Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(21)

“How does the high society set play this?” Naomi said with an affected air in her tone, taking the bottle and holding it up slightly. “Am I supposed to open it now so we can all enjoy, or is it a faux pas not to save it for a special occasion?”

“Open it,” Oliver commanded a little gruffly. Rudely, actually. But, hell, he needed a drink.

Brayden Hayes and Naomi had been having an affair? And the woman who’d answered the door?

And all three women were . . . friends?

Surely Naomi had been messing with him. But a quick glance at Claire and the brunette showed that she hadn’t. The brunette took pity on him and stepped forward, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Audrey Tate. Brayden and I had been dating nearly a year before he died. I thought he was the love of my life—turns out he was the scourge of the earth.”

Oliver let out an involuntary laugh as Naomi popped the cork on the champagne. “I only have coffee mugs to serve it in. That a problem?”

It was more of a challenge than a question, and Oliver was irritated that she obviously expected snobbery from him. So he gave it to her.

“Dom Pérignon in a mug? I think not. I’m happy to run next door to get the proper stemware.”

Wordlessly she held his gaze as she slowly, deliberately upturned the bottle and unceremoniously glugged a liberal amount of champagne into the porcelain mug. Her auburn brows lifted in challenge, daring him to comment.

Instead, he ignored her completely and turned back to Audrey. “I’m Oliver Cunningham. I live next door and was not having sex with Brayden Hayes.”

She laughed. “Well, that makes you the only one in the room.”

Unintentionally, Oliver looked at Naomi, who was rummaging through a box, coming up with more mugs, but no wine-glasses. He suspected even if there were wine flutes around, she’d have ignored them to spite him.

“Yup,” she said without looking up. “I was Brayden’s whore.”

Claire exhaled. “Naomi.”

“Well, wasn’t I?” Naomi asked, looking up. “I mean, you were married to him. He at least took Audrey on dates. But me?” She shrugged, and though Oliver knew it wasn’t his business, he was more intrigued than he should have been by how she would finish that sentence.

The thought of Naomi Powell and Brayden Hayes hooking up was—Nope. He didn’t want to go there.

And the thought of Naomi Powell naked . . .

No, he didn’t want to go there, either. She was the exact opposite of his type. And while he’d voted her into the building with the hopes of her being a distraction, he hadn’t intended it to be of the naked, hookup variety.

Though if she kept wearing those tight-fitting jeans, he may have to reconsider.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Audrey said, clapping her hands and coming to retrieve the mugs of champagne Naomi had just finished pouring. “Shall we toast? To Naomi’s new home and her handsome new neighbor? How long have you lived here, Mr. Cunningham?”

“Oliver,” he said with a smile, accepting the bulky white mug and realizing it was the first time he’d ever drunk champagne out of anything other than crystal. Suddenly he felt very much like the uppity snob Naomi seemed to think he was. And his next words all but confirmed it. “And I’ve actually lived here most of my life.”

The realization was a little jarring. Oliver had never really thought of himself as a snob, but seeing himself through Naomi Powell’s hate-filled eyes, he had to admit that he was a little . . . fuddy-duddy.

“Really!” Audrey said. “Naomi was just telling us that she—”

Audrey broke off midsentence, and it didn’t take a psychic to see why. And refreshing as it was to see Naomi’s death glare directed at someone other than himself, he was curious to know what Audrey had been going to say.

Claire stepped in and covered the awkward moment. “Thank you so much for the flowers you sent after Brayden’s passing.”

Oliver tugged lightly at his tie. “Honestly, had I known how he treated you, I might have sent something a little less lavish. And I—Well hell, this is awkward, isn’t it?”

Claire laughed. “It is, although selfishly it’s also refreshing. Other than Naomi and Audrey, I haven’t been able to discuss Brayden’s true nature with anyone. I’m sure plenty of people have their suspicions, but nobody will speak of anything other than tragedy to me. Not that I’d speak ill of the dead, but . . .”

“Oh, go for it,” Naomi said. “I do.”

“Well now, there’s a surprise,” Oliver muttered.

She ignored him. “Seriously though, Claire, you don’t have to let people speak to you like you’re a victim. You have your life back.”

“Yes, but at the cost of his,” Claire said softly.

Naomi sighed and then walked to Claire, putting her arm around her shoulders. “You’re right. I’m being a bitch.”

“No,” Claire said, just as Oliver thought yup. “You’re just, well, let’s say I’m jealous. You’ve got your business to keep you busy, a new apartment to distract you . . .”

Claire glanced at Oliver. “I’m so sorry. This probably isn’t what you were expecting when you came over to welcome your new neighbor.”

“Definitely not,” he admitted. “But I’m grateful you’re here. I’m afraid without witnesses, Ms. Powell would be putting that box cutter in her pocket to lethal use.”