Page 22 of The Wedding Party

“I’m the good-time boy you need tonight,” he argues.

“Your version of a good time doesn’t work for me.”

“Not what you said in the past,” he replies dryly. “But I’m sure you don’t want to get into that tonight, now do you?”

She glares at him. “Go home.” And with that, she turns on her heel and leaves.

“She doesn’t really hate me,” Brody says, amusement lacing his voice. He glances over at me. “It’s all an act. But I am the one who shows up and brings the topless girls. I’m not sure she likes that much.”

“Topless girls?” I query.

“It’s a bachelor party whether she likes it or not,” he replies. “‘Party’ being the operative word.”

There’s an announcement at the front of the room, where a stage is set up. Oliver and Carrie are now in the center of said stage, a microphone shared between them in Oliver’s hand. “The amazing hotel staff is handing out shots of one of my favorite whiskies,” he announces. “Once everyone has a glass, we’ll toast to friends, fun, and the future, before the men will head over to the next building for that fun.” The men break out in cheers.

Carrie grabs the microphone. “And the women stay right here for all of our fun.”

The women give their best cheers as well.

A waiter appears and offers me and Brody our shots of whisky. We both accept. Brody downs his. I offer him mine. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Never let it be said that I turned down a beautiful woman who could arrest me,” he says, winking and downing my shot as well. “And on that note, I’m going to see the groom-to-be and piss off Carrie. It’ll be fun.” He sets the second glass down and fades into the crowd, leaving me baffled and a bit intrigued.

Obviously, Carrie didn’t approve the guest list or Brody wouldn’t be here. And interestingly, based on her anger and the exchange she had with Brody, in which he made an intimate past seem apparent, why in the world would Oliver want him here?

Something doesn’t add up.

Chapter Twenty

There are a total of twelve women at the party. There should be thirteen, but Lana is missing, which tells me she’s off somewhere with Josh. Someone is getting told she’s beautiful tonight, I’ll bet, and hey, good for her. I’m fine on my own. I’m simply not a person who needs a companion by my side at all times. That isn’t how my career allows me to operate.

However, me and eleven other women watching four dancing men strip on the stage isn’t my cup of tea. I don’t stick around to see just how naked they get. I came here for Lana and the escape. Lana is not here. Now I’m leaving. I can escape by myself.

I head back to my room and change into leggings and a tank top before settling in under the blankets with room service that includes a chocolate brownie and ice cream. It’s pretty much heaven on a plate. Afterward, I dive into the profile I’ve been working on for Whit. Two hours later, he calls me before I can call him. “How’s the party?” he asks.

“There are naked guys everywhere,” I say. “And yet I’m still in my room working on your profile.”

“Thank God I didn’t go with you,” he declares. “I do not want to see that shit.”

I laugh at the fierceness of his rejection. “The men have their own party next door in the adjoining building. I’m sure it would have been more to your taste.”

“And yet, I wasn’t invited,” he replies dryly.

“Nope,” I concur. “You were not. But there is good news. Lana has already moved on from you.”

“I can fix that,” he declares arrogantly.

I roll my eyes and snort. “In your dreams. I’m working on your case. That has to be good enough for you right now.”

“Yeah,” he says. “About that.”

“Typically, serial killers want attention,” I say, diving right into the details. “They don’t hide behind suicides.”

“But there’s not one but two victims,” he argues.

“You said three before.”

“I might have exaggerated to get your attention.”