The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(33)

“Because I could see your reactions to whatever he was saying. He deserved to be fired. You might not have done this before, but you can do it. If you know what you want, don’t waver from what you can see in your head, no matter what anyone else says. Never compromise.”

Hope bloomed in her chest like a flower in the rain. Still, the doubt lingered. “Are you just saying what you think I wish to hear?”

He put a hand over his heart, his tone quiet and solemn. “I may be a dishonest man, but I promise to always be honest with you.”

“Thank you,” she said, just as quietly. “I’m glad you were here.”

“You mean on my property, where I’m about to build the Manhattan Surety office tower?”

“Are you already breaking our truce, Preston Clarke? It hasn’t even been an hour.”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Fair enough. No more building or property talk today. All right?”

“All right.”

“Good.” He held out his arm. “Let’s go to a little spot I know and share a drink.”



Pulling out a key, Preston unlocked the door to the supper club. “After you.”

Katherine slipped through the opening and went in. “This is exciting. I’ve wanted to come here since it opened.”

“So, why didn’t you?” He closed the door and relocked it. The supper club wasn’t open this early in the day, but he thought it might be fun for her to see the place without the risk of ruination.

And they could talk here without interruption.

“You know why,” she said, waiting for him in the dark corridor. “But that was the old me. The new me is ready to see and do and explore.”

I went there to start living my life. To have fun after waiting on you for a year.

The truth of it pricked at his insides like the sharp end of a nail. But he hadn’t known. Rather, he’d pushed it aside, another task for which he didn’t have time when trying to save his family from rack and ruin. He’d assumed Lloyd took the hint after Henry’s death, when it had been quite clear that Preston hated anything with the Delafield name attached to it.

But I don’t hate her. Not anymore.

He honestly didn’t. Katherine’s cheerful personality and her infectious curiosity appealed to him, perhaps because it was so different from his own. Still, he wasn’t certain why they were here, why he wanted to spend time with a woman he couldn’t fuck . . . and yet, he was leading her into the club he’d built, ready to show it off in the hopes of gaining her approval.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Idiot.

Flicking a few switches, he illuminated the dining room and stage. Katherine gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s gorgeous. The perfect mix of gaudy and tasteful. It’s naughty, but not too naughty.”

Precisely what he and Kit had been trying to achieve with the decor. Preston found himself smiling. “I’m glad you like it. Take a seat and I’ll mix us a couple of drinks. Any preferences?”

“No. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

He went to the bar and studied the bottles. The sight reminded him of Forrest, and Preston’s failed effort to save him. It had only caused Forrest to run away and slip deeper into a bottle. Preston would live with that regret for the rest of his life.

You have to learn to relax, his mother often told him. You cannot bend the world by sheer will alone.

And why not? Preston couldn’t see any other way to do it, actually.

He chose a sweet lemon liquor and fixed up a drink for Katherine, then poured water for himself. The memories of Forrest were too raw, the grief too strong, and drinking didn’t exactly help.

When he sat, she frowned at his plain glass. “You aren’t having one?”

“I will, just not at the moment. Enjoy.” He gestured toward her coupe. “I think you’ll like it.”

Carefully, she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. Her brows flew up. “It’s delicious. What’s in here?”

“That is my secret.”

“It tastes like lemonade but with a kick.”

“It’s one of my favorites for the summertime.” Or it was. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. The nape of his neck ached, his body exhausted. The pace of the last few months was catching up with him.

“You seem tired,” she said, propping her elbows on the table so she could rest her chin in her hands. “Working or playing too hard?”

“I haven’t played hard since Harvard.”

“What was that like, the four of you off at college?”

She meant him, Kit, Harrison and Forrest. “We had some wild times. I was forced to leave early, but before that was a lot of fun.”

“It must’ve been hard to leave your friends behind at school,” she said, taking another sip. “Did you miss them?”

“I was too busy, frankly. And they made a point of coming to New York often. We still managed to get into some trouble here.”

“I bet.” She sighed dramatically. “Men have it so much easier than women.”

“Because we may visit saloons and have affairs?”

“Yes. You have freedoms women only dream of. Women are taught to think about marriage from the time they’re in short dresses until the moment they walk down the aisle. It’s a singular obsession, and a girl’s entire worth depends on it.”