Cruel Kiss

But when I looked at her now—really looked at her for the first time in weeks—I saw something else. Her light had dimmed. Her smile didn’t quite meet those sparkling eyes. She drooped. And now that I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

“I know he’s your friend,” she said quickly, “but—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I told her, sliding my hands into the pockets of my black peacoat. I’d ditched a suit for dark wash jeans and a green cashmere sweater. “If you’re not happy, then you have to do what’s best for you.”

She brightened at those words, as if she hadn’t expected them from me. Like she had been waiting for everyone to tell her to get back together with someone who didn’t make her ridiculously happy.

“Thanks,” she said as she pulled her own jacket on. “I guess that means it’s you and me as the lone single friends.”

I went hard on the dimples. “I guess it does.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “Wingman?”

“As long as you give me the good ones.”

“Ha!” She rolled her eyes. “You can have the guys. I’ll take the girls. I’m over men.”

“You say that every time a relationship ends. Weren’t you just lamenting that you were tired of women because they were so complicated?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I do like to eat out.”

I winked at her. “Me too.”

She pointed a finger toward my face. “Don’t steal all the good ones from me, King.”

“Hey,” I said, holding my hands up. “I can’t guarantee a thing. I’m irresistible.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, which was what I’d been hoping for. “A little sure of yourself, huh?”

“I have every reason to be.”

Her eyes slid down my body, and for a split second, I was certain we were thinking the exact same thing.

Finally, she shrugged and said, “True.”

I was saved from coming up with an adequately flirtatious response by English storming into the lobby of the building. Her hands were out, blonde hair flying.

“What the hell, Gavin? I sent you inside to make things faster, not to hold up the entire operation.” She gestured to her Rolex. “We’re on a schedule.”

Whitley and I exchanged a look. English was a publicist by trade and one of the best in the business at that. She knew how to sass even the most famous among us. She had no qualms about doing it to her friends.

“Sorry. Whit tripped.”

Whitley shrugged and hoisted her purse up her shoulder. “I’m ready now.”

“Then, let’s go,” English said. She slung an arm around Whit, and they walked out into the wintry New York City mix.

It had snowed the night before. So, a soft white powder covered everything, except the streets and sidewalks, which were more like a black sludge. Ah, the joys of New York. A far cry from where I’d grown up in Midland, Texas. I’d been here long enough to love the city like home, but sometimes, I missed my family, the Texas weather, and fields of oil rigs.

Which I admitted was a strange thing to miss. But when you grew up as an heir to the Texas oil fortune Dorset & King, it was somehow normal. My cousins ran the place back home, but I was the head of the New York division. Which meant I didn’t handle day-to-day operations in the field, but rather worked with investors, business execs, and refineries in the northeast. Someone had to do it, and with my Harvard contacts, I’d been the prime choice.

A limo awaited us on the curb of Robert’s building. English hopped inside, and Whitley followed after depositing her bag. I slid inside and took the spot next to English’s boyfriend, Court Kensington. I’d gone to Harvard with Court and his best friend, Camden Percy. Camden would be joining us in Puerto Rico after Christmas with his wife, the infamous Katherine Van Pelt.

“About time,” Court said.

I grinned. “What can I say? I make women swoon.”

Whit snorted. “Hardly.”

Larkin St. Vincent rolled her eyes at the lot of us. She was the reason we were going to this brand-new St. Vincent’s Resort for the holidays. “Let’s get moving.”

Her boyfriend, Sam, slid his arm around her shoulders and grinned. “Where’s Robert?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Lark asked. “He has to work.”

“Oh, sorry, Whit,” Sam said in his slight Southern drawl.

Whitley shifted uncomfortably.

English zeroed in on her fidgeting. “What happened?”

“Well, we broke up.”

“What?” English gasped.

Lark’s eyes widened. She threw her long red ponytail over her shoulder. “Oh my god, when?”

“Like … just now.”

I leaned back in my seat and tried to look conciliatory. But when Sam and Court both turned their attention to me at the same time, I could barely hold back my affronted look back at them.

“What?” I hissed at Court while Whitley was distracted, explaining her breakup to English and Lark.

Court smirked. “You know what.”

I opened my mouth to object and then closed it. He was right. Fuck. My friends knew me too well sometimes.