LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      THE FOLLOWING EVENING Harley adjusted the halter-neck top and fluffed out her hair. Taking an hour to primp and preen, try on multiple outfit choices and perfect her make-up stopped her from checking her phone every five minutes. So determined to ignore the hateful device, she’d not only switched it off, but she’d also put it inside the fridge for good measure.

      Jack had sent three texts throughout the day. A series of flirty, suggestive missives that yesterday would have made her toes curl and her panties wet. But Ash had planted his seed of doubt deep in the fertile soil of her mind. And her dilemma to tell him about the affair drained all her residual energy. She just wanted to forget the mess her life had become in a relatively short time. Personal and professional.

      Probably the reason she’d accepted an invitation to go clubbing with Hannah, who was celebrating a promotion amongst the Jacob Holdings ranks. One thing about Hal Jacob—he believed in his children working their way to the top. Nepotism at its finest.

      Harley jumped when the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of her sister and her friends, and reached for her clutch.

      Hannah had chosen one of New York’s chicest nightspots, a place frequented by the elite. As they spilled from the car and tottered towards the entrance, bypassing the queue, a series of photographs flashed behind the cordoned-off area. On the rare occasions she partied with her friends, Harley preferred the quieter clubs, ones less likely to be filled with celebrities, and therefore less likely to attract paparazzi. But this was Hannah’s night.

      Harley turned her head away and tugged her sister towards the entrance. The sooner she made it to the dance floor, the sooner she could banish the restless energy pounding through her.

      The club heaved with bodies, glamour and good times on the agenda. Hannah had reserved them a VIP booth, which eased Harley into the groove, one she struggled to feel despite hoping it would provide a distraction from her doubts over Jack and her disappointment with herself. She downed a couple of shots, trying to get into the swing for her sister’s sake. But she wore her reservations and fears like an extra layer of clothing—thick and itchy and hard to shake.

      After a suitable length of time drinking with Hannah’s friends they headed for the dance floor. Harley closed her eyes, and succumbed to the heavy beat of the dance track thrumming through the floor and into her bones. The vodka-dancing combo worked its magic. Her mind settled, all thoughts of Jack and her botched business deal relegated to the corners while she lost herself to the thumping beat and the flashing lights.

      Hands settled on her hips and her eyes fluttered open. Expecting to see Hannah’s smiling face, she faltered when the recipient of the hands came into focus.

      Phil.

      Her stomach flopped. Of course he’d be here. Perpetually single, her ex collected beautiful dates like trophies. His lucrative salary at Jacob Holdings and his social-climbing sense of entitlement meant that clubs like this one provided the perfect hunting ground for him.

      He shot her a grin that carried nothing friendly. He’d never quite forgiven her for breaking off their engagement. But for her, Phil would be heir to a large chunk of the Jacob fortune, his way to the top practically guaranteed.

      Harley’s feet shuffled to a standstill. Her first instinct was to pull away without speaking to him. She was halfway there when he dropped his hands from her hips and moved just outside her personal space, dancing.

      Damn. Now she’d have to make nice with small talk.

      The dance floor was packed with bodies. The music so loud that a cursory how’s it going and some rudimentary sign language was sufficient communication to tick the social-etiquette-for-an-ex-lover box.

      She glanced around, her feet moving to the music with less enthusiasm, but her chest lighter when she spotted her sister and the group of girls nearby.

      Subtly sidling closer to the girls, Harley practically swayed into her sister. Phil followed, joining their group with a nod to Hannah and immediately engaged one of her friends with his oily smile and whispered banter. If he’d hoped to prick her jealousy, he clearly didn’t pay enough attention. Aside from polite dance-floor camaraderie born of an innate civility, her interest in her ex ended there.

      What had she ever seen in Phil? She’d been young. Too young. Barely nineteen when they’d first met. She’d been dazzled for all of five minutes—Phil’s ambition and drive an attraction until she’d realised it was all he cared about and couldn’t tolerate anything less in others, especially her. As their relationship had continued, he’d seen her independence from the family business as a hobby, a lack of direction. When he’d told her, during a recurring argument, she was stupid to renounce her place in the family business, a cash-cow future mapped out before her and that Hal agreed with him, she’d finally broken free of her inertia and called things off.

      She glanced at him again, recalling their lacklustre intimacies. Nope. Nothing. Not even a flicker of her pulse.

      As the track ended she tilted her chin at Hannah, indicating her departure from the dance floor. She’d chug a bottle of water, use the restroom and then find Hannah, let her know she was heading home. Phil’s presence had put an end to the promise of the evening, not because she had feelings for him, but because the glaring contrast between him and Jack had plunged her once more into the pit of doubt she’d come here to forget.

      She shook off the emotion—it was the sex. It had to be the sex.

      Perhaps that was why she hadn’t confronted Jack already. Stalling the inevitable? Was she really too scared to risk what she’d found in Jack’s bed?

      She rounded the corner on the way back to their booth.

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