Is it ever.
Once they’ve finished their little display of loyalty, Stuart finally notices Melody. In the skintight red gown she’s wearing, it’s impossible to overlook her, but Stuart is the kind of ass who likes to play women for second-class citizens. To him, she’s just window dressing.
Like you’re any better. A twinge of guilt arcs across my chest. I’m not any goddamn better than Stuart. In the game I’ve been playing for the past ten years, women are nothing more than pawns, entertainment.
And that’s the way it’s going to stay.
Stuart’s eyes practically pop out of his head as he lustily scans up and down Melody’s body, all the way from her cleavage down to her stilettos. “Well, hello there,” he says, his tone leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Hello,” Melody says icily. She’s not much for fat older men, even if they happen to be wealthy. Not when she can go after younger billionaires like me. I’m a fucking prince compared to Stuart.
Stuart juts his chin at me. “This guy giving you trouble, young lady?”
Melody gives him a thin smile that barely disguises her disgust. “Oh, no. Not at all.”
Her tone is cutting, but Stuart just laughs indulgently. “You’re a fiery one, aren’t you?”
I’m about to step in and defuse the situation with some witty remark that will steer Stuart back to the bar, but just then the music fades and stops. My father has stepped up onto the stage.
“Good evening,” he says, the same winning smile that I’ve inherited plastered across his face. All around me people set down their plates of expensive hors d'oeuvres to applaud in acknowledgement.
“Gotta go,” I whisper to Melody. I set my champagne glass down on a waiter’s empty tray, and start making my way through the maze of tables as my father addresses the gathering.
My timing is perfect. I reach the stage just as he says, “…so it’s with great pride that I announce that my son, Christian Pierce, has officially been named Senior Vice President in charge of Pierce Industries’ Entertainment Division.”
A thrilled smile is painted across my lips as I climb the short set of stairs to join my father on the podium, but below the surface, I’m jumping out of my skin and I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. I can never goddamn tell if my father does these things because he actually thinks I can handle the business or because he just wants more control. At least when he’s in control, he can still make sure I don’t fuck it up.
As if the fact that I spend most nights out on the town has any impact on my ability to manage my affairs at Pierce Industries. Harlan Pierce shouldn’t have any problem with that lifestyle. It’s the same one he’s been leading for years.
At least when this grandiose announcement is over, I can make a hasty exit and get on with my night. At the Swan maybe, or just back at my place. Maybe with Melody. I haven’t tapped her yet, and I’m in the mood for someone frisky tonight.
Onstage, in front of everyone else, he pulls me in for a hug, and I scan his eyes searching for a sign that this is genuine. Looks real enough to me, but you never know.
“Congratulations, son,” he says into my ear, and I clasp his arm above his elbow and grin back at him. Then it’s my turn to speak to the assembly.
I take the microphone from his hand. “Thank you,” I say easily, as if I was born to do this. “I’ll do my best to make you proud, Dad.” I wink at a woman standing near the stage in a dress with a plunging neckline as the crowd lets out a communal awwww. “With that said, don’t let us interrupt your evening. Let’s all get back to celebrating!”
The crowd bursts into another round of applause, and I turn to shake my father’s hand once again. In moments, we’re both making our way back through the crowd: my father heading to his table, and me to the nearest exit.
Chapter Three
Quinn
I’m soaked to the skin, my clothes so wet it doesn’t matter that it’s raining anymore. The real bitch of the situation is the giant suitcase I’m hauling. It gets heavier with every step, and I’m starting to wonder if I really needed all the shit I stuffed inside it back in Colorado. Most of my furniture went into a storage unit, while everything from Derek went directly into the dumpster. What’s in the suitcase is the cream of the crop.
Still, I’m starting to think it would be better just to set it down on the sidewalk and walk away, a case of finders, keepers. Everything in there, in some way or another, reminds me of Derek, of Colorado, of being so fucked over.
But I can’t just leave it. Best case scenario, someone picks through it and finds another use for what’s inside. Worst case scenario, my unidentified large black suitcase causes a terrorism panic. Not the best way to make my debut in New York City, if you ask me.