Ben grins. “You going to request a song for me?”
I lean in dangerously close—maybe I shouldn’t be doing this with Jack possibly still floating around and surrounded by the Warner lawyers, but I feel Jared’s eyes still on me and the idea of this bothering him spurs me on—and whisper, “How about I do one better for you?”
Ben’s jaw grows taut as he takes a small, rigid step back, casually checking heads.
With a grin, I practically skip over to the stage in my flirty red dress—when one is possessed by the devil, one must truly embrace the part. I zero in on the singer. He’s the one I have to charm.
And that’s how I end up slinging a guitar over my shoulder five minutes later. I wish I could have brought my own. It’s old and crappy, but I know all its little tricks and secrets. This one will have to do.
Tapping the microphone, I clear my voice. The stage lights aren’t quite strong enough to hide the crowd beyond and so I see the sea of heads turn my way. I’m only slightly nervous. I was never one to get anxious in front of crowds. Perhaps if I was, I wouldn’t have done half the stupid things I did. Now, at least, I’m actually doing something that I’m good at, something I haven’t done since Jared and I were together.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been up on a stage.” That’s all I say, and then I signal the band with a raised hand. Every single employee from Warner is staring slack-jawed at me as the band kicks off the opening notes to “Call Me” by Serena Ryder. Except for Ben, of course. He’s just standing there with his arms folded over his chest. Watching curiously.
And then I start to sing.
Breathing slowly, carrying the notes from the depths of my diaphragm, letting them sail out of my mouth, I sing as my fingers slide and curl and press each chord. It’s a deep, gritty song and it suits my low vocal voice perfectly. Just being up here again, letting my own emotions pour out through someone else’s words in a way that lets me speak my mind without judgment, sends a thrill through my body. I’ve always loved to sing, even when I was little and couldn’t carry a tune. That was one thing Annabelle did for me—put me in singing lessons. She did it because all the other socialite wives had their daughters in choir. But I had no interest in singing in a choir. I joined a band instead. We were pretty good, but we didn’t last long. The drummer and the bassist—brothers—argued too much.
The first night I got up and sang in a dingy Jacksonville bar for Jared was, according to him, the night he knew he wanted to marry me. He said my throaty lilt sent shivers down his spine and through his limbs, not stopping until they wrapped around his heart. Jared has a way with words.
And even now I see that odd, secretive smile touching his lips, his attention glued to me.
A look that Caroline studies intently and, by the way her nostrils are flaring, does not like in the least.
Inside me, bright, glorious, satisfying fireworks are exploding.
Dead silence hangs in the air for two seconds after the last note of the song plays and then a roar of applause explodes. I can’t help but beam. I let my eyes skate over Jared for only a millisecond, enough to see that familiar glow, and then I focus on Ben as he makes his way over to scoop me off the stage with a set of strong hands around my waist.
Good fake boyfriend.
“Why do you want me fired so bad?” Ben asks, his voice crackling with the low, soft tone as he leans into me. Not too close, but surely close enough to be inappropriate for Jack’s romance barometer. I hope he left before I took the stage.
“I think you’re going to do that all by yourself.” I take a step back, just in case he didn’t. I truly don’t want Ben to become a casualty of war and, if Jack’s still here and he sees this . . . “Where’s my drink?”
“Lina has it,” he murmurs, his chest rising as his eyes fall to my cleavage. “And you’d better guzzle, because we’re leaving right now.”
Oh boy. Ben obviously has plans for me. Tonight. That’s probably a good thing. It helps with this plan of mine: In. Impress. Out. I don’t want to linger too long and be forced to face the two of them together. Leaving on a high note gives me the upper hand here. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?” I pull the guitar strap over my head and hand it back to the guitar player, who offers me a nod of praise before jumping back onstage. With a gentle jab at Ben’s ribs, I head to the ladies’ room, feeling his eyes scorch my back the entire way. Or maybe they were Jared’s eyes.
Or both.
But the second I step out of the stall, I find a very different set of eyes scorching me. Ones full of hatred. And fear. They’re attached to the ginger-headed bitch waiting by the sink, her hands planted on her hips.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps.
So predictable. I turn on the tap. “Right now, I’m washing my hands. Do you want to know what I just did in there?” I jam a thumb over my shoulder to point at the toilet. “Because that’d be a bit weird.” If roles were reversed, I’d have punched her by now.
“I warned you!” She sticks her French-manicured fingernail in my face, so close to my nose that I fight the urge to swat it away. “Stay away from him!”
I give her my best confused look. “I’m here for a work party.”
“Really?” A haughty smile creeps over her lips. “So you haven’t been sending messages to Jared? Because somehow he found out that I knew his password.”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
The visible clenching of her teeth tells me not very well. “You asked him to come.”
“No. He said he wanted to go out for drinks and I told him I’d be here tonight,” I say slowly, and then switch my tone to something more patronizing. “I think you should be more concerned with why Jared wants to meet up with his ex-wife in the first place. Why he’s going out of his way to be friends with me.”
Her brow pulls together. I can see the wheels of suspicion begin churning, the once supremely confident Caroline suffering from the affliction of doubt. Is Jared cheating on her? Would he? My work for tonight could be done. I could just leave her with that.
But, of course, I don’t, because the burn from their treachery has left emotionally crippling scars inside. “I wonder what it’ll feel like when you catch him with another woman.”
“He wouldn’t do that to me.”
I stare hard at her, looking for the truth behind that. I can’t tell if she actually believes it. If she believes she is that important to him. “No?” I plaster on my own wicked smile, and I know it’s a winning one because her face pales. And then, because this woman still hasn’t shown an ounce of shame for what she did to me, hasn’t attempted to say “I’m sorry,” I go straight for her jugular by hissing, “I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of your shower.”
Her eyes flash with rage. “You whore!”
I’m guessing Lina and Nicki saw her follow me in and had their heads pressed against the door because the second Caroline shrieks, the two of them plowed through it, followed closely by Ben and Mason and a couple of curious women on their way to the bathroom. It’s perfect timing, really. I was just standing there, my arms folded across my chest, when Caroline flew at me, claws out.
I let her get one scratch across my collarbone in and a few solid fingerprints over my throat before I shove her away.
Nicki intercepts any further attack by firmly holding her arms to her side. I’ve seen her put people in headlocks before, so this is rather gentle. I doubt it’s necessary, though. By Caroline’s splotchy red face and the way she’s smoothing out her dress, she’s embarrassed. “I’m filing a restraining order against you.”
I dab a tissue that Lina provided against the scratch along my neck. It comes back with a few spots of blood. “Good luck with that. I haven’t done anything wrong. If you’ll recall, I moved away from you. I have never approached either of you.” Well, that is technically a lie, but she doesn’t know about the paintball. “I did not get your new phone number. I did not message Jared first. And I certainly did not just physically attack you. In front of witnesses. I’m just here, celebrating with my co-workers. And my boyfriend,” I add, gesturing to Ben, who shoots an exasperated look my way while Mason has one of his own for his friend. “Maybe I should be filing a restraining order against you? What do you think?” Just to be a complete ass, I ask Lina. “What do you think?”
“I think the court would be on your side, but I’m no lawyer.” Turning slightly, Lina muses, “What do you think, lawyers? Would Reese have a case here?”
Mason pushes a hand through his hair for the tenth time. I wonder what’s stressing him out more—being in a women’s bathroom or having no clue what the hell is going on and who Caroline is. Clearing his throat, he manages to get out, “I believe Reese would have a very strong case. In fact, we should call the police and file assault charges right now.”
I don’t believe it. Jiminy Cricket is actually defending me. Sure, it probably has more to do with him wanting to please my best friend, but . . .
I’m going to buy him a club-sized pack of Lysol wipes as a thank you.
“Caroline?” We all turn to find Jared stepping into the women’s washroom with what I presume is the manager behind him. I make sure any trace of a smile is wiped clean off my face as I clutch my throat a little more obviously. Not that Jared is necessarily going to buy the wounded act coming from me, but . . . “What’s going on in here?” He looks from her to me, to the paper towel across my neck, and back to her with surprise. “Tell me you didn’t just attack Reese in the bathroom.”
Caroline’s face turns an even darker, more unflattering shade of red. I think the sweet little Georgia peach has been caught with her prissy drawers down, exposing the very unladylike underside that she prefers to hide.
“I’m not going to press charges. I just want to go back to celebrating Ben’s night with him.” Looping arms with Ben, who’s still watching me with an odd look on his face, I walk out of the bathroom and down the hall with my head held high, the others trailing.
“We’ll catch up to you guys in a minute,” Ben calls out, pulling me back and into a small alcove near a service entrance, off from the main room and away from spectators.
“Sure. Maybe Lina can fill me in while we wait,” Mason mutters, shooting me a glare as they continue on.
Ben lifts my chin with his finger to inspect the scratch. “It’s not too bad.”
“Unless she’s rabid.”
That earns a small smile. “She was practically foaming at the mouth. I’m surprised you didn’t hit her back. Then again, I figure that all went down exactly like you wanted it to, didn’t it, Miss Devious?” The smile falls slightly as he asks a little bit more softly, “Was all of this for him?” I hear the question behind it. Was any of tonight for me?
Shit. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Ben does actually care.
Ben’s eyes drift to my mouth, reminding me of last weekend, making me feel as though I’ve somehow just betrayed him. Even though I haven’t, because we’re just friends, something both of us were adamant about. Are adamant about. Still, I’m starting to feel a little bit guilty.
“Hey, Reese, are you okay?” I guess we’re not as well hidden as we think, because Jared has easily found us.
“She’s fine. Take your crazy wife and get out of here,” Ben answers for me, his hands tightening around my waist as if to hold me in place.
Jared’s gaze hardens as he stares at Ben. I’ve seen Jared turn into a hothead before, ready to pick a fight.
“Don’t even think about it, man,” Ben murmurs in warning. “Just turn around and take that welted ass of yours home.”