The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(50)

“There’s not a line in it. I’m so f*cking proud to have you on my arm, Cooper. Never doubt that for one f*cking minute.”

Can you stop breathing from the force of words alone? The thing about it is, his words seep into empty parts of me and fill up holes that have been there for years. I have no defense. I’m just here, exposed.

“If you make me cry, I’m going to kick you in the nuts,” I try to joke, but my voice is broken, giving away the emotion he has evoked.

His beautiful lips slowly smile. “Got it. No more sappy stuff.”

“No more sappy stuff,” I agree, and he kisses me quickly before pulling away.

“Do you have reservations?” the hostess asks, and Gray looks at me strangely, clears his throat, and grabs hold of my hand. He squeezes it reassuringly and I’m starting to get a bad feeling.

“It should be under Riverton,” he says quietly to the hostess, but he’s looking at me.

My face goes pale. I know it does because I can feel the cold clamminess spread. Riverton? What the f*ck? He knew Riverton was going to be here and he didn’t warn me? Gray knew I thought he wouldn’t be here and he let me believe it. I jerk my hand, trying to get it free from his hold. He doesn’t let go, however, and before I can say anything to him, the devil himself picks that moment to walk up.

“Grayson, how nice to see you again,” he says, and I don’t know which one of the two I would rather kick right now. It would be a tough call.

“David, you too,” Grayson says, shaking the devil’s hand.

“We’re seated this way,” Riverton says, ignoring the fact that there’s a hostess who gets paid to do that. He doesn’t acknowledge me on the way there, which is fine as I’m more than used to that. I prefer it, really.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Gray whispers as we’re walking behind Riverton.

“I’m not talking to you,” I whisper back.

“If I had told you, you wouldn’t have come.”

“So you lied.”

“No, I just didn’t correct you. It could be worse,” he adds just as we get to the table.

That’s when I see her: Cammie Riverton. She stands up and beams at Gray, wrapping him in a hug that, to his credit, he doesn’t return.

“Grayson! I’ve missed you,” she says, and the fact that Grayson doesn’t return the hug and pretty much ignores what she says might be the only thing that saves his life.

At least for now.





“Cammie,” I all but growl. Fuck, it was going to be hard enough to get CC not to hate me over Riverton. The fact that Cammie is here will just make everything f*cking worse.

“Oh, Claudia. I didn’t realize you would be here,” Cammie says, her voice dripping with distaste.

I feel CC stiffen beside me and I hate myself all over again for putting her through this. My woman is brilliant and completely in charge—unless these idiots are involved. They make her feel out of her depth. I get the feeling that Cammie Riverton is a real expert at it.

“Odd, I could say the same about you,” CC returns, and when I look up, she’s staring at me. I’m not sure what to call the look on her face. I knew I would be in trouble, but her look is something else altogether. I wouldn’t even call it anger, which is what I expected the most.

“I’m afraid we don’t have enough seats,” Cammie says, saccharinely sweet.

“Here, sweetheart. Sit here and I’ll get the waiter to bring us another chair,” I jump in, shooting Cammie a look of disgust. Not that she gets it.

“Aww, thank you, Gray,” CC says, sitting down. “It’s so nice having a boyfriend who does these little things to show how much he cares,” she adds, and that might make me feel good if I didn’t feel the bad vibes coming off of her. I quickly find another chair. Cammie slides over to give room to put a chair in between her and CC. That’s not happening. I gently nudge CC next to Cammie and sit close beside her with Neil Brayden, another investor, on my other side.

The next few minutes are consumed with everyone ordering food and getting settled. CC says very little, but right now I’m calling it a win that she doesn’t get up and walk away. I’m doing my best to ignore Cammie’s little digs she’s adding to the mix; all are designed to make CC feel unwelcome, or to talk about things she has no idea about. All this time, I thought Cammie was ditzy, mostly an airhead, but I’m starting to see the error in assuming that. Small talk continues while we wait on our food. It’s stilted at best. I never thought I’d be so glad to have a waitress come and interrupt us as I am in this minute. I’ve got my arm wrapped around the back of CC’s chair, the message clear: I’m with her. I’d feel better if she would at least acknowledge me.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask, trying to get her involved—at least with me, if nothing else.

“I’m fine, darling. Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, and the sweet, innocent routine is definitely fake. She turns around to talk to Cammie. “He’s always so attentive, worrying to make sure I’m okay,” she smiles. I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. She remains stiff, but doesn’t pull away.

“I care about you, sweetheart. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”