Chapter 8

It was Sophie.

A wicked smile tugged at Winston's lips as he gave her waist a squeeze. "Which part of me did you miss, huh?"

"You're impossible… Let's go in."

They made out like no one else existed.

Celia froze. Her eyes prickled, and the ache in her chest dulled to nothing.

In her mind, Winston was always the man calm and composed. He only ever let the mask slip when he was with her.

Yet now, he was coming undone for another woman.

Once he'd had his fill of her, he hooked an arm around Sophie and steered her toward the club.

Celia took a deep breath. She knew it would wreck her, but she went in anyway. She pressed the handle and eased the door to the private room open. The sight that awaited her almost broke her.

Winston and Sophie were making out, slow and starving, with only a flimsy napkin between them.

"Damn. Do it again!"

"Winston really knows how to have fun."

Someone from Jerome's crew wouldn't quit heckling. "Sophie, how's Winston in bed?"

Sophie snuggled into Winston's chest, flustered. With a few buttons undone, he looked loose and reckless. He ran a hand over her waist, down the curve of her hip, and pulled her flush against him.

He shot the room a look. "Enough. She's shy."

One of them barked a laugh. "Told you to get out and have some fun, Winston. Celia's not half as wild as the women out there."

On the other side of the door, Celia's hand shook on the handle. Tears slid down her face, and she went numb. The glimpse through the crack felt like a death sentence.

So Winston's friends knew he had someone on the side and kept it quiet, treating her like a fool. Unable to bear another second there, she turned and fled.

…

When someone in the private room said Celia's name, Winston's expression went cold. "I already told you not to drag Cece into this. Nobody breathes a word. Anyone who talks will have to live with the consequences."

"Relax. We know the drill."

Still, his expression didn't soften. Sophie leaned in, but he wasn't having it.

Celia was his bottom line. No one could cross it, not even he himself.

…

Celia stumbled out of the club and bent over a trash can, dry-heaving until her eyes stung.

God, Winston was gross!

She scrubbed the spot where he'd touched her and headed for the cab. She slumped back in the seat. "I'm not going home. Take me to a bar."

The driver checked on Celia in the rearview. He'd just watched Winston drop her off, only to wrap himself around another woman. It was downright jaw-dropping.

He sighed. "Men are all the same, ma'am. You and your husband must've been married a long time. He didn't look unreasonable. Make time to talk to him. After all, life goes on."

Celia shook her head, her eyes rimmed red. "Cheaters are trash. Why should I just take it?"

The driver didn't push it. He drove her to a bar.

Winston had already more than covered the fare. The driver offered a few parting words before pulling away.

Celia had been working the circuit for years, drinking both red and white, yet she hardly ever got drunk. Besides, she knew taekwondo as well. Otherwise, she wouldn't be hitting a bar alone.

She ordered a Bloody Mary and drank by herself while the music thumped around her. Only something strong could scrub those filthy images out of her head.

"Hey, gorgeous. Drinking alone's no fun."

Dressed in a loud floral shirt, Todd Baldwin slid onto the stool next to her. A teasing smile tugged at his lips as his gaze raked over her.

Celia wore a smoky-gray chiffon blouse and a black fishtail pencil skirt. Her soft curls fell to her shoulders. She was so beautiful that it almost hurt.

She looked up and, catching sight of the pale band on his right ring finger, let out a short, cold scoff. "You're married and still this shameless? You're a total turnoff, worse than trash."

Todd's face hardened. He grabbed her wrist, his gaze dropping to the ring on her finger.

He jeered, "Please. You're married, yet you strutted in here dressed like that. We're both hunting, aren't we? I'm handing you an out. Take it and drop the saint act."

Celia's eyes narrowed. She kicked Todd hard, sending him crashing to the ground. Seizing her chance, she turned and walked away.

"Damn it!" Todd spat and limped after her.

Celia strode away. She rounded the corner and slammed into a warm, solid wall of muscle. Pain flared through her. She gasped and cupped her nose, wincing.

Just then, a clean, crisp scent hit her, and a hand settled on her shoulder. A low, cool voice came from above. "Are you okay?"

She waved him off, biting back the ache. She didn't so much as glance at him and walked away.

A raw shout sounded behind her. "Stop right there! That kick you…"

Todd trailed off when he saw the tall, sharp-looking man with Celia.

He jabbed a finger at her and spat, "I knew you were no good! Two seconds ago, you were polishing your halo, and now you're already hitting on another guy!"

Celia's expression turned icy. She was about to speak when a bodyguard stepped in and kicked Todd off his feet. He hit the floor with a grunt.

Just then, Pete Oberman, the bar manager, hurried over. He took one look at Soren Fenwick and his stomach dropped. "I'm sorry about the trouble, Mr. Fenwick. I'll have him thrown out right now."

Celia searched her memory for that name and realized she'd never heard it in Belcaster. She looked up at the man.

His profile was flawless and chiseled, so cold and aloof that he looked stern. He stood straight in a black bespoke suit, his tie cinched neatly at the collar. Every move he made exuded aristocratic poise.

Soren narrowed his eyes at Pete and let out a chilly laugh. "Chaos like this only happens when management allows it. Keep it up and people will start thinking you're running a brothel, Mr. Oberman."

A cold sweat broke out on Pete's brow. He didn't dare look Soren in the eye. "I'll fix it. It won't happen again."

He glanced at Celia. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she? We should've known better. There won't be a next time! Everything's on the house tonight. How does that sound?"

Both Soren and Celia went still.

"No, you've got it wrong! I'll pay for my own drinks," she blurted out.

She dug through her bag for her phone but came up empty. A crease formed between her brows.

Winston was the only one who'd touched her bag. Had he taken her phone? But why?

The moment it clicked, Celia went still. He must've taken it to delete the photos for Sophie. It had never crossed his mind that she would have no way to call for help if anything happened to her on her way back.

A whirlwind of emotion hit her all at once.

"Miss?" Pete called out, sounding uncertain.

Celia pulled herself together and smoothed out her expression.

A little flustered, she said, "Mr. Oberman, I lost my phone, so I might not be able to pay. I can leave my ID and come back tomorrow to settle the bill. Would that work?"

Soren spoke up. "Put it on my tab."

Embarrassed, Celia pressed her lips together and stole a glance at him.

Soren's expression remained indifferent, as though it meant nothing.

She figured it made sense. To someone like him, this was pocket change. He was just lending a hand.

"Thank you," Celia said, pursing her lips. "Could I get your number? I'll pay you back."