Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 15

Knowing I’d reached my limit, I begrudgingly left the stall and ran cold water over my wrists, looking for any reason to not return to the table.

Mama always said it took time to fall in love, and that father was arrogant too, but tonight I’d reached my limit. And Camden wasn’t even the only issue waiting for me. Freaking Nicholas Rush.

God, what if he came over and introduced himself?

What if he pieced together who I was in my connection to Camden? If he thought I was a trashy woman before, seeing me on a date with a man when I’d almost mounted him in the lobby, I could only imagine what he would think.

“Fuck.”

I needed to get out of there. At that moment, I didn’t care if Camden thought I had diarrhea; if it meant escaping, then so be it.

Two giggling women walked in, breaking me from the staring match I was having with myself in the mirror.

With one last deep breath, I pushed open the bathroom door and headed back.

Like Deja vu, I looked down to close the latch on my purse and bumped into a moving wall.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” I muttered immediately.

Unlike last time, the contents of my bag didn’t scatter across the floor.

However, very much like last time, I looked up into familiar dark eyes.

“Shit.”

“You said that already.” His words rumbled across my skin, mixing with the electric currents his warm hands sent down my arms from where they held me steady. “This seems to happen a lot to you. Running into men. Or is it just me?”

“Hardly.” I tried to make my words hard and filled with disdain, but they came out breathy and annoyed at best. More annoyed with my body for the way it reacted to his simple touch and the spicy, woodsy scent of his cologne. I wanted to close my eyes, lean in, and breathe as deep as I could to make the scent part of me.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Pulling my shoulders back, I lifted my chin, ignoring the way his eyes dipped down my body. “Besides, again, you bumped into me last time. Probably all the drinking on the job,” I added.

“Excuse me,” a woman said behind him, wanting to get through. He stepped closer, and I backed up until I hit the wall, the dim lights of the restaurant fading to nothing, his body a dark shadow closing in.

One hand moved to the wall beside my head, and his eyes scanned my face, his jaw ticking under the thick scruff. I tried to stand tall, but all I wanted to do was melt under the heat of his stare.

What was he doing? What was happening here?

I licked at my dry lips, and his growl vibrated in the space between us.

“Nicholas.” His name rushed from lips past my panting breaths. My lungs working overtime. Panicked at wanting more. Panicked at getting out.

His lips curled on a silent snarl, and within a blink, it was all gone. He stood back and shoved his hands into his pockets, nothing but a professional who happened to also look down on me and question my morals.

“How do you know Camden Conti?” he asked, his voice hard enough to bring me out of any haze I’d slipped into.

“What?”

Smooth, Verana.

Internally, I rolled my eyes. The question hadn’t been expected and hit me like a bucket of cold water, spiking my nerves to life. I couldn’t answer truthfully, but I didn’t want to lie either.

Instead, I answered as vaguely as possible and hoped social niceties wouldn’t have him prying. “He’s my father’s friend’s son. Just an acquaintance.”

Who was also my future husband. But I wasn’t lying; he really was nothing more than an acquaintance right now.

His jaw worked back and forth, chewing over the information and unsure if he liked how it tasted.

“How do you know him?” I asked before he could push for more.

“The business world isn’t as big as you think.” He turned to walk away but quickly turned back. “Careful who you go after, Miss Barrone. Some men may not be what they seem.”

“I am not—” I started, but he didn’t stick around to listen. Before I knew it, I stood alone in the hallway—still needing to go face Camden when all I wanted to do was go home. Only now, I had to do it with the scent of Nicholas on my tongue and a fiery anger close to overflowing.

But fate apparently decided it had dealt me enough bad luck for the evening because when I went back, Camden was just accepting his card back from the waiter.

“I hope you didn’t want dessert. I just got a call, and we need to go.”

“Oh, no.” If he could hear the complete lack of sincerity, he didn’t comment on it.

“I can drop you off on my way.”

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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