The Rebound - Stefanie London Page 0,24
hesitate before responding.
It’s a date.
* * *
Presley arrives at the restaurant before I do, and when the staff member leads me to the table, I almost have to collect my jaw from the ground. She’s wearing a black minidress in a touch-me velvet with sheer sleeves. Miles of bare legs are exposed by the daring hemline, and on her feet she wears a pair of glossy black shoes with pencil-thin heels that gleam in the restaurant’s lighting. I catch a flash of red on the soles as she crosses her legs. The shade matches her lipstick.
Is this an ambush?
It sure as fuck feels like one. I wasn’t prepared for her to look like an invitation to sin, as though she’d reached right into my brain and figured out my exact turn-ons: red lipstick, short skirts and sexy heels. Okay, so maybe those aren’t exactly niche fetishes, I’ll admit, but damn.
“Don’t look so shocked,” she says as I lean down to brush my lips against her cheek in greeting. She doesn’t get up. “It’s just a dress.”
“It’s not just the dress.”
You know that whole playing-with-fire thing? As humans, we know we’re not supposed to do it. We know it’s a dangerous idea. And yet here I am, lighting matches and flinging them into the air like I’m not dancing in a pool of petrol.
Presley’s mouth curves up in amusement and she motions for me to sit. “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope.” I lower myself into the chair and raise a brow as a waiter delivers two flutes of champagne to the table. “I wasn’t aware we were celebrating.”
“We are.” She picks up her glass by the stem, and the golden light reflected in the flute’s expensive crystal makes her appear even more luminous beside it. “To realising that marriage is bullshit.”
I raise my glass and touch it to Presley’s, the chime smothered by the din of soft conversation around us.
“You don’t think there’s a chance you and Mike will reconcile?” I take a sip of my drink. This is important for my plan; if there’s a chance she thinks she might go back to Mike, then I may have difficulty getting anything from her.
“Uh, no. I refuse to be a trophy wife or a bargaining chip. Or worse, both.” Her red lips wrap around the edge of the glass as she sips. A mark is left behind, a perfect cherry-toned imprint. “I put so much into that relationship and all he cared about was getting his grubby hands on his family’s business.”
“My family’s business.” The words shoot out of me before I can stop them, but it makes my blood boil that Mike is laying claim to what’s mine. “My grandfather started it, not his.”
Presley watches me. Her eyes are unnervingly pale in the restaurant’s low golden lighting—and it’s like they can see everything. How Mike could have those eyes looking up at him and not be willing to hand over everything he owned is beyond me.
“I didn’t know that,” she admitted. “I always assumed it came from Mike’s side of the family the way he talked, and that your father took the CEO role when he married your stepmother.”
“Mike thinks he owns everything he comes into contact with.” I suck in a breath. “But the fact is, the business should be mine. My grandfather wanted me to take over one day, only he didn’t live long enough to make sure it happened.”
Her eyes soften. “Has he been gone a long time?”
“He died when I was twelve.” Even now, almost twenty years later, it still hurts to think about it. He’d been so full of life, so vibrant—a self-made man who dragged himself out of dirt and poverty to build a business that set his son and grandson up for life. “Prostate cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” She reaches across the table and clasps my hand in hers. Her touch is cooling, calming. And yet it’s also neither of those things.
“Don’t be. He lived a good life. He was the kind of guy who inspired everyone he met because his personality could fill a room.” I force the grief down—because that’s another thing he taught me. Actions have more worth than worries. “I always wanted to be like him. I wanted to build something with my own bare hands.”
She draws her hand back and reaches for her drink. “So tell me, what have you built?”
I smile at her assumption that I’d made good on my dreams. “Actually, I’m more into helping others build things these days.”
“How