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I forgot the elevator climbed ten floors to get up here. I don’t remember much else. I barely remember Ford picking me up from the motel. But I’ll never forget the way his eyes scanned my place with disgust.
“Oh wow,” I mutter, feeling stupid and out of my league.
“What can I get you to drink?” Emery asks, still holding on to me.
I’m his.
“Something light?”
“Cristal,” Ford says over his shoulder. “Put it on my bill.”
“I just committed five-hundred grand,” Emery boasts. “I can pay for a twelve-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne.”
These figures have my head spinning. All the money being thrown around doesn’t help me, except to pay Ford so he’ll get my piece-of-shit ex off on his drug charge.
Thenmaybe he’ll tell me where my designs are.
“How about a light and crisp Northern California Prosecco?” I offer.
“Whatever our girl wants.” Ford takes my hand from Emery. “Come pick one out with me, sugar.” A sense of calm spreads through me when he touches me.
The bar has my favorite sparkling wine, and the server says he’ll bring it to us.
Back at the table, Ashton holds out a chair for me. It’s a round four-seater marble-top table with flowers and votive candles.
I’m confused about why all three of them are here.Shouldn’t it just be Emery and myself?
A cork pops and I jump.
Ashton rests his warm hand over mine. “It’s okay.”
His smile sends a tingle through me.
He wanted me, too.
Emery sits next to me and waves the server over. She puts down a tray of four flutes and pours the fizzing liquid into each glass.
Ford hands one to me. He’s about to take the seat on the other side of me, but Ashton grabs it.
Grumbling, Ford pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, but he noticeably leans away from Dr. Ives.
I’m still wondering why Ashton is here. Why didn’t he stay to bid on someone else?
“This is amazing Prosecco, Bernadette?” Emery clinks my glass.
“She’s from Northern California. Knows her stuff.” Ford winks.
“Thank you. And call me Bernie. I know that’s not sexy.”
“I think it’s very sexy.” Emery takes a tendril of my hair in his hand, his green eyes melting me like lava.
“Let’s get the weekend jokes out of the way,” I say and take a sip, but no one speaks up. “Weekend at Bernie’s?” I look from man to man, who stare back like they have no idea what I’m talking about. “The movie.”
“Never saw it,” Ashton says, holding his flute. “What’s it about?”
“Um.” I roll my eyes, feeling silly bringing up a low-rent, pedestrian movie around men who probably spend their Saturday nights at the opera. “It’s a comedy about two guys who are trying to impresstheir rich boss for a weekend at his beach house. But when they get there, he’s dead.”
Ford coughs on his sip. “That’s a comedy?”
