IOU Sex

“Oh, she did not…” I could barely breathe.

“Something wrong?” Jane asked, though we both knew that when it came to my family and me, there was always something wrong.

I glanced up at my assistant as the chill set in. “This is my stationery Lizzie is using. These are the invitations I’d picked out for mine and Seth’s wedding.”

“Wow.” That was all Jane could say, and I didn’t blame her.

For several moments, I was completely dazed, the wind knocked out of me. She had some nerve, that little sister of mine.

When I recovered somewhat from the blow, I handed over the package that contained the invitation to the engagement party, a photo of the happy couple and the RSVP card and envelope.

“Trash.”

Jane nodded as she took the odious materials and promptly left my office with them in hand. She was a good enough friend to not drop the invitation in my own trash bin, instead taking it far, far away from me.

My gaze fell to the phone again. I really and truly wanted to call my mother and tell her I couldn’t make it tomorrow. What sane person would put herself through this? I’d been humiliated and devastated by my sister’s deception and my fiancé’s betrayal. But for the past year, I’d played the role of the bigger, better person. Rising above the mortification and pain to face my family with my head held high. Yet, it was definitely sagging right now.

Tears stung my eyes. I’d never asked my sister or my fiancé how they could do something so deceitful, how they could hurt me the way they had. Instead, I’d said if Lizzie was who Seth wanted to be with, it was good we all discovered the truth before my wedding. I’d taken the high road. Pretended the entire debacle didn’t wreck me. Then I’d pushed it out of my mind, trying to imagine it’d never happened.

I couldn’t deny it any longer, though. Nor could I keep the anger from returning full force.

Brushing away the tears that streamed down my flushed cheeks, I stood and collected my purse and laptop. The Glenlivet was in the top drawer of my credenza. I added it to my laptop tote before slinging the strap over my shoulder. I grabbed the garment bag hanging on the back of my office door and headed out.

The best revenge would be to go to that stupid engagement party looking as hot as I possibly could, my arm linked with someone more successful and definitely more gorgeous than Seth. Michael would fawn over me, playing it up because he knew all the sordid details too. I’d carry on the facade and appear to be unaffected by Lizzie and Seth’s impending nuptials. I wouldn’t let them, or anyone else, know how badly they’d hurt me.

Stepping into the elevator, I caught the pained expression in my green eyes. The reflection in the shiny doors would have to be remedied. I couldn’t show up looking emotionally bruised and battered.

Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin a notch.

You can do this.

I prayed the mental pep talk worked.

Arriving at the loft on the outskirts of North Beach, bribe in hand, I rang the bell and nervously tapped the toe of one pointy-tipped black leather shoe on the sidewalk. I heard Michael bound down the flight of polished wood stairs moments before the door swung open.

“Hey, babe,” he said with a melt-my-heart-grin. My stomach did that crazy fluttering thing again.

“Hey, yourself.” I’d always liked the term of endearment he used with me, though I’d never asked him if he called every former lover babe.

As he stepped aside, I entered the foyer. Setting my laptop bag on the table next to the coatrack, where I hung my dress, I retrieved the Scotch and handed it over.

“This is a little excessive for a favor,” he said as he eyed the label on the wooden box that contained the whisky.

“Wait ‘til I tell you what I need from you before you say that.”

One dark brow lifted. “If it’s photographing the opening of another fetish club, you can forget it. I now draw the line at snapping shots of men in studded collars and bare-butt leather shorts.”

I laughed. “This is San Francisco. A very diverse city with very diverse tastes.”

“Yeah, well,” he said with a snicker as he helped me out of my overcoat, “I have a ‘diverse’ enough portfolio, thank you very much.”

“So narrow-minded,” I teased as I preceded him up the stairs to his loft.

“Please. You were blushing from head to toe the entire night. In fact, I’m shocked you even took on the job.”

“I’ve only been in business for a year. I can’t afford to be selective yet.”

He crossed the vast living room to the wet bar. A fire crackled in the middle of one brown brick wall and jazz music flowed from hidden speakers. The exposed beams overhead added to the open and spacious feeling of the loft. In the center of the living room was a large bronze-colored leather sofa flanked by matching loveseats.