Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I nuzzled the side of his neck, nipping his skin just enough to get his attention. “Do you want a hand job?”
“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, dragging my hand up over his fly, before disappointingly easing it away. “But we don’t have time.”
It was because the car was now in line to drop us off, and he needed to get himself under control before we stepped out on the red carpet.
It’d been surreal in Monaco when we’d done this at the Grand Prix Gala, and this time wasn’t any easier. I clung to Vance’s side as we exited the car and walked down the sidewalk that was blanketed in red and paneled in sponsor logos. It was June now, and the sun hadn’t set yet, but the cameras flashed like shuddering strobe lights, disorienting me.
He was unfazed. Accustomed. He smiled and guided me to pose with him like this was a normal, everyday occurrence. I rolled with it, pretending I was just like him. Emery Mendenhall wasn’t frightened by the red carpet or the reporters who shouted at her like they had a right to know every detail of her life.
It was better once we got inside the museum. They served cocktails in the event area space, which was a grand room with a back wall of glass separating it from the courtyard. There were tall trees there, which helped to bring the outside in to the space.
I didn’t recognize most of the people who approached Vance and struck up a conversation but acted like I did and that I belonged. I smiled, nodded, and laughed when appropriate. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was draining to be ‘on’ the entire evening.
Two older gentlemen had cornered us at one point, trying to feel Vance out and see if they could get him to join their racing crew.
“I wish my son could do it,” one of them said, “but he hasn’t shown much interest, and I’d have to teach him.”
The other man nodded. “If you don’t have time, I think I heard George Ridley’s boy gives lessons. He was giving them to Lambert’s daughter, before she . . .”
His words petered out because he must have realized who was part of the conversation, but the other man was oblivious.
“Is that what they were doing?” The guy shrugged. “Looked more like swimming lessons to me.”
Vance tilted his head. “Swimming lessons?”
“Yeah, they had a swimmer in the water flag up, and a couple buoys out. I figured she was training for an open water event, but they picked a weird spot because the boat was way out there.”
My pulse jumped, and I was sure it was the same for Vance, but he did an excellent job of looking only casually interested. “Oh, yeah? Where was this?”
“Over by the stumps on the north side, maybe a mile or so out?”
“There’s not a beach anywhere near there,” Vance said.
The guy nodded. “That’s why it stuck out to me.”
Vance turned to throw a glance my direction. “Yeah, that is strange.”
The thoughts churning in his head were the same as mine. What were Jillian and Lucas doing out there? Was she practicing?
Breath halted in my lungs, and I instinctively gripped Vance so tightly, his attention dropped to my hand on his arm, then up to me in alarm. It was because Wayne Lambert was making his way toward us.
I’d never been face-to-face with him. Before, I’d only had pictures of the man who’d taken so much from me. He hadn’t been home the few times I’d been to the Lambert estate, and I’d purposefully stayed in the shadows at the memorial reception. It probably wasn’t necessary. We’d never met, and I wasn’t even a footnote in his life.
It gave me dark satisfaction to know Vance and I were going to change that.
Lambert didn’t bother to look at me because his focus was only on his target—Vance. As far as he was concerned, I didn’t exist at my boyfriend’s side.
Vance’s greeting was so bright, it was undeniably fake. “Wayne.”
The two gentlemen we’d just been talking to collected their drinks from the high-top table and scurried away, making plenty of room for Lambert and his overblown ego.
“Vance.” Lambert’s greeting matched Vance’s fake one. “I was hoping we—”
“Let me introduce you to my girlfriend. This is Emery Mendenhall.”
I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Lambert looked annoyed. In his mind, he had better things to do, but he wouldn’t be rude, so he gave me a cursory glance and a smile.
“Emery,” Vance said, “this is Wayne Lambert.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I lied as I thrust out my hand.
“Yes, likewise.” His handshake was cold and aggressive and thankfully over quickly. His attention swung back to the person he’d come to see. “I was hoping we could speak privately for a moment?”
“About what?” Vance’s tone was dismissive. “How you’re blackmailing me to land a seat on HBHC’s board?”