That First Kiss (21 page)

“You’ve really outdone yourself.” Piper turned to Tom, smiling widely with approval. “Not that I ever doubted you, but wow. Mr. Bradford will be impressed.”

“Thank you.” Tom leaned in, his warm breath caressing her ear. “But the only person I’m looking to impress is you.”

“Well,
you’ve succeeded.”

Tipping his head to the room, Tom held out his hand. “Come. Let’s mingle.”

25

So that’s what they meant by seeing red.

             
Tate was barely keeping it together. He tried to stay focused. The woman in front of him was jabbering on about something he couldn’t care less about. Something about his book? Maybe. Probably. By this point, he wasn’t listening anymore. He was on autopilot. Smile. Nod. Sign. Politely pose for the camera. Smile. Shake hands. Repeat. He’d been doing this for hours. Four hours, forty-two minutes to be exact. Ever since Piper and that cook, who was far too handsy, waltzed into the room looking like the perfect couple.

             
And she was wearing a fucking dress. She wouldn’t wear one for him, but she would for the goddamned cook.

             
He wasn’t a man accustomed to jealousy. It wore on him like bad cologne. Pungent. Sour. Offensive. What was she doing here with him? After they’d had sex. Twice! Was she sleeping with him, too? Well, if she thought he was going to let her just get away with that, she had another thing coming. Tate Larson did not share.

             
Tate performed another round of monkey tricks for his adoring fans. Half a dozen more signatures and at least ten blinding photos later, he excused himself from the table where the authors in attendance had been relegated for a much overdue break. His intentions were single-minded: Find Piper and put a kibosh on the little friendship she had going with the cook. Beyond that, he had nothing. He was playing it by ear.

             
The good thing about visually stalking a person: you always knew where they were in a room. Currently, Piper was standing among a small group, which he was pleased to note also included his good friend, Felix, and his secretary, Poppy. The sidelong looks they passed one another and the way Felix’s hand rested gently at her lower back was a dead giveaway that the two had more than just a working relationship going on.

It came as a bit of a shock, realizing the woman his friend and boss had talked about was also his secretary, but then, the two worked side by side every day. It stood to reason that a close working relationship like theirs might eventually bleed through into their personal life. He wondered how long it had taken for them to reach that point, and how long it had
gone on for. If he recalled, Poppy had only been working for the company a short time, but Felix seemed pretty adamant that his relationship was a serious one. He worried briefly what might happen if anyone else found out, but apparently, he was the only one that had made the connection. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to lose his job—he was the only buffer between him and Jon at this point.

Tate shook the disturbing thoughts away and pushed through the milling crowd toward the happy little gathering.

              Felix was talking animatedly with the cook, which only further incited Tate’s anger. Why would he befriend someone who was clearly trying to steal his woman? It felt like a slight, but Tate had to remind himself that Felix was a businessman. He was probably more concerned with securing the man for future events. Or maybe he was just being his regular old friendly self. Tate gave himself a mental shrug as he told himself to quit behaving like a woman and knock off the whining before he was forced to uppercut his own face. It really was appalling, this girly man attitude he had going on.  

Looking around, Tate had to admit that
the cook had done an okay job, especially considering the time constraints involved. But why was the man—
Revera? Revina?
He couldn’t recall—hanging around the hall? Shouldn’t he be back in the kitchens whipping up a soufflé or something equally queer, rather than groping his…His what? His woman? His fuck buddy? Shit, he had no idea what to call her. He decided to go with assistant until he could find the time to sit down and work out the details.

Damn, but her smile was fucking gorgeous. And when she laughed, it was like pouring a bucket of sunshine into the room. Just seeing her smile caused his own to stretch across his face and his worries to disappear as if they had never existed.

              Tate was less than twenty feet away, his steps sure as he cut through milling bodies and wove between crowded tables, when the sprightly figure of a blonde-haired demon leaped into his path.

             
Caught off guard, Tate staggered forward, barely stopping before he mowed her down. “There you are. I was hoping to run into you!” Tate looked down into a pair of round, deep-set brown eyes with utter contempt.

             
“Congratulations. You nearly did. If you’ll excuse me.” Tate sidestepped her, disbelief and a fresh shot of adrenaline fueling his need to flee. Hadn’t he made himself clear? Hadn’t he said—very matter of fact—that he wasn’t interested?

             
The woman grabbed hold of his arm, and he spun around, his face a mask of pure malice. “What, no hello? No, hey how are ya?” She beamed up at him, proud of her catch.

             
“Hello. How are ya?” Tate deadpanned. He wrenched his arm loose. Already, they had drawn guests’ attention and he told himself to pull it together. It wouldn’t look good for people—his fans, especially—to view him in anything less than a good light.

             
“Fine. Thanks for asking,” she chirped. “I swear it feels like I haven’t seen you in ages. We need to catch up!”

             
Taking hold of her upper arm in a firm grip, Tate tried for a casual, friendly appearance as he forcibly removed her from the room. Once outside the doors, he found that the hallway was also teaming with bodies. To gain any semblance of privacy, they would have to find someplace else. He had two choices: his room or outside.

He chose the latter.

Past the main desk and out the doors, he pulled her into a small alcove within eyesight of the main entrance, but completely out of earshot, assuming they kept their voices to a minimum.

             
Tate rounded on her, his irritation coming through loud and clear. “What the hell are you doing here, Casey? I thought I told you and your brother that I don’t want anything to do with you.”

             
Casey’s big brown eyes crinkled at the corners as her face twisted with hurt. Looking down at her shoes, she wrung her hands together as she searched for a response. “I just…I wanted to see you is all,” she explained, her words so low Tate had to strain to catch them all. “We haven’t talked in a while and I figured…” She paused to look up at him. “I thought if we did, then maybe you could see your way through to forgiving me. I’m so sorry, Tate,” she implored, leaning into him and grasping the front of his shirt in tight little fists. “I made a mistake. Please forgive me.”

             
Tate looked into her misty eyes…and felt nothing. None of the hurt and betrayal that at one time had twisted his gut into knots. It was a peculiar feeling. One of complete detachment. He wasn’t sure what to make of all the emptiness.

             
Wrapping his fingers around her wrists, Tate gently pried her loose and pushed her away from him. “Like I told Jon, I forgave you a long time ago. But,” he continued, quelling the look of hope that flashed in her eyes. “I can’t forget what you did. When you chose to jump into bed with Steve Malone, you killed anything we might have had. I don’t love you anymore, Cas.” He wondered if he ever really had. If he hadn’t just been in love with the idea of her.

             
He’d grown up hanging out with the Bradfords, spending the night with Jon and later making Casey his girlfriend. It seemed like a natural progression and everyone on both sides spoke of them like they were destined to be together forever. At one time, he had thought the same thing. They were inseparable. Until he announced that he would be moving to downtown Chicago to begin working on a degree.

             
Tate’s family fully supported him in his new direction in life, and he had thought his girlfriend would, too, but it turned out that she resented him leaving her behind to finish up her senior year while he ventured off to become an adult.

             
By the time he realized she felt that way, it was already too late. Home from school one weekend, he was slapped hard with the knowledge that Casey had been seen hanging around Steve Malone and his rabble rousers. It was unlike her, but he tried to be understanding and accept that he couldn’t control who her friends were or who she chose to spend her time with. That all changed one afternoon when he stepped into the diner his family had spent most of his childhood eating Sunday lunch at.

             
Heather Mindee, one of the waitresses and a former classmate, felt it was her duty to inform him that she’d spotted Casey making out with Steve. He was furious by the time he pulled up to the Bradfords’ old Tudor, and when he confronted her about what he’d heard, she spilled a story far beyond his imaginings without blinking an eye. Not only had she kissed Steven, she’d slept with him too.

             
It was a slap to the face that hardened Tate’s blood like a layer of permafrost over James Bay. The news sent him storming into the dark that night, back to the apartment he shared with three other bachelors, and he never looked back. Not only had he lost the woman he thought he would one day marry, but he’d lost an entire family. Nothing she could say or do would ever heal the depth of that wound. Nothing.

             
Casey stepped back, a look of bewilderment on her pixie face. As if she expected him to take her back with open arms. As if, after all this time, after everything that had happened, after a hundred and one apologies, this would be the one to stick. “Is there someone else?”

             
Laughter tumbled from Tate’s lips at her words. “Are you kidding me? Do you really think you have the right to ask me something like that?” Sobering, Tate regarded her with barely concealed contempt and pity. “We aren’t together anymore, Cas. I don’t have to answer to you.”

             
“No, I know.” She nodded, dropping her chin to her chest. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.” Drawing in a deep breath, he watched as she visibly rallied the strength to face him again. “Are you happy,” she whispered, the sound almost pained.

             
Tate looked off across the tree-lined grounds. “I don’t know yet,” he answered honestly. “Maybe.”

             
“Good, I want you to be happy. Even if it’s with someone else.”

             
Tate regarded her with a skeptical eye. She’d lost his trust long ago, but he was having trouble detecting anything other than earnestness in her words now. Was she just saying this to get him back? To draw him back into her web of lies and deceit? He couldn’t know.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tate ran his fingers through his hair, the thickness of it reminding him that he was in need of a haircut when he returned to Chicago. Silence rained down
around them. Tate took a step back, resolved to put his past behind him once and for all.

             
“I should…”

             
“Tate,” Casey interrupted, closing the distance he’d placed between them. “I know I’ve already said it a thousand times before and I know where you stand, but I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am for everything. If you aren’t willing to give us another try, at least say we can be friends. I can’t stand the thought of never having you in my life again.” Her brown eyes grew wider with every second that passed that Tate said nothing to refuse her.

             
“We grew up together, Tate. You’re part of our family. You always will be. It’s just not the same without you. I know I screwed up, but don’t punish the entire family over one person’s actions. It wasn’t their fault, just like it wasn’t yours. If you never want to talk to me again, fine, but at least say you’ll take Jon back. He’s loves you. You were like brothers once,” she contended.

             
Tate couldn’t deny that fact, but he found it difficult to stand there, staring into the face he had trained himself to hate on sight, and agree to anything she had to say. “I don’t know…” he croaked, taking a step back, and then another.

             
She advanced on him, determined to get her way. “One drink. Jon is taking me out for some drinks, maybe play some blackjack. Say you’ll come. I promise it’ll be fun, and if you don’t think so, you can always leave. Say you’ll come,” she repeated.

Tate was on the fence, but when Casey stuck out her bottom lip and pulled
a sad puppy face, he felt himself sucked back in time to when they were young and in love and he could be felled by a single glimpse of her easy charm.

             
“Fine,” he agreed, raising his hands in defeat. “I’ll go, but I can’t promise how long I’ll stay. I have an early flight.”

             
Squealing like a school girl, Casey threw herself into his arms, squeezing his neck with her boney ones. “I swear you won’t regret it.” Setting her back on her feet, Tate watched as she bounced away. “We’ll meet up in the lobby at seven,” she called over her shoulder, and then disappeared back inside the building without bothering to make sure the message had actually reached him.