“Haven’t seen him.” I lift the glass to my lips again. “Where’s Lincoln?”
Ryker shrugs. “Called him but he didn’t answer.”
“I’m gonna hit the head. Be back in a minute,” Asher says and heads toward the bathrooms.
Ryker and I share a quick glance, having a pretty good guess that he’s really going to shove some white powder up his nose.
The voices grow louder, spurring everyone to turn their attention to the entry of the room. I have to assume that behind the throngs of people, Ford is there with his staged smile and ‘you’re all my family’ handshakes.
“Ford’s here,” Ryker says. We both watch for a moment. He has a better view. The crowd slowly parts, people milling back to small groups after they’ve welcomed the host. “Oh shit.”
My forehead creases. “What?” I shift to the side, pulling away from my date, who’s clutching my arm like I’m the last Christmas cup at Starbucks.
As the crowd thins, Ford emerges, and just as I assumed, he’s all smiles and handshakes as he glides into the room.
Then my eyes slide to the woman on his arm.
And I see her.
The reason Ryker’s voice shook with worry a moment ago.
Isla Flores.
It’s been almost a decade since I saw her last. I’ve imagined what she might look like now, but my internal musings didn’t do her justice. As quickly as my appreciation of her more mature body hits me, red hot anger jabs me like an iron poker in the stomach.
“No, man,” Ryker reaches out for me, but I shrug him off.
I stalk across the room to where she and Ford stand side by side.
I shake his hand and smile like I’m happy as fuck for him, but when I lean in, my voice is anything but joyous. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
I draw back, and the surprise and hurt that flashes in Isla’s brown eyes says she heard me. Good. I don’t really give a shit. She flinches but quickly regains her composure, raising her chin in the air.
“Garrin, you remember Isla Flores, I assume?” Ford gestures to her serenely, unfazed by my reaction.
“I know who the hell she is. What I want to know is why she’s here.”
He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, his eyes already on someone behind me. “Isla’s agreed to come on as my press secretary for the campaign. Isn’t that wonderful?” He sticks his elbow out to his side, and Isla takes his arm without hesitation.
I scowl at him with the heat of a thousand suns, but he doesn’t even flinch, moving away from me to a cluster of guests.
Bastard.
“You couldn’t find someone with a better reputation to work on your campaign?”
He stops and they both turn like Ken and Barbie dolls on a circular pedestal. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a room to work.”
They walk over to the group of people and begin conversing as if our confrontation never happened.
What game is he playing? Would he really bring Isla Flores back into our lives just because I took his date home last weekend?
Asher comes over, another drink in his hand, smelling like a fucking distillery.
“Isn’t that the chick I fucked senior year?” he asks and chuckles, the ice clinking in an empty glass.
I toss back the remainder of my drink and stalk over to the bar. There’s not enough whiskey in this place to get me through tonight.
Ford and Isla make their rounds around the room for the next hour. I’d like to stab myself in the eye with the small forks on the appetizer tray, because no matter how hard I try, I’m keenly aware of her every move, and the way she charms everyone she talks to. My fingers grip my glass harder every time a man glances down at her cleavage when their wife looks away. Red falls like a veil over my eyes every time Ford touches her or guides her by the elbow to the next group of people.
She’s not mine, so I better calm the fuck down. I never owned her, and if I continue to act like some jealous prick of an ex-boyfriend, my friends are going to call me out on my shit. Not to mention, I don’t care. All Isla and I ever were was lab partners.
Even as my date purrs in my ear, slides her hand under the lapel of my suit and digs her nails into the linen of my dress shirt, it doesn’t distract