Seducing Seven (What Happens in Vegas) (10 page)

She reeled as if slapped in the face. “I think you better sit down and shut up before you say something you’re going to regret.”

Blake stepped closer and laughed in her face, the sharp heat of whiskey wafting about her. “Regret? Oh, I have my regrets. Meeting you, for one. And listening when you sold me all that bullshit about love. You’re just a salesman. So am I. I should have recognized your game a mile away. We’re done here.”

Seven stared as the man she loved mocked her world, her words—her. She dug her nails into her palms to keep from striking out, wanting to hurt him as he hurt her. Her hands numb and her knees weak, she grabbed her clutch and stepped back toward the door. Her voice shook with emotions on the brink of breaking. “I’d rather be an idiot who believes in love than a sorry excuse for a human being whose only offer to the world is the ability to close a sale. At least I offer an escape to women from men like you. What do you offer, Blake? Would you even buy what you sell?”

She bit her lip, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling.

He stared at her, his jaw clenching.

Pulling in a breath, she pushed on. “You win. The bet is off.” She pulled open the door. “At least we have one thing in common.” She held his gaze. “I regret meeting you, too.”

Stepping through the door, she turned toward her room and almost ran into the lady from across the hall. Surprisingly agile for someone who seemed to bathe in alcohol, she put out a hand. “Honey, are you all right?”

Seven choked on her tears and brushed past the woman without answering. She fumbled with her key and tried to unlock her door. “Come on,” she whispered fiercely.

The woman stepped up to her, peering at her through her cat-eye glasses, and placed her hands over Seven’s. Once Seven stilled, the lady slid the key from her grasp and unlocked the door. Opening it for Seven, she handed back the key. “Don’t back down; don’t give up.”

Seven stepped through her door, then took her key back. She tried smiling her appreciation, but everything hurt too much. With a brisk nod, she closed the door.

People always said love was worth the pain of losing it. Seven kicked off her shoes and climbed onto her bed. Turning to her side, she pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees and cried. The pain rocking through her body made her seriously question the sanity of those people.

Unable to stand the stillness of her room, she grabbed the keys she hadn’t yet returned to Trent. Slipping noiselessly from her room, she made her way down the hall to the stairwell. A few flights would get her where she needed to be, to a place she could breathe.

Stepping through the door onto the rooftop, she pocketed the keys and dropped her head back. She walked to the two-foot wall at the edge, wrapping her arms around her waist. There was a sense of calm at the top, even with all the chaos below; from so high up it all looked quite serene.

She could see for miles in one direction and up to the small mountains in the other. So many people, so many chances at love. When the numbers went that high, the odds had to be good that real love was out there. Trent had been right to bring her up here for a change in perspective. It worked every time.

She did believe in what she wrote, and she wasn’t denouncing her belief, her world, in front of anyone. Love was real. It might not be hers yet, and there was no guarantee she’d ever find it, but she saw it in her parents. They proved every day through their triumphs and their tragedies that it was real. They chose each other, worked for each other, and in the end always had the other to hold on to. It was really beautiful, and she was lucky to have such great teachers.

Releasing the tight grip from her waist, she straightened her shoulders and pulled a breath of fresh air into her lungs until the burn replaced the pain in her heart. The work she did, the stories she told, were teachings as well. Love wasn’t easy, it wasn’t free, but it was out there and worth every ounce of effort. And in a world full of such pragmatism and cynicism, it was sometimes the only thing that separated heaven from hell.

People needed to be able to dream, they needed to be given a reason to turn the page of their life, one more time, every time, and fight through another day. The chance that love might be on the other side was just powerful enough to do that. And her job was to get that power in as many hands as she could, to fight to change the attitudes of people like Blake.

He might regret meeting her, but she’d never regret meeting him, because he’d helped her learn that though she may have lost him, she still had her career, her beliefs, and herself. And that was enough.

It was time to stop looking.

Chapter Ten

S
hrill laughter from the hallway yanked him from the self-preserving shit-hole he’d dug for himself, and he shot up from his chair. The room immediately spun, and he grabbed for his bedside table to steady himself. What the fuck had he just done?

There was no going back now. He hurt in a way he’d never experienced before, and all the women he had left in his wake haunted him. Is this what it had been like for them?

The room answered him with silence. He was all alone, and would always be alone. He’d finally found the one woman who might keep him from looking for “the something better” his dad always talked about, and he’d pushed her away.

She didn’t love him, but an idiot could see she’d felt something. Hell, he’d practically run from the rooftop just to stop her from telling him. He’d lost that chance, and he’d lost all hope of any possible second chances.

Blake scowled into his empty glass and grabbed the bottle. Turning it upside down, he growled when only a drop fell from the opening. “Goddammit.” He threw the bottle across the room; it crashed against the far wall and fell to the ground. Fuck. He was going to have to pay for that, but it felt so good, he’d do it again if he had another bottle.

Finding the mini fridge empty, Blake grabbed his wallet and headed for the bar. When he stepped into the hall, he paused outside Seven’s door. He raised his fingers to the cool surface, then let them fall to his side. His chest squeezed, and he wrenched away from the temptation of knocking. What in the hell could he say now? He’d pretty much said everything to guarantee she’d never speak to him again.

The door across the hall opened, and a sour waft of alcohol hit him. He strode down the hall before he could get stopped by the nosy lady who took a shining to his and Seven’s activities. Her voice reached him before he got on the elevator. “You’re being an ass, young man.”

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped through, pushing the close button repeatedly until the doors obeyed. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet. Seven’s tear-streaked face and pleading eyes appeared, and he snapped his eyes opened to stop the vision. He shook his head. The tears meant nothing. She’d had a bet to win, and she had done everything she could to win it.

His head throbbed, and he bent his neck from side to side to stretch away the pinching between his shoulder blades. Shoving through the crowds of women, he slid into a seat at the bar and got the attention of the bartender. “Scotch, neat, anything over twenty years.”

The man next to him looked over. “Must be pretty bad for a kick like that.”

Blake pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead. His fight with Seven was running over and over in his mind, tightening the tension in his shoulders like a vise.

“Nathaniel Hennings.”

Blake’s shoulders dropped; he closed his eyes for a second. The last thing he could handle right now was a conversation. He turned to the guy next to him and froze. He was the same guy Seven had been speaking to when Blake overheard her gloating.

The bartender slid him his drink, and he took a sip. He cleared his throat. “Blake Turner.”

Nathaniel nodded. “I know.”

Blake stilled. What the fuck? Was he a joke now? The sucker Seven laughed about with her colleagues? He turned his head, nailing Nathaniel with narrowed eyes.

Nathaniel leaned against the bar, taking on a casual, bored stance. “You’re the bet.”

Blake shoved back from the bar. “Do you want to take this outside?”

Nathaniel looked him up and down, and then his lips spread wide, lifting at the corners, an odd look in his eye. “I’ve never believed violence will solve anything. And to be honest, I’d rather take you upstairs, but you don’t swing that way, and Seven would kill me.”

What the fuck? Confusion made Blake blink twice. He looked closer at his companion. “Excuse me?”

“I’m gay, and you’re an idiot. You know she loves you, right?”

Blake shook his head to clear it before his heart got any ideas. Who the fuck was this guy? “Don’t you mean she thinks I’m a sucker?” She loved him? No way. She had every opportunity upstairs to set things right, but she hadn’t said a word about loving him. He’d believe that the day his dad committed to one woman.

Understanding dawned in Nathaniel’s eyes, and he gestured toward Blake’s now-empty glass. “Is that what this is about?”

Blake lifted his glass to the waiter, asking for another. “Who the hell are you?”

“Seven’s editor, and I thought the two of you were meeting for dinner.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen. She’s in her room right now pretending to be heartbroken.” It was incredible how he could hang on to his self-righteous anger in the presence of hope.

“And how’s that?”

Blake slapped his hand to the bar top and turned toward Nathaniel with a furrowed brow. “I heard your conversation. She’s right. I’m a sucker, and I made damn sure she understood I was done with her games.”

With a nod, Nathaniel sipped from his own glass. “Then you heard the part where she said she was the actual sucker, because she fell in love with you.”

Blake shook his head, a curious sensation flooding his chest. “What? No, she didn’t. She called
me
a sucker. And why the fuck am I even talking to you?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “You really are blind. She said she had to make a sucker fall in love with her, but she was the actual sucker because she fell in love with him.” He poked Blake in the chest with his pointer finger. “You.”

Blake stared at the man. Nathaniel’s eyes never wavered; he just stared back like Blake was a simpleton. An unexplainable feeling of weightlessness filled his chest, then immediately crashed. The things he’d said about her writing, about her. His eyes shot wide in horror. “Fuck.”

“What did you do?”

Blake rubbed his sweaty palms down his shirtfront and stared at the bar top. “I insulted her writing and her, and told her she was a good actress.”

Nathaniel winced and shook his head. “For such a successful salesman, you’re a real dumbass.”

Blake closed his eyes against the truth and emptied his glass with one swallow. The burn seized his breath, and he waited before blowing out against the heat. What the fuck had he done?

Seven loved him, and he’d crushed her. He’d thrown everything she loved, including him, back in her face like it was a bag of shit. He hadn’t trusted her, and it had blinded him.

Nathaniel looked to the bartender. “Add his drinks to my tab.” Turning back to Blake, he grabbed his shoulder. “Good luck, my friend. And you better fix this. The last thing I need is my star romance writer not believing in love.”

Pushing away from the bar, he nodded at Nathaniel, then weaved his way out of the bar. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to move. He headed for the thickest crowds of people, wanting to drown in the masses.

He really was an ass. Too many years of clamoring after his father’s approval by looking to him as an example really did a number on his ability to create anything real in his personal life. By believing love wasn’t real and people always traded up, he’d made himself a way to keep from getting hurt when someone eventually traded him for something better.

But there were people everywhere smiling because of love, grinning because of love,
happy
because of love.

Happy.

He felt like shit.

All romance had brought him was a deep ache in his gut and a burning in his chest—and he couldn’t blame it on the scotch.

He’d always prided himself on being a strong man, self-assured and confident, but the way he’d acted earlier proved he was a weak man. One little misunderstanding and he was throwing insults like punches in a bar.

Seven loved him. This intelligent, feisty, dirty-mouthed woman, who’d made him live more in two days than he had in the last thirty-some years. She loved him, and he’d fucked himself of any chance of seeing if it could actually be real.

He stopped in the middle of the crowded lobby floor. The room spun around him in jewel-colored fabrics and lights, the
rings
and
clicks
of slot machines mixing with the laughter and squeals of delight. People moved around him, but he couldn’t take one more step.

He was terrified. He’d been so afraid of believing love was real, because if it was real, it could be lost. And he’d be in the same place his mother had been, losing her battle, losing her life, living just long enough to see her husband move on to make another life with someone else. No looking back, little more than a wave in his rearview.

From that point on he’d never once questioned his belief that love was a sham. He didn’t want the pain, didn’t want the fear of losing.

But he hurt, and he’d lost. True, deep loss.

Something this excruciating had to be real.

It was time to be his own man. Whatever position he held at work, whatever woman he chose to make a life with, needed to be what he wanted, what he valued, not a fucked-up expectation of his father’s. His mother’s smiling face came to his mind, clearer than any picture. Weight he’d carried for years fell from his shoulders as he held on to her smile. She loved him, no matter what he did, even from the other side.

He pulled his shoulders back and breathed deeply. What he needed to do now required a clear head.

Seven was an intelligent, beautiful force. She was the author of a book he couldn’t put down, and she’d become the best of everything in his life overnight.

She’d been right. Romance novels could teach a man a thing or two, if he was smart enough to open his mind and really see.

An idea formed, and Blake weaved through the crowds, making his way back to his room. He had some work to do, and he didn’t have much time, but hopefully, if this worked, he’d have the rest of his life.

S
ix smoothed one more hair into place. “There now. You look stunning.”

Seven smiled, but her heart clung to the floor of her chest, too heavy to perk up. She pulled in a breath.

“He’s an ass, but he’ll come around.”

Seven shook her head. “No, I don’t think he will, and honestly it’s for the better. I thought I could be with him even though he didn’t respect my writing, but I can’t. You should have heard him.” But
she
respected herself, her work, her beliefs, and that’s what counted. She’d go to this ball, enjoy her fans, dance, and tell every person she met about how strong love really could be.

Six stepped around her sister to adjust her own dress in the mirror. “I’d love to know, but every time you try to tell me you start to cry. That doesn’t sound like ‘for the better’ to me. He was angry, Seven, about what we don’t know exactly, but don’t you think you should find out?”

She shook her head. Tonight was about love. Pulling her shoulders back, Seven turned her head from side to side looking in the mirror. “I love my hair. Thank you.” Her hair was styled high on her head with loose tendrils falling here and there. The effect was stunning, and Seven focused on that instead of the man who turned her heart into nothing more than a lead weight.

Her low halter neckline showed off her shoulders, and the high slit of the ivory Grecian-style dress showed off her toned legs with every step. She wore strappy gold heels that wove up her ankle and tied on the side, and a matching belt that cinched her waist to impossible proportions.

Her sister’s dress complemented Seven’s plunging neckline and longer style with a high-necked, short style of her own in ice blue and silver. “Six, you look gorgeous.”

Six grinned. “I do, don’t I?” Laughing, she grabbed their purses and pulled Seven along behind her. “Come on. This is what I came here for.” She looked quickly to Seven. “You’re the main reason of course, but a ball, male models, and champagne make for a really tight second.”

They made their way down to the ballroom. She’d wanted to linger outside Blake’s door, but refused the temptation. Six dragged her down the hallway, through the lobby, and on to the escalators to the second floor.

They entered the ballroom and Six gasped, twirling with her arms out. “This is fabulous. Almost makes me want to be a writer just for the parties.” Her brow puckered in a bit of a frown. “Too bad I’d gouge my eyes out sitting at a damn computer all day.” A quick grin replaced the frown. “But that’s what I have you for.”

Seven could barely keep up with Six’s rapid speech and blinked when her sister once more slipped her arm through hers.

“Come on, let’s get some punch.”

Seven wound her way among beautiful dresses of every color and every style. It was like a snapshot of the red carpet at the Oscars. Slowing as they reached the punch bowl, Six picked up two poured glasses and handed one to Seven.

She lifted the cup to her lips only to have it taken from her hand.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Nathaniel whispered from her side.

“Oh, hey. You look amazing.”

He tweaked his bow tie. “Thank you. I love a great tux.” He stepped back and took in her look with a low wolf whistle. “Someone has pulled out all the stops tonight.”

She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder toward her sister. “It was all Six’s doing. For all the pep talks I keep giving myself, deep down, I’d rather be in bed with a box of tissues and
P.S. I Love You
right now and save the rah-rah for tomorrow.”

“And I’d be right there with you, my friend, but then we’d miss this.” He spread his hand out to the crowd of amazing writers and adoring fans. “And that would be a shame. Because this is what you’ve worked so hard for.”

Seven couldn’t understand how she’d missed the fact that he was gay before this weekend, though he never let his guard down back home. To think of all the nights she’d pined for him. All the jars of peanut butter she’d drowned her unrequited feelings in. She punched him in the shoulder.

“Hey! What was that for?”

She ignored the question. “Why did you take my drink?”

He waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Oh, I saw the one and only Patricia Plimpton by the punch bowl slipping a flask back into her clutch. You have responsibilities to your readers, an interview or two, I don’t want you to lose your head. Just in case.”