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Matt accepted Patricia’s hand, barely sparing Liza a parting glance as he let his girlfriend lead him to the dance floor.
Patricia Eddington had claws. She didn’t like her date paying attention to any woman who wasn’t her.
Not that the socialite had a damn thing to worry about in that regard.
Liza was as likely to date Matt Russo as she was to agree to be Davis Taylor’s First Lady.
Handing her empty glass to a waiter, she helped herself to another, though she only sipped this one. Feeling a bit more fortified, she shook off the disastrous date, put on a fake smile, and went back to work.
Sadly, it was the only part of her life where she didn’t feel like a complete and utter fuck-up.
Chapter Two
Matt murmured “mm-hmm” for the third time, though he didn’t have a clue what Patricia was talking about. The two of them had been on a dozen dates, serving as each other’s plus-one-with-benefits because they both lived in a world where high society events like this were as common as a Monday-morning staff meeting.
He’d originally asked her out because Patricia ran in the same social circles, had expressed an attraction to him, and, in truth, though it made him sound shallow as hell, she was very easy on the eyes.
She ticked off all those columns, as well as the mandatory one.
The one that had to be marked before he asked out any woman.
He was in absolutely no danger of falling in love with her.
Patricia had been engaged four times in the last ten years or so, but all those relationships had failed. The reason he’d continued to call her was because she didn’t pressure him for anything more serious than the occasional date and hook-up.
He’d made his feelings about marriage clear from the onset of their association, and she’d commented that after so many failed engagements, she was in no hurry to accept any future proposals. She insisted the next man she said yes to would be the one. And if that wasn’t going to be him, then so be it. She’d promised they could keep it casual and have fun for as long as they wanted.
It had been the perfect response. So, apart from accompanying each other as they attended events like tonight’s—all of which ended in sex—he never saw or spoke to her. She didn’t even demand a morning-after phone call. It was the best relationship he’d ever had. No muss, no fuss.
Unfortunately, while Patricia didn’t want him as a boyfriend, she did want his attention—all of it—whenever they were together, and it was starting to grate against his nerves. Tonight, she’d been uncharacteristically clingy and dropping hints that seemed to indicate perhaps the status quo was changing.
When he added in the fact Patricia was incredibly vain, spoiled, and entitled—all things he noticed before but had managed to ignore—tonight was looking like it was going to be their swan song. Which meant he would be sleeping alone in the penthouse suite he’d reserved in this hotel.
“And that was when I gave the ring back,” Patricia said, retelling him the story of why she dumped the latest in her string of ex-fiancés. He didn’t bother to point out he’d already heard this particular tale of woe the last two times they were out, mainly because it meant he didn’t have to listen.
“I just realized,” Patricia continued, placing her hand on his arm, leaning toward him in a way that ensured he got an eyeful of her generous cleavage. “I couldn’t spend the rest of my life with a man completely incapable of finding my clit…or G-spot. I’m not the type of woman who should have to take care of her own needs. That’s what pool boys are for.”
She followed her joke with a laugh that was far too loud, though it had the desired effect. He saw no less than six people nearby lift their heads to look over at them. Patricia covered her mouth with her hand, pretending she hadn’t meant to make so much noise, but she was clearly delighted to have so many eyes on her. She preened and he looked away, the act one he’d seen a few too many times lately.
He glanced two tables over at the sound of a much softer laugh. Liza was chatting with Arnold Jackson, the director of Promise House, and his partner, Johnnie, clearly enjoying whatever story the older men were telling her.
Bringing Patricia to this event had been a foolish move on his part because it meant he’d spent too much of the evening comparing his date to Liza Moretti.
Liza.
Moretti.
She was becoming a problem. A big one.
Simply the fact that her last name was Moretti should have ensured his interest in her was limited solely to the disdain he felt for the rest of her enormous blue-collar clan. As a general rule, he gave anyone with the last name Moretti a wide berth.
Or he had.
Until her.
He’d first noticed her a year and a half earlier at his brother Conor’s club, Enigma. She’d been out with a couple girlfriends, including his now sister-in-law, Penny. He and his brother, Gage, had been sharing a drink when he’d spied her on the dance floor. He’d known who she was, of course, but he hadn’t seen her since she’d been a young girl, still in middle school.
As she was five years younger than him, the two of them hadn’t gone through school together, hadn’t had a conversation, or even been properly introduced. He’d simply caught glimpses of her when they were younger, her always tagging along with her older brothers or cousins to high school football games and such.
