Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(26)

The stylish blond hostess, who could be a starlet or supermodel herself, leads us through the bustling restaurant. Following her, I feel self-conscious. I’m definitely the biggest woman here. Jeffrey, on the other hand, is totally comfortable, and along the way, several patrons warmly say hello to him. He’s definitely now on the A-list, being the number one event planner in LA.

We end up at a round table in the back corner of the restaurant. Enjoying drinks and engaged in lively conversation is Jeffrey’s boyfriend Chaz and a small group of their close friends. I immediately recognize Blake Burns from the Internet and Chaz’s twin sister, Libby, whom I’ve met a few times before. She’s curvy like me except she seems so much more comfortable in her skin.

“Hi, everyone,” beams Jeffrey. He then introduces to me to Blake and his charming wife Jennifer, who he affectionately calls tiger. Jeffrey and I take the two vacant seats. Chaz is to Jeffrey’s right; I’m to his left. I notice they’re each wearing identical diamond earrings. They look a lot like my cubic zirconias, but I bet they’re real. Both Chaz and Jeffrey make a boatload of money. Their businesses have been very successful.

A dashing waiter brings by a bottle of expensive Dom Pérignon. Popping the cork, he fills everyone’s flutes until there’s no more champagne to pour.

The waiter disappears and Jeffrey raises his glass. “We’ve brought all you lovelies together to share some very exciting news…Chaz and I are getting married.”

Raucous whoo-hoos erupt before we toast them. My heart fills with joy. I’m so happy for both of them, especially my brother. I never thought he’d find the right one. But according to both of them, it was love at first sight when they met at Jeffrey’s former employer—Enid Moore, of all people. Katrina’s mother.

I take a sip of my bubbly and before it goes down, my stomach lurches. I practically choke it all up. All eyes are on him as he marches my way, taking one long angry step after another. He’s still dressed in his sexy sweats and barefoot. He could wear a garbage bag and he’d still be ungodly gorgeous. Every muscle in my body quivers, and my heart hammers like a jackrabbit’s. Still coughing, I set the glass down before it tumbles out of my hand. Our eyes make contact and I can feel him shooting poison darts at me. Bull’s-eye. One after another, they hit me hard in my chest.

“Zoester, are you okay?” asks a concerned Jeffrey.

“I don’t know,” I mumble after a fit of coughing. An explosive mixture of shock, rage, and apprehension courses through me like a Molotov cocktail. The * f*cking followed me here!

“Well, hello, Zoey,” he says frostily as he steps up to our table.

Before I say a word (as if I can even get one past the giant lump in my throat), Blake Burns jumps up and gives Brandon a man hug. “Hey, man, great to see you here.”

After another guzzle of her almost all-consumed champagne, chirpy Libby chimes in. “Hi, Brandon. Why don’t you join us? We’re having a celebration.”

“What are you celebrating?” His voice is as cold as dry ice. His menacing eyes don’t stray from me.

“My brother Chaz’s engagement.”

Chaz gives a little wave.

Oh, no! I’m about to be busted. Quick, Zoey! Change the subject.

“Don’t you think the weather is—”

Loose-lips Libby cuts me off and rattles on. “He and his boyfriend Jeffrey are getting married!”

“That Jeffrey?” Brandon’s bugged-out eyes flick to my brother and then shift back to me. They hold me fierce.

Oh shit! Kill me now. I want to crawl under the table.

Tipsy Libby grins. “Yes.”

Oh dear God, what must he be thinking??!! I leap to my feet. I need to escape. “Brandon, why don’t I find a waiter to bring over a chair?”

“No need. I won’t be staying and neither will you.” In a quick heartbeat, he grabs me forcibly by the elbow and wrenches me away.

“Wait! I have to go to the ladies’ room!” And stay there for the rest of my life.

“Excuse us,” he says calmly to my dinner mates, ignoring my excuse. “I have a crisis and need to borrow my assistant.”

“What the f*ck are you doing?” I yell, no longer in earshot of my friends.

“Your f*cking boyfriend?” he barks back at me. Squeezing my upper arm, he herds me through the restaurant at breakneck speed. Every eye is on us. Every step is a stumble.

“Slow down! You’re going to break my ankle!”

“Then I’ll carry you out of here.”

He squeezes my arm tighter and picks up his pace. If he weren’t holding on to me so hard, I’d be on my ass.


“You’re hurting me!” I protest at the top of my lungs.

“Oh, you’re such an expert on hurting people,” he growls.

We’re outside before I can respond. His fancy Lamborghini is parked, with the top up, is parked in front of the restaurant. He probably tipped the valet extra to leave it there.

With two clicks of a remote control that he’s holding in his other hand, the Lambo doors fly open like beetle wings.

“Get. In. The. Car.” He shoves me inside it and then hops into the driver’s seat. He slams a button on the dashboard. The vertical doors fold down and automatically lock. I’m trapped.