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I cross my arms. “I’m not going anywhere. I had zero clue you’d be here.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, you just happen to be partying with Kara Kon this week. Sorry if it’s hard to believe you got interesting in the two months since I left you.” Then, to Carl, he says, “Look, I’m a guest of Kara’s, and?—”
“Actually, bro. You’re my guest,” Dax says. The basketball player looks reluctant to add himself to the mess but does so anyway. “And she was pretty damn surprised to see me. I’m guessing she didn’t know.”
Brent looks pissed that his client is butting in, but for the first time he appears to doubt that I’m stalking him. Which… God, as if. How could he be so arrogant?
“What are the odds, man?” he asks Dax. “I’ve been posting about this trip all week.”
“I don’t follow you anymore, idiot,” I say with a satisfied sneer. “I blocked your ass ages ago.”
“She’s with me. And I’m here on business,” Nick growls. “I certainly have no fucking reason to come find you.”
“And, again, jackass, who the fuck are you?” he asks, stepping toward Nick.
Nick’s eyes flash black, like a shark’s. They don’t actually change from their brown hue of course, but in an instant any humanity that lurks behind them is gone. He moves forward and I know I’m about to see a repeat of what happened in the arcade on St. Mark’s.
I react quicker than I thought possible, shoving myself between them and putting a hand on both of their chests.
“Stop it!” I demand. I whirl on Nick. He doesn’t look at me. Those impossibly dark eyes are still burning deep holes into Brent’s face.
“Nick,” I say. When he doesn’t respond, I reach up and touch his face, directing his eyes to me.
I’m almost afraid to have that gaze turned on me, but the instant his browns meet mine they soften and the Nick I know (and usually like) is back. In place of anger is deep concern.
“We have a job to do,” I say low enough so that Brent can’t hear me. “If we get kicked off this plane, it’ll all have been for nothing.”
“We can leave right now,” Nick says without missing a beat. “There are other DJs. You don’t have to go through this.”
I’m shocked Nick would even suggest such a thing. Would he really risk the future of the Seafarer for me?
Even though a moment ago I was ready to hightail it out of here, now my heart hardens into resolve. “Absolutely not,” I say. “He isn’t fucking this up for us.”
I whirl on my heel. “We’re staying so I’d suggest you get off now if you don’t want a daily reminder of what an absolute piece of shit you are. Because trust me. I’ll be bringing it up.”
“We’re not going anywhere either,” Brent spits back.
Wait. We’re?
As if to answer my question, that goddamn curtain parts once again and my heart plummets when I see Cheryl standing white-faced in the doorway.
“Come here, babe,” Brent says, reaching out an arm to her.
My former best friend and I stare each other down for a long moment. She has the decency to look embarrassed. Even though looking back now there was a ton wrong with our relationship, Cheryl and I still have shared a lot since college. So many nights out and parties and sleepovers… We’ve met each other’s families, shared deep secrets, comforted each other in tough times. To be betrayed by a lover is one thing, by a best friend is unthinkable.
But then Cheryl lets her blonde features ice over and she flounces across the VIP section to take her place next to Brent. I catch her eyes freeze on Nick for a moment and I feel a surge of pleasure. Here’s one man you won’t have falling over you. For all his faults, Nick isn’t easily swayed by big boobs and slinky clothes.
I think.
“Nice sweats,” Cheryl says. “Aren’t those your aunt’s hand-me-downs?”
They are. One of the innumerable bad things about having a former best friend as an enemy? They have infinite ammunition.
With security fading into the background and his initial plan a failure, Brent jumps at this latest humiliation. “Jesus, Evie,” he says. “Don’t you know where you are? You never did know how to dress.”
I hate them both, but the double attack still stabs my heart. I had never felt as fashionable (and was definitely never as wealthy) as the crowd Brent hung around. I suppose in that regard Cheryl makes sense for him. She would never leave the house in anything other than designer clothes.
“I’m sorry, you’re making fun of her clothes?” Nick snaps, like he wasn’t just saying basically the same thing in the car. “What the fuck are you even wearing?”
