Bad Friend Page 3

  3

  “Be honest: is this dress too tight?” Brit asked, opening her arms so Nikki and Lara could get a full view of her black number. Granted, the V-neck enhanced her already big breasts and a slit on the front showed more of her legs than she felt comfortable showing. But damn, when she’d gone to a trendy consignment shop after work, she hadn’t counted on falling in love with the gown. One size smaller than what she usually wore, yes, but the fabric was so rich and silky, and the perfect cut made her feel like a poor man’s mermaid when she walked.

  “You look sexy,” Lara said, caressing Brit’s cat in her bedroom. Socks, the tabby cat, lazily meowed. “Wear it.”

  Nikki shifted in the chair. “Yes, but isn’t this a business type meeting?” Hesitation laced her voice.

  “Well, yes, kinda. The guy who invited me is a potential business partner of Damian’s. But I’ll also have the chance to meet some VIPs, and who knows? Maybe one of those ladies will like my makeup and I can show them the makeup line I’m working on. Or do their makeup on the side to gain exposure.”

  “Girl, how many sides do you have?” Lara asked. “You’re always on the grind.”

  “I need connections. Working for Damian gives me the cash to afford a super convention I want to attend. But if I start establishing rapport with the rich folk, then after I go to that convention and learn new tricks to open my store in the future, I’ll have some people to hopefully want to invest in my business too.”

  “Smart,” Nikki said. “Wear this dress then.”

  “It doesn’t scream slutty, does it?”

  “It doesn’t scream slutty,” Lara said. “It whispers in a very husky voice that will give every man and possibly woman in that place some goose bumps.”

  She shivered. Would Damian feel the same way? Don’t, she warned herself.

  “Shit, I even have goose bumps now after what you said,” Nikki said, throwing a scarf from the bed at her Lara, who dodged it and chuckled.

  “So I will wear it,” Brit said. “Who knows, I may even meet a good-looking guy at that party,” she said, injecting some enthusiasm at the end. Doubtful she’d meet a datable man. Most of them would either be high-powered business types who wanted trophy wife looking girls, or perhaps already married.

  “Atta girl,” said Lara. “Hey, have you seen Damian date anyone?”

  “No.” Nikki waved her off. “He’s got his hands full. The worst thing he can do right now is bring a stranger to his house.”

  Lara tried on a headband she found on the dresser, fluffing her pretty long brown hair. “He doesn’t need to bring her home. But he’s been on his own for a while, and he’s hot.”

  Nikki shrugged. “That’s true. Women at school mention that all the time at functions. I’m surprised one of them hasn’t snatched him yet.”

  “His focus is on the kids,” Brit said. “He’s got no time,” she said with the severity of a Catholic school nun. What did she know exactly about his personal life? Maybe he dated women when Mrs. Smith watched the kids. A strange, foreign sensation stabbed at her, as if her cells were little balloons and the idea popped one of them at the time, slowly deflating her inside.

  “He’s got enough time to take you out.” Lara picked a lipstick from her makeup box and opened it, rolling out the baton until she frowned at the pop orange color.

  Brit threaded her fingers together. “He’s not taking me out. He’s helping me climb the professional ladder. This isn’t a date.”

  Lara stopped fumbling through her belongings and glanced at her, lifting her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding.”

  Brit’s gaze darted from Lara to Nikki, who adjusted the pillows on the bed. They’d already lost Noelle, and Violet hadn’t returned yet. Damn it, Brit. Don’t push away the last friends you have left. “Nah, it’s okay… sorry. It feels weird without Violet.” More than those two would ever imagine.

  Brit nipped the tip of her tongue to keep from spilling the beans. Telling them about the weird moment she shared with Damian, the scorching attraction she felt toward him would open a can of worms impossible to ever close.

  Nikki flashed her an encouraging glance. “You’re going as friends. There’s nothing weird about it.”

  “Yeah,” Lara said, the expression on her face softening. “Just have a good time.”

  Have a good time. Easier said than done.

  Brit took a last glance at the mirror. She sucked in her breath. For the past two days, she’d followed a juice diet she found online, and the dress fit her a tad better. Or maybe she was imagining things, given her hunger hallucination. Yes. The real goal of the diet was to starve the victim enough so that, besides the dots on her vision, she’d see herself slimmer.

  Well, it worked.

  Today she had worked at the mall for a few hours then hurried home to start her beautifying process. She might not have the designer dress labels and overpriced purses, but she could give herself the best facial and skin treatment with the samples she’d taken from work.

  She’d sent Libby to sleep at her mother’s.

  Her palms slicked. Soon, Damian would pick her up. She could have driven there, but he insisted on giving her a ride. She’d been driving the Land Rover for the past few days—while she tried to get a good quote on her clunker from the junkyard. Anything would help.

  She heard the doorbell and took a deep breath one more time before dashing to the door and opening it to find the most magnificent male looking at her. God. Her knees nearly buckled, and she exhaled like she’d ran the annual Tulip marathon. Shiiit. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” he answered. A dark grey jacket outlined his strong, broad shoulders. Inside, a high-end shirt and a tie, along with slacks, completed the look.

  She picked her purse from the shelf and locked the door behind her. “How are the kids?”

  “Oh, they are good. Mrs. Smith is great with them.”

  “She is.”

  “Yeah.”

  During the drive to the party, she tried to approach a variety of subjects from the safety of weather to the dangerous spectrum of politics, but he either nodded or gave her monosyllabic answers. Could it be he’s upset he’s taking me? Mr. O’Donnell had insisted, so Damian complied. Wouldn’t he rather though go by himself so he could be a free agent and flirt with women in his league?

  Ugh. She looked out the window, deciding not to overwhelm him with more attempts at a conversation. Either something bothered him or distracted him.

  By the time he gave his sportscar to a valet to park, the conundrum had eased from her mind. She didn’t have this kind of opportunity every day, so she needed to make the most of it. Her stomach growled, and she coughed at the same time to distract from the sound. Now that she had fit into the damn dress, she could indulge in an appetizer or two. But what if she ate too much and the seams gave up on her?

  “Brittany,” he called, an edge of impatience in his voice. “Come.”

  She shook her head. He never called her by her full first name—her mother was the only person with that privilege. She clenched her purse, and tried to keep up with his long strides as they entered the glorious mansion of Bill O’Donnell.

  Dozens of people gathered in the spacious living area, some milling around the dramatic, curvy set of stairs, others laughing and drinking while a catering crew made their rounds with trays of canapes.

  A waiter carried a tray filled with champagne glasses, and Damian took one and chugged it down at once. Then he placed the empty flute on another tray a different waiter carried.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  Because you’re acting like a jerk. “No reason,” she said.

  He took her to the gardens outside, where string lights adorned the walls and in between posts. The area looked like something from a whimsical tale, with bright tents. In each tent, a bartender did tricks and fixed cocktails and drinks.

  “Damian and Brit. What a pleasure,
” said a male voice behind them.

  Bill, impeccably dressed and with a gorgeous blonde woman at his side, walked up to them.

  “Thanks for having us,” she said.

  “My pleasure. Please meet my wife, Candi.”

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you. What a surprise, Damian brought a date,” Candi said, but her gaze slid up and down Damian’s form. Brit detected a trace of uneasiness in her voice, but she didn’t want to jump the gun and label it as jealousy.

  Date. The word brought an ardor to Brit’s chest. She’d spent so long convincing herself tonight was not a date, but to hear it from someone else, even if not true, awakened the desire inside her. Fuck, she needed to date again. Missed male companionship.

  “This is Brit,” Damian said and put his arm around her.

  “Nice.”

  The band played a modern remake of a good jazzy song. “This party is amazing. The band is lovely,” she said.

  “Wanna put it to the test?” Bill said, offering her his arm. “Would you like to dance?”

  “Ah, sure,” she said. His wife didn’t bat an eyelash, so she assumed Candi didn’t care.

  When he took her to the dance floor, Brit saw another side to the wealthy businessman. Bill O’Donnell turned out to be a skillful dancer, leading her through the crowd with grace and confidence. She followed his footsteps, allowing him and the music to guide her—mostly because of her hunger and nerves. A couple times, he twirled her around, earning them some claps and catcalls from the guests.

  “Your wife is lucky. You’re such a good dancer,” she said when the rhythm of the music slowed and he no longer spun her. “I’m sorry I’m such a beginner.”

  “You’re lovely, my dear.” He smiled. “I’m glad you came… I have a proposal for you.”

  “For me?” She frowned.

  “Yes. I want you to report to me if my wife makes any moves on Damian.”

  She stopped dancing. “I’m sorry, I can’t do such thing,” she said. Of course this had been too good to be true. A swanky party, a movie worthy dance performance… she touched her forehead. Her stomach growled. “Wait. Is this a hallucination?”

  He nudged her elbow gently and kept moving close to her so they mocked a dance. Other couples swayed close by. “Hallucination? What are you talking about?”

  I need to eat. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Why would you ask me to report to you?”

  “Because my wife is known for… flirting, especially when she’s mad at me.”

  “I see. Why can’t you ask her yourself?”

  “If she takes it to another level, then I’ll get the lawyers involved.”

  “I apologize for my bluntness, but if she already flirts with other men, why don’t you just leave her now?” Before she cheats on you, if she hasn’t already. Brit’s own mother had been a victim of misleading optimism when she’d dated her father. The man constantly cheated on her, and at the end, at nine months pregnant, she’d finally decided she was better off alone. He’d never made any attempt to contact either of them, in all those years.

  “Because if I go to the next one, that can happen again. See, call me a misogynist, but I like pretty women. Younger women, such a weakness. And I know some consider such attraction as a transaction, but I don’t invest to lose.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said. Moisture evaporated from her throat. On one hand, he was honest about his superficiality. On another, his honesty made her want to shake him. Weren’t there amazing fifty-something women he could have married? Of course—she saw them every day. Maybe they don’t want him, an insecure, middle-aged man who uses his wealth to buy a trophy wife.

  “If she has an affair with Damian and I can prove it, she’ll leave the marriage without a cent. It’s in our prenup agreement.”

  She frowned. “Why me and not a detective?”

  “Because I’d rather give you ten thousand dollars and not a middle-aged, fat man who may be susceptible to Candi’s charms himself.” He spoke evenly, and she wondered for a moment if that had happened in the past.

  “Still.” She’d have to betray Damian if it came to it. Or would agreeing to spy on him be a betrayal on its own? After all, he was a good, kind man, a dedicated father. If he’d made the mistake of fooling around with Candi or another married woman, since when was it her business?

  Bill leaned closer, lifting an eyebrow. “What do you say?”

  “I still need to pay you a visit,” Candi said, once again leaning a bit too close for his taste. “You know, to see how I can improve.”

  You can improve right now by getting away from me. Damian popped his knuckles. Diplomacy was paramount, but he’d done small talk for the past several minutes while Brit waltzed during the party with Bill. “You’re fine. I only deal with patients who really need a change. Don’t let any trend convince you otherwise,” he said casually.

  She patted his arm. “Such a flatterer.”

  His gaze swung back to the dance floor, searching for the woman who had his heartbeat racing from the minute he picked her up. Where was she? He squinted, trying to find her amongst dancers and waitstaff. If Bill dared put his hands on her, he’d kill the old man and send him to his demise a decade or two earlier.

  Brit… his heart stilled. She marched in his direction, and never looked lovelier. The black dress hugged her curvy frame, causing his throat to thicken despite his recent sip of champagne. The V-neck showcased her breasts, and he doubted any sane man wouldn’t give anything to see them. Touch them. Lick them.

  A frisson threaded down his body. When she neared him, he stared at her, contemplating the marvelous makeup job she’d done. He usually didn’t notice these things, but those wings she painted around her eyes enhanced the richness of her gaze. Brit’s beauty put every other woman in this party to shame. Hell, any other woman in Tulip.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he replied. He turned to Candi to excuse himself, but she sashayed away and waved briefly as she bumped into a woman and greeted her. Phew. At least she’d known when to give up. She’d carried a conversation with him and left him confused about her interest in him as a man, or a surgeon. Either way, he’d steer clear from her. “I saw you cutting the rug.”

  “Oh my gosh, you saw us?” She chuckled. “Bill tried to teach me a thing or two.”

  A hot surge of jealousy coursed through him, and he switched his weight from foot to foot, his legs restless. “What else did he try to teach you?” he said, annoyance lacing his voice. Keep it cool, man. He couldn’t make a claim on Brit, she wasn’t his for claiming. Hell, they hadn’t even kissed. His gaze fell to her lush lips, and a much different sensation spread from top to bottom.

  She lifted her eyebrow, taking a step backward. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a powerful man. I don’t want you to feel under the obligation of giving him any more attention than what you already have. And if he makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, please let me know.” He wouldn’t forgive himself if Brit had to endure any possible advances from Bill. His fingers curled into fists.

  Realization dawned on her face, and she tilted her head, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What? No. He didn’t hit on me, Damian.”

  Relief loosened his shoulders, and he exhaled. “Good.”

  Her face paled for a moment, and she touched her chest. “I need—”

  “What’s happening? Are you okay?” he asked, noticing the blood draining from her color, and the sweat sheening her forehead and neck. When he touched her, her hand felt clammy and cold. The respite from a moment earlier dissipated, and he stretched to his full height. “Talk to me, Brit. What’s wrong?”

  She fanned her face with her free hand. “I need to eat.”

  He gestured at a passing waiter, who didn’t move fast enough, then he strode to the man and grabbed his tray of appetizers. He ignored the quizzical look from the waiter, and within seconds, he returned to her with the tray
in hand, and also a bottle of water he grabbed from a nearby table. “Here.”

  She took one salmon canapé and took it to her lips, and a second later, moaned like she’d received oral sex. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten in two days.”

  “Two days?” He knew she had money problems, but was she starving herself? Didn’t make sense.

  “I wanted to fit in this dress and get rid of some water weight, so I went on a juice cleanse.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  She grabbed the bottle of water and took it to her lips. “I prefer resourceful.”

  “Eat,” he demanded, giving her another canapé.

  She did as told, and he took her free wrist and touched her pulse with two fingers to feel her heartrate. It spiked madly, and he had to make sure she was okay. “What are you doing?”

  “Low blood sugar is no joke. I’m checking your pulse to make sure you don’t pass out or get sick.”

  She shook her wrist before he finished his minute count and jerked away from him. “Damian, I’m fine. Much better now.”

  “Eat some more.” He gave her another appetizer, and she accepted it. This time, he watched her face, color returning to her skin, and she seemed visibly better than moments ago. “Let me take your pulse to make sure.”

  “No.” She wiped the bit of paté of the corner of her mouth and lifted her chin. “Maybe the reason why I’m having such wacky heartrate isn’t because of a self-imposed starvation.”

  Then what could it… His blood pounded. He looked her square in the eye, capturing the desire flaring through her rich, deep irises. The warm sensation returned to him, but this time, hotter. A need he hadn’t experienced in a long time roared through him, taking over his every cell. A need he was no longer strong enough to ignore. He pulled her to him, lowering his lips to hers, fucking ready for the best mistake of his life.

  4

  Adrenaline rushed through Brit’s body from top to bottom. If she’d been weak and dizzy before the appetizers, now, after voicing the madness inside her head, she became stronger. Fuller. Victorious.