Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,200

overrated.

The fact that I predicted his proposal down to the month he bent down on one knee in a public setting proved I was constantly one step ahead of him. If it weren’t for his cheating dick, maybe I would’ve still believed that marriage wasn’t boring and redundant.

“Another round ladies.” Lincoln, our usual waiter at the speakeasy I’m a member of, Torrio’s Table, delivers another round of Vespers for my co-workers and me.

“I know he’s young but damn.” Chelsea’s gaze follows his ass as he walks away.

I admire too, because Lincoln is easy on the eyes. Not even a nun could argue that.

“I’m sure Dean would love to hear that.”

Chelsea sweetly smiles over at Victoria. “You can act like you’re not looking, mama saint, but you’re not fooling anyone. Not to mention, me looking doesn’t mean he holds a candle to my man.”

Both my employees recently found new men in their lives. They’re both willing to give love another try, believing that fate’s GPS somehow steered them wrong the first time with their failed marriages. Well, in Chelsea’s case she just sort of looped back to her ex-husband.

Are they happy?

Definitely.

Will it work out?

I don’t know.

I hope it does.

But I’ve been where they are. Sex until dawn and breakfast in bed. Scary how fast things pivot to masturbation and grabbing a banana while waiting for your Starbucks.

I hope they both have happily ever afters, but right now, I need them to get out of la-la land and find me a venue.

“I have no idea what to do. It’s July. Invitations have been printed which means I have to get them reprinted, but I don’t even have an address. Girls, we need to brainstorm.” I twirl the glass by the stem between my finger and thumb.

“We’ll figure something out.” Victoria’s sweet gaze lands on me.

The door opens into the secluded room and my worst nightmare saunters in with that cocky ass grin on his face. “As if I need anything else bad tonight.”

Chelsea spots the guy she thinks has been soaking my panties for the last few months, turning back my way, smirking.

“Ignore him.” Victoria squeezes my forearm. She’s the sane one out of the two of them.

Roarke Baldwin swaggers across the room and nods and waves to some other patrons like he’s running for fucking Congress. I’m still waiting for an answer from management on how he got his membership to Torrio’s. Before my divorce, he was never here.

His gaze remains on me the entire time he passes our table.

I let a breath leave my lungs once he clears my vision without stopping. Until I feel movement in the booth behind me across my back, alerting me that he can hear our conversation. Chelsea’s eyes stay on the back of his head, confirming my thoughts.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” I fluff off the topic of the venue because I don’t want the man behind me knowing I’m at a disadvantage.

“We’ll find a venue. Don’t worry,” Chelsea blurts out and I’m really hoping it’s the hormones in her body that are making her ignore the fact that I tried to squash this topic. “What kind of a place double books and doesn’t know it until six weeks out?”

I drag my finger across my throat.

“I agree, I felt like cutting their throats when they called. I’m happy you feel the same way because I thought it was my pregnancy hormones kicking in. The other night, I got so mad at Dean because he didn’t wipe off Grover’s paws when he came in from outside,” Chelsea continues rambling.

“Chels.” Victoria widens her eyes and bops her head in the direction behind me.

“Oh,” she mouths and slinks back into her booth. “Sorry,” she mouths again, biting her lip.

My eyes close and the booth behind me shifts.

Please be getting a drink. Lincoln’s swamped and he’s on the opposite side of the room, so it makes total sense if Roarke was headed to the bar.

Chelsea’s gaze follows him and I don’t need a tracker on the man to know where he’s at, watching Chelsea does just fine. Even Victoria’s watching him. I can tell he’s at the bar. Thank God.

A few seconds later their eyes widen and their faces lose color. Their unspoken reaction makes my internal radar blip and bleep, signaling that he’s drawing closer. The scent of his musky cologne wraps around our booth as tightly as the viper he’s proven to be.

Once we’re in his clutches, he eyes the empty spot next to Chelsea.

For