Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(19)

“Only you would notice.”

“That’s such crap. You know you noticed.” He nudges my arm. “I’m going to have to fight you for them, Vee.”

“All yours. Men are the last thing on my mind.”

He laughs and shakes his head before stopping to look at me. “You had a great day with Lucy. You said yourself that you’ve signed on a shit ton of new clients as of late. What do you have to lose? Besides, there’s nothing like a meaningless lay to take your mind off him.”

Sex has always been that way—meaningless—until Ryker.

“Arch . . .” His name drifts off when I catch the sudden startled expression on his face as he looks over my shoulder.

Seriously?

“What ex of yours is here that we’re going to have to avoid the rest of the night?” I huff out in irritation, less than thrilled at the prospect of holding myself together while having to deal with Archer’s scorned lovers.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says without anything else before striding off in the opposite direction.

I turn around, half expecting to see a man bearing down on me after Archer has left him high and dry.

Who the hell is . . . ? But my thought fades and then stutters—just like my heart does. Because as much as I convinced myself that I was over Ryker Lockhart, the minute I lock eyes with him, that all fades away.

Everything but the hurt.

And the hurt laced with heartache is akin to chocolate laced with arsenic. It tastes so good even when you know it’s going to kill you in the end.

Goddammit, Archer. You set me up.

My mind should be telling my feet to move, but it doesn’t. Instead, it wants to look longer at the car wreck it’s about to be a willing participant in. Willing? I think negligent seems more apt.

“Vaughn.” His voice makes my belly flip and my chest ache, and just being so near what used to be a comfort to me is so very hard.

He steps before me, and the hurt in his gaze that I don’t want to acknowledge is present, but just as quickly as I see it, he shoves it down.

Someone passes by and murmurs a greeting to Ryker. He just nods and smiles but never looks their way. For some reason, it makes me so very cognizant of where we are and who could be watching.

With a swallow over the lump in my throat, I finally acknowledge him. “Mr. Lockhart.”

Another glance of hurt through his eyes at my complete professionalism. “It’s good to see you,” he says softly. “You look gorgeous as always.”

“It hurts to see you.”

“Vaughn.” My name again—part plea, part apology, and 100 percent regret. He reaches out to touch me, and I take a step back.

“Not here. Not now.”

“Then when?” He asks the loaded question I’m not willing to answer. He keeps his voice low, but his eyes flit around the room to make sure no one is listening.

At least I assume that’s what he’s doing.

“It’s just better this way.”

“Better? For whom? You look as miserable as I feel.”

“Already lying, I see.” He’s so handsome, so effortless, it hurts to look at him.

His exasperated sigh is audible. “Anyone who looks your way will see only how stunningly gorgeous you are, but I know the real you. I can tell you’re not sleeping well. I can see how you feel about me in your eyes.”

“Then stop looking.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being so stubborn, we could—”

“We could what? Pick up where we left off? I find that a hard pill to swallow, Mr. Lockhart.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly and just stares at me for the longest of moments. Each of us tries to decide what we want out of this conversation and if it’s possible to achieve it in the midst of a room full of people.

I don’t know the answer to that question. I thought I did . . . but seeing him here, having him near, I hate that my need to forgive him despite the things he did is gaining strength.

“I miss you.” His voice almost breaks, and so does my resolve at the sound of it.

“That doesn’t fix things.”

“Then what does?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said, and I wish I knew the answer myself.

“Do you know anything about patching drywall?” he asks, throwing me so off kilter that a surprised laugh falls from my lips.

“What . . . ?” And before I can even ask what he means, the woman who walks up to him and slides a hand around his biceps in a clear stake of ownership has the question dying on my tongue.

And snapping closed the damn lock around my heart.

“Excuse us.” She smiles at me briefly before turning her attention solely to Ryker. “You have some people who want to meet you, Ryk.”

She’s the complete antithesis of me. Tanned skin, jet-black hair in a pixie cut that perfectly accents her cheekbones, and green eyes framed with long lashes. Where I’m average in height, she’s almost as tall as Ryker in her heels.

His jaw may clench and his eyes may still burn into mine, but Ryker makes no attempt to tell her he’s currently occupied or to shake her hand off him.

“I can see you’re busy,” I say before turning on my heel and walking in the opposite direction with tears burning in my eyes and his murmured lies repeating in my ears.