If the Sun Never Sets - Ana Huang Page 0,47
summer Kris returned from China. Five years of dating and jet-setting around the world together. They were already practically married, and their upcoming nuptials were just a formality.
“So.” Courtney’s blue eyes glittered with mischief. “How’s Blake in bed? Has he learned any new tricks?”
Australia-sized red blotches blossomed on Farrah’s face and chest. That was her cue.
“As much as I would love to discuss my sex life, I’m afraid I have to cut the night short. There’s have something I have to do,” she announced. “You guys will be in town until next weekend, right?”
“Yes,” Kris said at the same time Courtney asked, “Something or someone?”
“We’ll hang out during the week.” Farrah ignored Courtney’s question and Olivia’s disapproving stare. “Liv, see you at home later. Try not to blow a gasket before then.”
“That’s going to be tough considering my best friend insists on tangoing with the devil.” Olivia’s brows knotted together. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.” Farrah slung her purse over her shoulder. “Love you guys. Venmo me the bill.”
“She’s totally going to bang Blake,” she heard Courtney say as she left. “Speaking of bang-worthy guys, we should invite Sammy out. I miss him.”
Olivia hissed. “Over my dead body.”
“Hey, whatever you’re into…”
Farrah’s friends’ voices faded. The door to Elysian jangled closed behind her as she poured herself into the sticky summer heat of late June New York. By the time she arrived at Blake’s building, a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, and her orange sundress clung to her chest and thighs.
The concierge recognized her on sight and waved her up without calling Blake, even though it was well past business hours.
Farrah was grateful for the extra time to change her mind, though it didn’t say much about building security.
You’re already here. Might as well go through with it.
She got off the elevator, heart pounding, and knocked on Blake’s door before she lost her nerve.
Silence.
Maybe he wasn’t here. It was, after all, Friday night.
Relief and disappointment fizzled in Farrah’s veins. This was stupid. She should—
She heard low voices, then footsteps. A second later, Blake opened the door, his eyes brightening with surprise when he saw who was on the other side. His hair was damp, and he wore a soft gray T-shirt that molded to his sculpted shoulders and well-defined arms.
“Farrah? What are you doing here?”
Farrah’s response died in her throat when another set of footsteps approached and a willowy, auburn-haired beauty appeared by Blake’s side. She wore an oversized black Southeastern Texas sweatshirt.
Blake’s sweatshirt.
One of his favorites, if Farrah remembered correctly.
“Who’s this?” The woman cocked her head and eyed Farrah curiously. With her high cheekbones, creamy skin, and golden-brown eyes, she should be on a Times Square billboard, showing off the latest designer fragrance or expensive lingerie line.
Say something.
Except, she couldn’t. All Farrah could do was stand there and try not to drown beneath the wave of jealousy that consumed her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Why don’t you head out for the night?” Blake suggested to his chief of staff. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Patricia tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Patricia shot one last quizzical look at Farrah, who remained unmoving in the doorway, before she brushed past her and swayed down the hall.
Patricia had been here all night, helping Blake sort through their shitshow of an opening. They’d settled on a new restaurant manager, but they still had issues with the plumbing and now their liquor distributor said their alcohol deliveries were going to be delayed. Something about the company consolidating two facilities into one and a backlog.
Blake would be more sympathetic if he weren’t so pissed off.
You couldn’t have a bar without alcohol. Period. That was the whole fucking point of a bar.
He and Patricia spent all afternoon scrambling to find another distributor who could deliver the quantities they needed on time for a reasonable price. They’d only stopped for a quick dinner break, during which he’d spilled wine all over her white shirt. He’d lent her the first top he could find—his favorite STU sweatshirt—to cover up the stain until she could change.
They’d been wrapping up when he heard a knock.
He didn’t know who he’d expected when he opened the door, but he most definitely hadn’t expected Farrah.
Blake leaned against the doorframe, drinking her in. She wore a little orange dress that bared her shapely legs and made her look tanner than usual. Her cheeks glowed pink, a sure sign she’d been drinking. Or maybe the pink had something to do with the