Creighton Karas, notorious billionaire and Cannon’s ex-best friend yet still half brother, stands a few feet away, and a rush of emotion swirls through me like a twister. It’s like Cannon and I are totally invisible to him.
I’ve never been so torn on what to do in my entire life.
Greer asks her brother, “Crey, have you met Drew? She’s Cannon’s girlfriend.”
His dark eyes land on me, skipping over Cannon completely. His face is blank, showing no emotion at all.
“You should be careful with the company you keep.” And then he turns and walks away.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Beside me, Cannon jerks his hand from mine and takes two steps after Creighton before being waylaid by someone as Creighton cuts through the crowd.
“What a fucking dick,” Greer says.
“Babe—” Cav’s voice is full of concern and warning.
Greer shakes her head. “No. That was uncalled for. They have to talk and have it out. I’m tired of this shit. Cannon didn’t have a choice in what he did, and if Crey thinks that he would be where he is todaywithoutCannon working his ass off beside him all those years, he’s insane.”
I search for Cannon again in the crowd, partly hoping he caught up with Creighton and they’re going to have it out right now, but I’m not so lucky.
He’s gone.
* * *
Greerand her husband politely invite me to stick with them as they circulate through the party, but since I assume they’re going to talk to Holly and Creighton, I respectfully decline. They leave me with a promise to find me later, and Greer insists we need to get together for dinner and drinks before they leave town. I tell her I’d love that, and we exchange phone numbers before I make my way back to the bar.
I don’t plan on drinking much tonight, but it’s either fill my time with another drink or hang out in the corner, pretending I don’t feel awkward at being abandoned.
And it’s not the desertion part that bothers me. Not at all. If Cannon hadn’t gone after Creighton, I would have shoved him in his direction anyway. Those two clearly need some time to talk and bury the hatchet. I just hope they don’t do it literally, like Greer said.
At the bar, Benny from Boca sidles up beside me in his loud Hawaiian shirt. “Hey, pretty girl. How about I buy you a drink?”
He laughs at his last statement because it’s an open bar, but I politely grin and nod anyway. I could use some company to kill a little time.
“I would appreciate that, sir.”
He shakes his head, and the bit of gray still hanging on around the edges flaps with the movement. “I’m no sir. Just Benny. Anything else makes me feel old, and I refuse to believe that horseshit.”
The man is seventy-five if he’s a day, and probably even a bit older, but I’m not about to ask him.
“I like your attitude, Benny. What’s it like being back in New York after being gone for a while?”
He tilts his head from side to side while signaling the besieged bartenders. Knowing it’s going to be a while, I settle in for the conversation to come by scooting my skirt-clad butt onto a stool, and Benny does the same.
“Things have changed a lot. Buildings I remember being here are gone, and there’s skeletons of something new in their place. I miss the old days, when people weren’t walking while staring at their phones. They stared at the sidewalk like proper New Yorkers, avoiding eye contact on purpose, but at least they didn’t run into you because they’re oblivious.”
I can’t help but laugh because it’s the truth. I almost saw a woman get nailed by a cab as she stepped into a crosswalk when the light turned, all because she was too busy looking at her phone to notice.
“Maybe it’s a new version of survival of the fittest, except this time, only the aware survive and the oblivious remove themselves from the gene pool.”
Benny’s laugh sounds like a crumpling paper grocery sack, which immediately morphs into him coughing up a lung. I nab aDom turns 40 for the 30th timewater bottle from the arrangement on the bar, unscrew the cap, and slide it in front of him.
“Thanks, gorgeous.” The old guy wipes his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, and I don’t miss the smear of blood on it before he folds it and tucks it away.
Fucking hell.That’s not good.
He sips from the bottle and makes a disgusted face.