He just wished he’d gotten pictures.
Ah well. The important thing was to focus on his priorities.
On his way past the gazebo, he glimpsed a slim figure leaning against the railing. He couldn’t make out many details in the dark, other than she had long, blond hair cascading down her bare back. The closer he got, the more he was able to discern. She wore what looked like a glittery gold scarf, except that scarf happened to wrap low on her back to cover her ass and upper thighs. Just barely. It probably counted as a dress in some obscure usage of the word.
He picked up his pace, intending to continue on, until he heard her voice. It was like silken honey, layering over his senses. His knees locked, halting his forward progress. He knew that voice.
Victoria, his interior designer and magazine consultant on Simply Home. As much as she annoyed him, she was also scarily efficient and had more creative ideas in one gold-toned fingernail than he had in his entire body. Hence why he hired her.
The annoying thing? He’d known Victoria since high school and they’d clashed numerous times. Pretty much every time they spoke. Their combative style of communication probably wouldn’t have worked for others, but it suited them just fine.
“You’re sure you’re okay, Bry? No, I know. Yeah.” The pause that followed was broken up by her continuous fidgeting. She played with her caramel-colored hair, stuck out her hip, even bent from the waist to stretch, accentuating the swells of her barely concealed ass.
Cory glanced away, but not before his stolen glance at that curvaceous part of her anatomy made him so hard so fast he didn’t even have time to curse. Jesus. Victoria didn’t make him aroused. Ever. That was statistically impossible.
He was overtired, that’s all. Too consumed by the conversation he’d just had with his parents, and his no-show photographer—
Speaking of the photographer, if Victoria could get service, he should be able to now as well. Cory whipped out his phone. Voilà. Actual bars.
So why was he continuing to listen to her phone call instead of making his own?
“I’m just worried about you,” Victoria went on. “If you’re hurting, you need to make sure you ease back. Boinking blond triplets does not qualify as relaxation.” Her laughter made Cory smile in spite of the erection from hell he was currently sporting. “Enough. TMI, dude. I’m serious. You need to take care of yourself. I need my big brother strong and healthy.”
The low plea she’d added to the end of that statement made Cory take a few steps forward, until he caught himself. What was he going to do? Comfort her? Him? He didn’t even know what was wrong. Even if he did, he didn’t console people. No one snuggled with work-obsessed CEOs when they were…crying.
Oh fuck, was she crying?
She’d ended her call and now stared out into the night. She’d bowed her shoulders and sniffled a few times, then seemed to gather herself enough to answer her ringing phone. “Hey Jill. Yeah. I’m at that stupid gala thing.” Cory frowned. His gala was not stupid. Okay, so it was technically Dillon’s gala, but still. It was for charity, for pity’s sake. “No, it’s totally lame. I mean, the cause is great. I donated and offered some stuff up for auction. But the rest? The pasta salad was full of peppers. Not just green, but red, too. And the table arrangements? I think some people from the hardware store put them together. You and I and Alexa would’ve come up with something way better. Ugh.”
Cory narrowed his eyes, his concern evaporating. Sure, if she didn’t have a hand in decorating something, it wasn’t up to snuff.
“No, I know. I’m just in a mood.” Victoria rubbed her forehead, her slim gold watch sparkling from the twinkle lights that ringed the gazebo. “I have something to take care of tomorrow. Yeah. That. I’m just so tired of being like this. Exhausted. Afraid.” He frowned at the idea that Victoria ever got frightened about anything. Impossible. She seemed fearless. “Sometimes it’s really overwhelming having to hide things all the time,” she added in a near-whisper.
What exactly was she discussing? Perhaps she had a secret lover? He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop. He also knew he couldn’t leave yet.
She talked for another moment before slipping her cell into her tiny purse. Her heavy sigh lingered on the breeze, wafting over him much like her voice. Then she turned, already moving quickly, only to look up, see him, and come to an immediate halt.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The exasperation that flashed over her beautiful features was a relief. He really hadn’t wanted to be put in the role of confidant, not when she’d insulted his pasta salad—those peppers had been perfectly robust, even if she couldn’t appreciate them—and his flower arrangements. And his gala, period.