breeze Bakery.
I put down my drink, feeling my fingers going numb against the glass. What the hell is she doing here? As I watch, that terrible question is answered, and my lungs become ice blocks in my chest.
A man approaches Bash from behind and, putting his hands on my brother's shoulders, moves him away from Brittany. She stands, a smile across her face, and leans into the man, her hand on his chest. Enamored with him, even as he scolds my brother away.
It's Austin. AustinfuckingLawson.
I'm pissed. For me andespeciallyfor Denise. How long have these two known each other? I'm sure Denise told me once that Austin is also married, with two kids, no less. Fucking bastard.
My hand twitches into a fist. If this weren't my dinner party, if Harris wasn't sitting just a table away, I would go over there right now and teach Austin a goddamn lesson.
Fuck. As another thought strikes me, I unwrap my fist and run my fingers through my hair.Shit.
I can't even tell Denise about this, can I? If I tell her I saw Austin, she'd find out about this dinner party, that I didn't want to invite her. That my stupid brother came with me instead. And worse, she'd find out about my professional relationship, however tenuous, with Austin. That I lied to her. That when we first met, I'd wanted to take her bakery from her without flinching.
What the hell am I going to do?
CHAPTER20
