Fake Empire(5)

After ordering a drink, he heads our way.

“Incoming,” Sophie teases, spotting him. Nadia looks as well. All three of us watch him saunter over.

“Is this seat taken?”

Not the most original opener, but the way he addresses us all while talking only to me indicates he’s no newcomer to picking up women. I’m not interested in his conversation skills, although some would be a plus.

I shake my head in response. He slides into the seat beside me, sitting close enough the stiff material of his pants brush my leg. It’s a deliberate, practiced move, one that should probably prompt more of a response than light chafing. Unfortunately, I’m distracted by the feel of eyes on me, eyes that don’t belong to the guy beside me. I don’t succumb to the strong urge to look at the bar.

The blond beside me introduces himself as Evan. He, Sophie, and Nadia chat as I work to act like I’m listening to their idle conversation, not slowly simmering beneath blue flames. I’ve talked to other guys in front of Crew Kensington before. Why should this time be any different?

“What do you do, Scarlett?” Evan eventually asks.

“I run a magazine.”

“Really?” He looks intrigued. “What sort of magazine?”

“Fashion.”

His eyes run over my dress. “Not surprising. You look stunning.”

“Thank you.” Shiny, my ass. If I weren’t personally appalled by the idea, I’d order a sequined wedding dress just to spite Crew. I take a fresh stab at conversation. “What do you do, Evan?”

That question prompts a weird look from Sophie that makes me think the answer might have been covered while I was “listening” earlier. Evan launches into a spiel about his job as a tax attorney. It’s wholly unfamiliar, so I either blocked it out resoundingly enough or Sophie was frowning about something else. I try to pay attention at first. But I feel my attention drift, even before Crew leaves the bar and approaches our booth, followed by a different blonde than the one from earlier. Once he does, Evan could be belting Beyonce and I wouldn’t notice.

My whole body tenses. Preparing for what, I don’t know. We’ve swerved so far off script I can’t remember what our lines are.

Crew doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the edge of our booth. He crowds the space like he has every right to be here. Evan glances up at him mid-sentence, clearly confused by what is happening. There’s a long pause where everyone is silent.

Then, Crew holds a hand out. “Crew Kensington.”

Recognition washes over Evan’s face, quickly followed by reverence. “I—oh. Wow. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Evan—Evan Goldsmith.”

Crew glances to me as Evan babbles, amusement obvious in his expression. I imagine Evan is fanboying in hopes he’ll be able to announce to a managing partner he snagged Kensington business for his firm. It’s wasted time—Kensington Consolidated has an in-house legal team. Evan is mid-sentence when Crew leans down and whispers something to him I am certain involves me.

Crew straightens with a self-satisfied smirk that makes me pray a punch will mess up his perfect bone structure. If not for me, on behalf of average-looking men everywhere. That sort of symmetry is an unfair standard to be held to. I thought Evan was attractive…until I saw him next to the table’s uninvited guest.

Whatever Crew said to Evan leaves him pale. “Enjoy your night, ladies.” Crew winks and walks away, with the blonde trailing right behind him.

“Nice talking to you.” Evan grabs his drink and disappears.

“Well…that was interesting,” Sophie muses. Nadia looks like she was just spun around in circles: wide-eyed and off-kilter. Exactly how I’d appear—if I weren’t excellent at schooling my emotions.

I shouldn’t look over my shoulder, but I do. Crew is standing right next to the glass doors that lead out onto the street. The blonde is nowhere in sight; he either ditched her or she’s waiting outside. Crew doesn’t move or react when he sees me staring at him. He holds my stare for a few seconds before turning and disappearing out into the night. It’s unnerving—because it’s exactly what I would do.

We’re similar, me and Crew Kensington.

Guarded.

Proud.

Stubborn.

Cynical.

We’ve grown up with the same privilege and expectations. We know what’s expected. What it takes to thrive in this world, not just survive.

That’s the reason I agreed to marry him.

And the reason I shouldn’t.





CHAPTER TWO





CREW





People scatter as I step off the elevator on Monday morning. Kensington Consolidated employs a workforce upwards of five hundred, not to mention the many companies we serve as the parent entity of. Less than fifty employees have offices on the executive floor. Men and women twice my age scurry away like skittish mice as I stride down the carpeted hall toward the main conference room. One perk of having your name displayed on the side of the skyscraper. It commands respect, even when you haven’t earned it.

My father and brother are sitting at the centered table when I enter the conference room. The three of us start every Monday with a “chat.” That’s what my father likes to call them, at least. Lectures would be a more fitting descriptor. He uses them as an intimidation tactic toward everyone else with an office on this floor. Forcing them to be in on time and fueling speculation about what we’re talking about. Promotions. Acquisitions. Firings.