A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

Sebastian’s eyes jumped between Yannick and me. The veil of indifference fell over his face once again. My heart sank. I knew what was coming. Swallowing, I pleaded, “Sebastian––” But I never got the chance to finish because he ripped his wrists out of my hold and stalked away from me.

Swiveling on my heels, I glared at Yannick. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the worst timing? What was that about?”

“I just wanted to make certain you were alright,” he argued.

“I’d like to know what it is about me that makes your gender think I can’t take care of myself!”

Tugging on his cuffs, looking every inch as gorgeous and sophisticated as ever, he raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re in a mood. We’ll talk tomorrow,” and walked away.

My best laid plans had been blown sky high. An evening that had started with promise had ended in complete disappointment, the gap between Sebastian and me wider than ever. It was time to retreat and regroup.

In the ladies room, I had just finished my business in one of the stalls, deep in thought about how best to deal with my husband, when I walked out and came face to face with my worst nightmare. Paisley was in the lounge area, bent over at the waist and snorting razor sharp lines of cocaine off the marble countertop. I froze, nailed to the spot on the floor while every instinct in my body told me to run. My heart beat so fiercely I was pretty certain she could hear it trying to break out of my chest.

She glanced up briefly and stopped short when it dawned on her who I was. Straightening slowly to a full height of practically ten feet with her platform shoes on, she placed her hands on her whippet thin hips and glared a hole through me. I noticed she was much thinner than usual. Impossible to fathom, though true. Her designer dress hung off the sharp angles of her bones, her eyes flat, her skin dull. She’d been living hard and fast since I last saw her outside the doctor’s office and it showed.

“You fucking bitch.” Her voice was a low, angry sound, similar to the primal warning a wolf makes right before it sinks its teeth into your throat. “You fucking, whoring cunt!” The aggressive step she took towards me snapped me out of my trance. There wasn’t much I could do though. She stood inconveniently between me and the exit. “You cost me everything! My money! My husband––” I didn’t fail to notice she placed her money above her husband in order of importance, her volume descending on the latter. “Sebastian!” she added belatedly, ending on a high note.

“You did that to yourself,” I spat out, finally locating my voice under all the bewilderment. She lunged for me quicker than I could anticipate and managed to hook her claw-like fingers at the top of my dress, near my collarbone. And with her face screwed up in a demented scowl, she yanked with all her strength.

The dress came apart. The one shoulder strap holding it up snapped, beads went flying in every direction. I grabbed onto the front, to keep it from sliding off, and while defenseless, she slapped me across the face, the sound echoing off the wall to wall marble.

“What is going on here?!” shouted a feminine voice with a distinct drawl. The assault in progress stopped instantly. My formidable knight in tarnished armor wore Chanel and a glare that could freeze fire.

Diana Redman stood inside the entrance of the bathroom in a column of black Chantilly lace that looked painted on every square inch of her sleek body. It started at the top of her neck and descended all the way to her toes. Never it my wildest dreams could I ever have imagined that I would be happy to see her––but I was. I just hoped my joy wasn’t misplaced. Her almond shaped eyes shifted from me to Paisley, and back to my dress. “What have you done, Paisley?” she calmly said, punctuating it with the arch of a blonde brow.

When Paisley glanced over her shoulder, I grabbed the opportunity to scoot out of her reach. “I’m giving this bitch her due.”

Diana crossed her slender arms in front, a posture I’d seen her son assume when he was ready to do battle. “Step away from my daughter-in-law,” she ordered.

“What?”

“You heard me. And clean yourself up while you’re at it––start with the powder under your nose.”

Wiping away the traces of coke with the back of her hand, Paisley shouted, “You hate her as much as I do!”

“No. I don’t. And you forget a very important detail, sugar. She’s a Horn. Now run along. I don’t want you bothering them again. You know I’m still real friendly with your Daddy. If you want to get in his good graces again you’ll do as I say, or one well placed word from me and you’re done––for good this time.” The clear threat was delivered with a lethal smirk.