It was phony looking as hell.
Claire might be the perfect society wife but they had zero chemistry.
I saw Nev’s mom Dana talking with some of my father’s business partners. Then I glanced at my dad. Then I glanced back.
He was staring at her. And not in an impersonal manner. My Father looked almost… soft.
A shot of recognition went through me at that expression. It was a lot like the way he used to look at my mother.
Holy shit.
My father was in love with Dana?
I felt an immediate sense of resentment. He couldn’t be bothered to love his own son. Or his own wife. But he loved his fucking executive assistant slash property manager?
Meanwhile he had warned me off Nevada, the nice, pretty girl I’d wanted all along. I seethed with anger at the thought. She could have been mine all these years. I could have been the one to unwrap that delectable body the first time.
And every fucking night since!
He was a fucking hypocrite. And he’d deprived me of something fucking real, while he was off screwing the help.
I downed my drink and headed to the bar. I winked at the bartender and grabbed the bottle of bourbon after tossing some ice in my glass. Then I went outside to sit by myself on the patio.
It was as good as place as any to get completely fucking shit faced.
The light was getting dim. Softly glowing lanterns were strategically placed outside on the veranda. I could watch the shit show going on inside and be more or less left to my own devices.
People came and went as I slowly worked my way through the bottle. I was starting to feel good, almost as if none of this external bullshit could touch me. That’s when I saw her.
Nevada was working her way through the room, a silver tray in her hand. Her beautiful face was blank but I could tell she wasn’t enjoying this. Her hair was tied back neatly in a french braid.
And she was wearing a uniform.
A fitted black skirt with a white blouse. A tiny little apron covered her front. Black patent leather pumps were on her feet.
Dear Jesus.
My dick lurched to attention, which was admirable considering how drunk I was. It pressed against my pants, practically clawing its way out to get to her.
To get inside her.
Now. Right now.
Yesterfuckingday.
I poured the remainder of the bourbon into my glass and headed into the house to get my woman. And she was mine. She always had been.
Why did it take me so fucking long to see it?
Besides, if my dear Father could sleep with the help, so could I.
Chapter Fourteen
Nevada
I held the tray aloft and put another used plate on it. I was only cleaning up. I had yet to be trusted with a full glass of anything or even the hors d’oeuvres.
It was exactly the sort of party that made me uncomfortable growing up. Not that I’d been invited to many. But my mother and I always attended the Westfield’s Christmas party. And sometimes other holidays. Like Thanksgiving. And the Fourth of July, which was actually kind of fun.
Mr. Westfield had his own fireworks most years. People sat out on the veranda and watched them while sipping cocktails. I usually found a quiet spot and watched alone or with Frannie.
I knew it was childish but I loved fireworks. They made me feel like anything was possible, kind of like I did on Christmas mornings as a kid. Before our lives had gone to hell.
Bringing me back to this particular hell.
I walked through the room, feeling invisible. Trying to sink into the carpet. Clay had been right. I’d crossed over into a different realm by taking this job. Sure it was just one time, but I felt painfully uncomfortable at the thought of crossing paths with him or any of his friends.
Thankfully, that had yet to happen.
I scooted into the servants hallway and headed for the kitchen. My tray was full. I was pretty sure I’d end up doing dishes at some point. I wasn’t really looking forward to that.
I bumped into someone and looked up.
My stomach did a little flip flop.
My luck had just ran out.
Clay’s bright blue eyes were scanning me appreciatively.
“I approve.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was wrong. You look incredible in that uniform. I would let you serve me all day.”
He leaned forward as I stiffened in shock. One arm braced against the wall and the other reached out to stroke my cheek.
“And night.”
“Clay! Not cool. I’m trying to work.”
He stepped back and toasted me with an overfull glass of booze. Bourbon I thought, not that I knew much about alcohol. I tried to brush past him but instead he grabbed me and backed me against a door. I was trying not to drop the tray of Waterford crystal glasses or fine porcelain plates. That’s how I missed him turning the knob and opening the door behind me.