A tiny voice in the back of my mind worried I was just a temporary fix. Something to be plugged into the hole of loneliness he felt, or a substitute for the woman he couldn’t have, but I shook it off. Macalister was not a replacement for Tate, so I hoped it was the same for him.
“Dude, what is with you?” Penelope asked me, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I turned my gaze away from Marist and shifted my focus back to my friend. We were at a fundraiser for the Boston Zoo, and for anyone else, Penelope’s leopard print dress would have been a bit too on-the-nose. But on her it looked fabulous.
“Sorry.” I smiled with embarrassment. “I got distracted. I like Marist’s dress. Don’t you?”
It was such a dark purple, it looked black until she moved. The boning lines of the corseted top were visible, and the skirt burst out into shimmering layers of tulle.
Penelope gave Marist a once-over glance, taking in the dress and the way it worked with her dark green hair. “I guess. She’s weird.”
I frowned. “We’re all weird.” I gave her a pointed look. “You did the foot thing with Dean Halbeck, remember?”
She nearly spit out the gin and tonic she was sipping. “Oh, my God! Don’t bring that up.” She tucked a strand of her maple syrup colored hair behind an ear. “And I didn’t just mean now, you know. You’ve been totally MIA the last month.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice low. “Who is he?”
I fought the desire to seek him out. He was here tonight, probably lingering beside Evangeline and pretending to listen to conversation he’d tell me later he found insipid. No one knew while he’d been escorting his “girlfriend” around the room, he’d secretly been sending text messages to his assistant he was fucking on the side.
Although I couldn’t see him, I felt Macalister all over my body. Literally. He’d bought me expensive French lingerie, which I was currently wearing under my dress. With every step, I felt the straps from the garter belt pinned to my stockings and the delicate lace of my bra as it brushed over my nipples.
This was why I was distracted. I couldn’t not think about Macalister.
There’d been other gifts too. A potted orchid appeared on my desk the day after he’d discovered an orchid picture was my phone’s lock screen. When the zipper broke on my favorite handbag, a new one was delivered the following morning. The office kitchen suddenly stocked my favorite black vanilla teabags.
Before, he’d been a man who only thought about himself, but it couldn’t be true now.
He spent a lot of time thinking about me.
Penelope stared expectantly, waiting for me to tell her who I was secretly seeing.
It wasn’t really a lie, because I thought few people in Cape Hill did. “You don’t know him.” That wasn’t enough to satisfy her, so I tacked on, “He works at HBHC.”
Hopefully, she’d assume that was where we’d met. I didn’t like lying, and I was eager to talk about my feelings for him with someone else, but I couldn’t. Penelope was the first person to admit she was terrible at keeping secrets.
“Interesting,” she said. “Does he work with Tate?”
I frowned at what she was implying, like I was dating someone he worked with to try to make him jealous. “No, and I told you, that’s over.”
“I know you said that, but are you sure?” She looked disappointed. “Because I think he’s flirting with Emily Northcott right now.”
“Is he?” I felt a strange sense of relief that I was only interested in this as information. There wasn’t even a spark of jealousy. “I didn’t realize she came.”
Since Marist’s sister had a three-year-old daughter, she didn’t go to many of these things.
Penelope lifted a carefully manicured eyebrow. “I mean, if you want to get out of here, let’s go. I’m ready.”
She knew I’d been in love with him and was worried about me, and I appreciated it. I laughed lightly and shook my head. “No, it’s totally fine. I’m over Tate. This new guy I’m seeing is a million times better.” Her gaze drifted over my shoulder, but I was too excited to talk about it to recognize what this meant. “The sex, Penelope. Fuck, he’s so amazing. I’ve had so many orgasms I think I’m getting dehydrated.”
“Mr. Hale,” she announced with a strained smile.
“Ms. Marino,” Macalister answered, his voice right behind me.
My body locked up. How much of that had he heard? If I looked embarrassed, at least she’d assume it was because I’d revealed this in front of my boss. I turned to face him, my cheeks on fire. His expression gave nothing away. He was cold, indifferent stone, and I did my best to sound natural and helpful. “Did you need something?”