Made for You (The Best Mistake 2)

She made him wait another twenty minutes before seeking him out.

But what was seventy-seven minutes when you’d already waited a lifetime?

Will watched her approach, her expression schooled into one of polite indifference. She stopped several inches in front of him, and only the slight narrowing of her gray-blue eyes gave any indication that she wanted him dead. Which, of course, she did.

“William.”

“Brynn,” he said, matching her prim tone.

He felt a little jolt of disappointment at her vapid smile. It was the same courteous, reveal-nothing expression she’d given everyone else in the room. He’d been kind of hoping for that special brand of bitchy that she’d always reserved just for him.

“You’re looking a little wider around the hips,” he said with an insulting glance up and down. She wasn’t, but the thought that she’d gained an ounce would keep her up at night.

Her smile slipped for a second, and for a moment he wondered if he’d struck a nerve. Normally he wouldn’t dare touch the subject of a women’s weight. He wasn’t a total ass. But Brynn had had the same perfectly slim figure as long as he’d known her—she wouldn’t tolerate anything else. Her physical appearance was flawless.

Her personality, however…

“And you’re looking…man-whorish,” she said with the usual venom.

Ah. There was the old Brynn. He nearly smiled. “So. Nice party,” he said blandly.

“Yes, it was sweet of Sophie to put it together.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, taking a sip of his red wine. “And exactly how intense was the urge to strangle her when you learned that she’d planned a surprise party instead of the usual dull birthday dinner with your family?”

This time the smile faded altogether. “Don’t. Don’t do that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you make it a point of thinking you know me better than anyone else.”

Don’t I? He stifled the thought. For now.

&nb

sp; She stepped closer and he caught the scent of her expensive perfume. The same one she’d been wearing for as long as he could remember. Change was not a concept Brynn Dalton embraced.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Sophie invited me.”

“To my birthday party? Sophie knows full well that we can’t stand each other.”

He ignored this. “Has anyone told you that your shoes are boring? They’re the same color as your skin,” he said.

“That’s kind of the point. It’s a look. A classic look.”

Uh-huh. In Brynn’s world, “classic” was simply a synonym for “risk-free.”

Will pulled a champagne flute off a tray and handed it to her. “You need a drink.”

“I’ve had plenty to drink,” she snapped.

“Right, because you wouldn’t want to get a little tipsy on your birthday. Are you really only thirty-one? Between the sagging and the wrinkles…”

She made a small rattling noise before snatching at the glass he held out. He watched as her eyes scanned the room, probably to ensure they hadn’t caused a scene. She took a tiny sip of champagne and tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ears. Like the perfume, her hair hadn’t changed in years. It was still in the same long, stick-straight style she’d worn in high school.

When he was seventeen, he used to fantasize about how the ends of that perfect blonde hair would look against her bare exposed breasts.