One for the Money

Alex fucking Langley for Eva? He’s ancient.

Maybe not that much older than her, not so much older that it would be a scandal, but he’s old. And boring. He’s searching for a mate the way you find a mare for a stallion. For well-bred children. That’s what these men want, a woman to bring them a drink at the end of the day, to be the hostess at events like this one. Plan everything, so he never has to think about anything. Do everything, so he only has to glad-hand at galas.

I’m going to get her out of here.

Surprise flashes through Sarah Morelli’s eyes.

I know what I look like to her. A catch. She’s put me next to Lizzy at past dinner parties, as if I might be interested in a child. We might be in the twenty-first century, but matches are still made. Arranged marriages happen every day in families like ours.

No, thank you.

I won’t be getting married. Ever.

And I’m not particularly interested in the Morellis. Except for Eva. There’s something about her that calls to me. The sense of innate sadness. It makes me want to cheer her up, which is something I can do—at least in a temporary way.

That’s what I’m good for. Temporary.

“You didn’t tell me you had plans,” Sarah tells Eva, half scolding. The delighted smile on her face gives her away. It may surprise her, but she’s nothing if not adaptable. Bagging a Hughes with any daughter would be a coup. “Where are you going?”

“Yes, Finn. Where are we going?” Eva asks, laughter in her voice.

I like this mischievous Eva better than the beleaguered one. Her dark eyes sparkle with silent challenge. It makes me hard beneath the thin wool of my tux. “It’s a surprise.”

“Indeed,” Sarah murmurs, glancing between the two of us.

Suspicious? Perhaps, but she’s not going to say no to me. Not because I’m persuasive or charming. She won’t say no because my family is one of the most wealthy and powerful in the country. I could be a bastard, and Sarah would still hand me her daughter on a silver platter.

Eva’s wine-red lips quirk in a half-smile. “As much fun as surprises can be, I think I should stay here. After the champagne drought, who knows what might go wrong?”

“We ran out of champagne?” Sarah glances at her almost-empty champagne glass. “Is that why we have a white wine spritzer as the signature cocktail? It’s delicious, but I don’t remember seeing it in the event plan.”

It’s time to issue my own subtle challenge to Eva Morelli. Enough of the event planning and the matchmaking. I’m strangled for air, and I’ve only been here a few minutes.

It’s like she’s being buried alive with piles of money.

“I can’t tell you where we’re going,” I admit. “But I can tell you what we’ll be doing. We’re going to have a good time. Fun. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

A delicate snort.

“So much fun you’ll lose track of time.”

“Promises, promises.”

“I don’t make promises I don’t keep,” I tell her, looking into her dark, fathomless eyes. There’s not much I can offer this woman, but I can offer her this.

Eva’s expression flickers with wariness. And with curiosity.

Her mother looks scandalized by Eva’s reaction to me. In another second, she’ll open her mouth and demand that her daughter come with me. But I don’t want Eva to come because her mother demands it. I want her to come because she chooses curiosity.

No, I want her to come because she chooses me.

I lean against the doorframe as if I have all the time in the world. Really, the opposite is true. “How about a bet? If you have a good time tonight, then I win. But if you, in your honest assessment, don’t have a good time, you win.”

“I’ll win what, exactly?”

I reach into my pockets. A billfold. An old pocket watch. A handful of coins.

The quarter flips off my thumb and across the room. I didn’t give her enough warning, but she captures it anyway. Delicate fingers smooth across the warm metal. “Twenty-five cents? I suppose I could add foam to my Starbucks order tomorrow.”

“Have a wonderful meal,” Sarah Morelli says.

Eva kisses her mother’s cheek.

When she approaches me, her chin is high and her bearing regal, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. It’s what pulls me to her. She’s so damn strong, holding up her entire family like Atlas holds the world. But who rubs her shoulders at the end of the day?

I offer her my arm, and she takes it. Very formal.

There’s nothing untoward about us. My body doesn’t give a fuck. It reacts with a violent sense of victory. Mine, it says. The way her arm rests in mine, the heat of her body—it’s like she was made to stand at my side.