One Night

My grandma joined the applause, her eyes meeting mine with a warm smile. The crowd began to clap along, their whispers barely concealed by the polite applause. I could see them exchanging glances, their curiosity piqued.

I quickly slipped off the stage, blending into the crowd. I could only imagine Emma’s surprise at my unexpected performance. My dad was probably somewhere nearby, waiting for the right moment to pull me aside for a stern talk.

I didn’t need this. I needed to find Wayne.

I scanned the crowd, my eyes finally landing on him. He was leaning against a pillar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a champagne glass. His gaze was fixed on the stage, while Rosalyn stood in front of him, her smile forced and her eyes filled with desperation.

She was trying to get his attention, but it was clear she was failing. Spoiled.

I watched as Wayne finally said something—his words lost in the crowd’s chatter—that left Rosalyn looking both hopeful and frustrated. She nodded, pecked his cheek, and walked away, her hips swaying with each step.

Once she was gone, I made my move. I grabbed Wayne’s arm, pulling him away from the crowd and into the house.

I found a broom cupboard and practically shoved us both inside, closing the door behind us.

I flicked on the light and turned to him, my eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wayne leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He was even more handsome than I remembered. His hair was darker, almost black, and his gray eyes were stormy and mysterious.

He was taller than me, and his body...well, it was even more impressive than I remembered. Had he always been this ripped?

Suddenly aware of our close proximity, I felt a flutter in my stomach. I mirrored his stance, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing my arms. I raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze to avoid looking at his body again. “Well?”

“You know,” he began, his voice deeper and smoother than I remembered, “people don’t usually drag me into dark, small places. I’m a very important person, after all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Explain.”

He tsked, a half-smile on his face. “You need to be polite when talking to an Oscar-winning director, and the youngest one at that.”

“Who cares about your stupid Oscar?” I retorted. “You could top the Sexiest Man Alive list for all I care. Now answer my question.”

He studied me for a moment. “I forgot how stubborn you were,” he said, his eyes attempting to pierce mine. “You still manage to surprise me, Cleo…or is it Blair Sheridan now?”

I flinched involuntarily. Why did hearing my name from his lips affect me so much? It was just a name. Just Blair Sheridan.

But when Wayne said it, it felt like he was lumping me in with them. “Cleo is fine,” I said, my gaze shifting to the wall next to his head.

He chuckled. “I bet you still think of me as Wayne, too, no?”

“It’s better than the original, I hope,” I replied, my eyes snapping back to him as he suddenly moved closer. His hands were on the wall next to my head, his body trapping me against the wall. His eyes bore into mine.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my face scrunching up in confusion. This wasn’t why I brought him in here!

“Getting comfy,” he smirked at my glare. “And to answer the question you haven’t asked yet, my real name is Holden Knight.”

“Ah,” I murmured, my brow furrowing. “That explains it. Rosalyn was trying to keep me away from you tonight, even though I had no idea who you really were. She’s a nasty piece of work. I wouldn’t recommend sleeping with her.”

He chuckled and leaned in closer. “I’m not interested in spoiled, innocent supermodels,” he said, and I raised an eyebrow. Innocent? Rosalyn was anything but innocent.

“I have a taste for the strange, wicked, lovely pianist standing in front of me. Again.”

I froze. “We’re not having sex again, Wayne.”

He grinned. “Why? We’re already in such a compromising position.” He pressed his body against mine, his thigh parting mine, allowing him to lean into me fully.

My breath hitched as my chest pressed against his, my nipples hardening from the sudden tension.

“See?” he whispered, his lips inches from mine. “We still have that sexual tension. Why not give in?”

I glared at him, placing my hands on his chest. “I’m not the same girl you remember from two years ago, Wayne. You can’t talk me into doing something you want.”

“I’m not the same guy, either,” he said, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. They turned a bright silver as he sighed and, to my surprise and relief, stepped back.

“Got any more questions for me, since you’ve so kindly hauled me in here?” he asked, his patience clearly wearing thin. It seemed the charm offensive was over.

I felt more at ease in this setting, so I fixed him with my most serious gaze. “You’re friends with Ford, right?”

I recalled hearing his real name once from Ford. Given that I usually didn’t pay much attention to my family—or my would-be family—it was strange that I remembered.

Wayne didn’t comment on that, though. “Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms again. “I directed a movie he was in. We got along well. We’ve been friends since then.”

I nodded. “And he’s asked you to be his best man?”

He raised an eyebrow. “He asked me. I haven’t given him an answer yet. Where are you going with this, Cleo?”

My stomach fluttered pleasantly at the sound of my pseudonym on his lips.

“My family is full of vipers, even Emma, who looks like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Don’t trust anyone, especially Rosalyn and Roman. They’re the worst.

“And my father might try to get you to marry Rosalyn. Do everything you can to ignore him. He’s the worst of them all.”

“No love lost between you and your family,” he observed, his expression shifting from irritation to annoyance.

“I’m just telling it like it is,” I said, returning his gaze with a pointed look of my own.

“While I think you’re a charming, flirtatious jerk and the last thing I want right now is to sleep with you, I still remember the kindness you showed me two years ago, when you sat and listened at my lowest point.”

I took a deep breath. “All I’m trying to do is return the favor. Be careful and don’t let any member of my family get involved with you or try to manipulate you for their own selfish ends.”

He moved toward me again, stopping just short of touching me, his towering height looming over me.

“And what about you, Cleo?” he asked, his hand rising to lightly touch my cheek. I froze, unable to breathe. “Should I stay away from you as well?”

I wanted to lean into his touch, but that would be absurd, so I didn’t. “I think that might be best,” I said, my voice coming out softer than usual. That was odd. I was never soft.

He smirked at me again before dropping his hand from my face and saying, “I’ll consider your advice.”

He stepped back and was about to turn to open the door when he paused, as if remembering something, and looked back at me.

“By the way,” he said casually, “you’re an amazing piano player.”

I blinked at him, taken aback. “I played terribly tonight.”

“No”—he gave me a wicked grin—“you played like a demon.”

With that cryptic remark, Wayne left the closet, leaving me alone. My knees gave out, and I slid to the floor, feeling weak all over.

What did playing like a demon even mean?

***

I slipped out of Ford’s mansion and found my car.

I knew I shouldn’t be driving home, so I parked the car in a nearby lot and slept until the alcohol had left my system.

When I woke up, the dawn was painting the city in beautiful colors.

I drove home, feeling nauseous, and once I was in my apartment, I took a shower, threw up a few times, changed into my pajamas, and collapsed face-first onto the bed.

But this time, sleep eluded me, and I found myself tossing and turning.

Wayne was on my mind. Exactly where he probably wanted to be. Who knew he was Rosalyn’s Holden Knight? So strange.

And he had lied to me. What man wouldn’t be interested in a supermodel? Even if he was an Academy Award winner and women were constantly throwing themselves at him, Rosalyn wasn’t someone men turned down.

While I was pretty enough for my own standards—I didn’t need to be as beautiful as either of my sisters—I clearly wasn’t in the same league as Rosalyn and Emma. Not that I wanted to be.

But Wayne telling me he’d rather sleep with me than any of them…something didn’t add up.

Unfortunately, if what Wayne said was true, I’d be seeing a lot more of him in the next three months leading up to Emma’s wedding. He was the best man, after all, even if he hadn’t agreed yet.

I might not be a bridesmaid—that role was reserved for Emma’s model friends and Rosalyn.

And also, I had declined when Emma begged me to pretend our family wasn’t a mess when it clearly was.

But I had still been roped into helping out. Because life.

So this wouldn’t be the last I saw of him. And I knew that while my body liked the idea of being with him again, my mind preferred not to.

Sure, it had been fun at the time, and yes, I had had a few flings since then, but sleeping with him again, and maybe even regularly…yeah, not happening.

In books, the women always end up falling in love with the man, and in some convoluted, poorly written way, the man apparently reciprocates that love.

In real life, women just foolishly fall in love with their casual sex partners while all they wanted was, well, sex.

In my reality, I was the one incapable of love.

I realized it when Shelby Atterberry crashed my birthday party two years ago and announced that Darren, my only ex, was hers. I knew I hadn’t been in love with him, but I should’ve felt something other than general humiliation and physical pain.

I should’ve felt something deeper. But when I looked at Darren, I didn’t see him differently. He was the same guy I’d dated for four years. Same everything.

He was in love with another woman, yet he’d been with me. I wasn’t even mad, just embarrassed. It all went down at a public event, and I still had a shred of pride left to protect.

Then there was Wayne. We’d had sex, and it was nice. But what happened next made me question if I was capable of feeling anything at all. Maybe I was a psychopath, devoid of emotions, unable to experience love.

I didn’t miss love in my life right now, that was clear. But there was a part of me, a womanly part, that wanted to know what it felt like.

So, if Wayne and I had sex, I knew what would happen. I wouldn’t fall in love with him, because that’s not who I was. And he wouldn’t fall for me, because he was your typical late-twenties guy.

This wasn’t a relationship meant for either of us, and that was probably for the best.

Too bad my body didn’t see it that way.