Oliver Kingsley Hollingsworth, one of the richest men in San Francisco—and frankly one of the oldest—sidled up to her with his boy toy. Both men were gay, but that didn’t stop the old geezer from caressing Nicoletta’s shiny taffeta-clad ass as he went in for hugs and cheek kisses. Who knew the old boy was AC/DC?
Then the boy toy, Charles Wellington, whispered something in Nicoletta’s ear. She laughed and then leaned over and kissed Old Oliver smack dab on the mouth. He gave a gruff laugh but reached out and groped her waist, pressing her up against him. What the fuck?
Were they propositioning her? Come to think of it, Dante had mentioned Hollingsworth was into some kinky shit. Dude was rich enough to pay for any depraved sex act he wanted. There were some crazy stories about the things he liked to stick his dick into. Whatever. To each their own. I just wondered if James knew what his girlfriend was up to.
I shook my head. Poor James. His wheelchair had been turned away during the whole encounter. He didn’t have a clue. If that dumb bitch broke his heart, I’d kill her.
But right now, he wasn’t my problem. And she wasn’t worth my time or energy.
After tonight, I hoped to never see her again.
In fact, I hoped to never see 99 percent of the people in the room again. But that was just a pipe dream.
As a waiter passed, I scooped another glass of champagne off his tray and downed it.
“Miss Santangelo?”
Beatrice Stanford, a retired opera singer who liked to regale everyone with stories of her glory days, was at my side.
“It’s Santella.”
“Isabella?”
I gave up.
“Just call me Gia.”
She cleared her throat and started over.
“Miss Gia, where is your partner, Dante?” She was looking over my shoulder. “I thought we had agreed that the salmon canapes wouldn’t contain capers. They keep rolling off onto the floor.”
She’d been on the board for the gala, but as far as I knew hadn’t done a damn thing except give her opinion about everything and anything.
I shifted to look past her. Sure enough, there were little green balls on the carpet. Oops.
“Not sure,” I said. “But I don’t think Dante was in charge of the food, was he?”
I plastered a smile on my face.
As I looked over her shoulder, I made eye contact with the mayor. He was heading my way, trying to make his way through the crowd.
Shit.
The mayor had a hot nut for me since we met. We’d been on one date. It was fine. Not even a kiss goodnight. It was for the best.
In the old days, I would’ve fucked him in a heartbeat. But now, he made me want to run far and fast away. He was good looking, intelligent, powerful, compassionate, and funny.
In other words, dangerous as fuck.
“Excuse me!” I said to Beatrice Stanford and fled toward the kitchen.
I rushed through the swinging double doors and let out a huge over-the-top sigh.
The staff, a cook, and a few waiters looked started.
“Sorry,” I said, looking for the dark-haired waiter.
He was in the back, slouched against the wall near two other waiters. They were smoking vapes. I knew what was inside the cartridges. My instincts had been right.
I pointed my finger at him and crooked it.
He pushed himself off the wall, and his friends shoved him and made snide comments.
When he got in front of me, he gave me a cocky grin.
To my surprise, he was taller than me. And even better looking close up. He exuded an animalistic sensuality. His eyes bored through me.
“At your service, Ms. Santella.”
I was a little surprised he knew who I was, but didn’t say anything.
Instead, I met his eyes. He licked his lips. I stared at his lips. Fuck. He was a baby. How could I look at him that way? I quickly looked away.
“I need your vape.”
He grinned. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I only brought enough to get me and my boys through this night. It’s all gone.”
Oh, he was a cocky one, wasn’t he?
“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
“How you gonna do that?” he said, and his eyes roamed my body. “I don’t need your money.”
“You like your job here?” I cocked my head.
He frowned.
Shit. I’d pissed him off.
“Listen. I’m just asking for a favor here. If you could hook me up with something to get me through this god-awful night, I’d appreciate it. I’d owe you. I’d owe you a favor. I don’t give favors lightly.”
“Is it that bad out there?” he said, jutting his chin toward the ball room.
I sighed. “What do you think? I’ve got a bunch of rich fucks who think because they paid a small fortune to be here they get to tell me about their fucking bunions and stomach ulcers. Normally I would tell them to fuck off, but since I’m on the board…and it’s for a good cause.” I paused. “I have to at least be polite. It’s killing me.”
He nodded.
“I need to go get my stash. It’s in the car. Meet me on the roof in fifteen minutes.”
The last time I’d arranged to meet someone on the roof, I’d arrived to find him dead.
“Fine,” I said reluctantly.
I watched him go and, despite myself, admired his long, lean body and his muscled forearms. At the last minute, he turned and caught me checking him out. My cheeks grew hot. I felt like a fucking pervert. Ugh.
As soon as I stepped out of the kitchen, I saw Dante across the room.
He was talking to James.
That’s when I had to admit to myself the real reason I wanted to be drunk and high. I didn’t want to face James.
Not after what had happened.
On the plane back to San Francisco from Indonesia two weeks ago, I had thought about all the people I loved who I might see again. When I thought of James, I felt a warm, nostalgic bond. I had thought my feelings
