Authors: Dianne Venetta
But he had undercut her authority in the most subversive of ways. Unbeknownst to her, and Vic for that matter, Raul had a connection to the Marinelli family. Rather, his wife did.
Alana Martinez attended college at Brown University with Rosalee Dicaprio. The two roomed together for a while and over the years remained in touch. Alana knew of her friend’s marriage to Dominique Marinelli, the birth of her son Victor, followed by the birth of her daughter Anna…as well as her death; the one that changed her friend forever.
Rosalee had shared her son’s drive for revenge and the man he held responsible. When the call came fore-warning Alana of her Victor’s move to Miami, she implored her husband to help, to pave the young man’s way and help him find closure so that his family could heal.
Knowing Raul as she did, Sam expected nothing less from him. But she felt like a puppet. And she was nobody’s puppet, damn it. Nobody’s.
“And Vic?” Jen pursed her lips. “You were on to him too, were you?”
Sam tossed back the last swallow of wine and planted her glass on the sofa table. “Nice aim.”
“Well?”
“Well what? The man had an agenda.” And she got caught in the crossfire. “One I eventually figured out.”
“And you didn’t cut him loose. You didn’t hold a grudge.”
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“He couldn’t help himself.”
“He’s a grown man,” Jen objected. “He was no innocent. He understood what was at stake and he played you.”
“What the hell are you trying to do—rub my nose in it?” Sam fought the desire to leave. She didn’t appreciate Jen’s inside attack though deep in heart, she knew she needed to hear it.
“I’m trying to make sense of it for you. Raul did what he believed was the right thing to do. For a friend. Vic did what he believed was the right thing to do. For his family. And you,” she paused, fixing Sam with determined blue eyes. “You did what you believed right… For your heart.”
Sam groaned. “Oh spare me the heartsick love story angle, will you? It’s over. Vic and I are no more.”
Jennifer looked at her as though a million thoughts wanted to burn a path through her voice and she the gatekeeper allowing nothing to pass.
Sam hated the weakness she felt. Hated the fact she had been taken for the fool.
“You need to let it go, Sam. You’re festering and it’s not good for you.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“But it’s true.” Jen leaned forward and knees together, rested elbows atop them. She cradled the large bowl of her glass between slender hands and said, “And you’re the first person to give the same advice. If you’re not going to fight for Vic, then let him go. If you don’t want to work with Raul, move on. But don’t hold a grudge against them. Don’t ruin your relationship with them due to a bitterness you cannot let go.”
“Since when did you become Ann Landers?”
“It’s called being reasonable, maintaining perspective. Something you seemed to have lost in recent weeks.”
“I’m gaining insight, is what I’m doing. Learning what’s really going on. What people are up to behind my back.”
“You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
“No, it’s called realist. That’s what I am and always will be. A realist. And I’ll be damned sure I don’t fall on this slippery slope again. My eyes are wide open, watching for the warning signs.”
“Such as?”
“You know, bump in the road, slow down,” she said, rehashing the clues in Raul’s odd behavior—the ones she didn’t act upon. “Cliff up ahead, sharp drop-off. Or better yet, how about avalanche area. Watch for falling boulders. About sums Vic’s situation up, don’t you think?” Sam smiled, beginning to enjoy herself. “Dip in the road, no shoulder.” She made a wavy gesture with her hand. “Perilous conditions ahead.”
Jennifer sighed. “Sorry to inform you, but that sign refers to curves up ahead.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her disposition shifted and a smile settled onto her lips. “That’s not for him, that’s for
me
. Danger ahead, hot curvy attorney, just around the corner.”
Jen frowned. “Poor Vic must have missed that one.”
“His bad luck,” Sam said and stood. She’d had enough of commiserating, but Jen was right about one thing. It was time to move on. Given enough time, life would right itself. All she had to do was push forward. Hell, Sam thought, even Luke and Jess figured out that one. While they weren’t officially back together, at least the two were talking again. “You’re still planning to be my date for the party, right?”
She sighed. “Of course. But Jax won’t be joining us.”
Sam understood. Jax was not a tuxedo kinda guy. One of the things she liked best about him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Wow...” Jennifer strolled into the downtown Omni International penthouse suites ahead of Sam and took in the spectacle of luxury. “The place looks incredible.”
Sam hardly noticed. She expected the room to glitter in excess. From the enormous chandeliers overhead, bouquets of crystal dipped in shimmery gold light to the extravagantly dressed guests, draped in diamonds and pearls, she expected nothing less. Raul never
did
anything less. From tables laden with food and savory aroma to the dignified gentlemen band, the room was wealth and prestige, personified.
Jennifer glanced at Sam in surprise. “It looks as though the entire city of Miami is here.”
“Probably are.” Sam poked her gaze through the crowd for familiar faces. “Raul knows just about everyone in town.”
“Is this all for you?”
She shrugged. “For the firm.”
“I gather it’s not every day the largest firm in town adds a new partner, is it?”
“They’re a bit picky when it comes to that sort of thing.”
Jen nodded, “I see...” No smile, no pleasure, she kept her best face forward, despite Sam’s mood.
But that was Jen. Ever the polished and gracious diplomat. And gorgeous in her gown of pale blue. Scooped at the neck with little capped sleeves, she was radiant. The perfect date.
Sam continued to scan the sea of faces. No sign of him. “I need a drink.”
Jennifer arched a brow. “How unexpected.”
She thrust forth a smile in response and summoned a passing waiter, formally clad and carrying a load of bubbly. She plucked a flute of champagne from his silver tray without asking and he barely covered a scowl. Turning to Jen he asked in a show of exaggerated proper etiquette, “Would you care for champagne, Madame?”
“Thank you,” she replied, and gingerly took the glass he offered.
Sam snipped her flare of irritation and sipped from her glass as the man moved on. “Soft on the bubbles,” she noted in approval. “Just the way I like. I have to hand it to him. Raul knows his bubbly.”
“Nothing but the best for the best, right?”
“Thank you for noticing,” she replied, and tried to rally her mood. She was supposed to be having fun, though she’d be damned is she knew why it wasn’t happening. Probably because she was still battling the Raul thing, though with each passing day it grew easier. Besides, she couldn’t hold a grudge if it were strapped to her backside. Not her cup of
chi
.
Sam moved further into the room. Tuning out the din of polite conversation, the intricate melody meandering about guests, she weaved through a cluster of older men and women, most of whom she recognized as senior partners from a rival firm while Jennifer followed.
Her heart jumped. There he was, head and shoulders above the crowd, conversing with Diego. And, she noted, her breath escaping in a rush. There was a woman standing beside him.
A woman
.
The fact lodged in her brain like a foreign object.
Her heart thrashed and she jerked her head away.
God damn
...
Sam struggled against the stampede of jealousy barreling through her chest, her attention helplessly drawn back to the couple across the room.
Vic was here with another woman
. A younger Latin woman. Her thoughts whip-lashed. Why didn’t she take that possibility into account?
Damn it
—why did it matter?
“Sam,” Jennifer said. “What’s the matter?”
“Vic.” Stunned, she took another sip, this one deeper, filling her mouth completely with its subtle tang before it washed down in a sea of gentle carbonation.
“Vic?” Jen perked in curiosity. “Where?”
She raised a shaky finger in his direction. Instantly embarrassed by her anxiety, she balled it into a fist and shoved it down by her side. “The one talking with Diego.”
Jennifer craned her neck to see. “The dark haired fellow?”
“The very one. Standing next to the
trollop
.”
“
Sam
.” Jennifer turned on her, oceans of disapproval swimming in her eyes. “There’s no need to be rude.”
“Sorry.” She gulped down another mouthful of champagne.
Jennifer turned her attention back to Vic. “He sure is a handsome one,” she said in an unusual stumble of admiration. “But this can’t come exactly as a surprise to you,” she slowly turned back to Sam. “Can it?”
“What,” she snapped, indignation sweltering. “That he’s here with some tart?”
“That he’s accompanied by a date,” Jennifer corrected with a sharp point on the end.
“Tell you the truth. It never even crossed my mind.”
“Hmmm...” Jennifer sipped from her glass but remained fixed on Sam.
Whose traitorous eyes remained glued to Vic. He looked so happy. So
damned
happy. Without her.
The thought sliced her heart clean through.
“This is your celebration, Sam,” Jen reminded. “We’re here to have a good time. Don’t obsess over Vic’s date.”
Sound advice, but she couldn’t get it to stick. “I don’t obsess,” she said, and watched the three of them carry on, laughing over something Diego said. “I observe.”
“If you observe any harder, you’re going to hurt someone.”
Sam flicked her with a gaze. “Very funny.” But Vic sure seemed to be having a grand time. What happened to the hurt? The pleas? The day she asked for space, he had literally begged her to reconsider. Pleaded with her not to leave him, that he loved her. They were meant for each other.
But now... Her heart squeezed. He seemed fine. Apparently, he had moved on—like she was supposed to have done. Sam dumped the memory into her glass of champagne. Instead, it was she who was having trouble letting go.
“I think I need something stronger.” Sam turned on her heel and headed for a makeshift bar in the opposite direction.
“Do you think that’s wise?” Jennifer asked, dutifully trailing alongside her.
Arriving in front of an idle bartender, a spunky tune erupted from the band as she plunked her empty glass down on the counter in front of him. “Gin martini, straight up, three olives.”
“Coming right up.”
“And make it dry,” she said. “Very dry.”
“Sam, do you think that’s a good idea?”
Irritated by the mother hen tone, she snapped, “You have a better one?”
“Why don’t we try mingling?”
“We will, as soon as this handsome young man delivers the goods.” She smiled at him, and hated that it was forced.
Where were her cat eyes when she needed them? Her nonverbal games of seduction that used to say, “I’m game if you are.” Or how about the flirtatious quips that used to roll off her tongue without a spec of forethought?
Gone, is where. They were missing in action.
Sam glanced to her side. Ever the wise one, Jen delivered no further commentary. Which was good. She needed an ally tonight and not some lecture in the finer points of social decorum. Especially when Vic was here parading his date around in a plunging neckline of sequins and gold, spaghetti-thin straps screaming under the weight of the hefty cleavage.
She assessed her own attire and felt prudish by comparison. Rather than her signature red, she opted for stately black. Long and fitted, the most risqué feature was the slit running up one side. Big mistake, she rued. But there was no going back now.
The bartender handed over her drink.
“Thanks,” she replied.
“My pleasure. Come back, anytime.”
But feeling no desire to flirt, Sam pulled a deep swallow of gin, the liquid burning as it plummeted down her throat. Bitter, rough...it wasn’t like her taste buds to reject the clear, smooth alcohol.
Hmph
. Must be the champagne. Ruined an otherwise discriminating tongue.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Sam. We
can
be civil.”
She took another sip from her martini, then replied, “
We
don’t have to be anything. This is my party and I’ll do as I damn well please.”
“Of course.” Jennifer retreated into silence.
Damn it. Sam didn’t want to fight with Jen, but she didn’t want to deal with these feelings, either. She downed another ice-cold swallow, this one numbing her soft inner lips as it passed. At least it was an improvement over the first noxious sip.
Intent on putting distance between herself and Vic, Sam walked along the perimeter of the crowd. The music swirled overhead, a jazzed-up combination of ballroom and elevator music. Boring, but it gave people an oppor-tunity to dance.
Several attorneys stopped her to extend congratulations, tagging on a string of irrelevant chitchat in regard to her future plans. Sam kept her replies basic, leaving the small-talk to Jen. She was much better schooled in the business of idle chatter.
From the corner of her eye, Sam caught sight of something. Effectively hooked, her attention was drawn to the center of the room. With a level of skill she didn’t know he possessed, she watched in amazement as Vic led his date onto the dance floor, whisking her along in graceful step with the music.
Of course she didn’t know he danced. It hadn’t been on their list of things to do. But now, watching him with another woman, she imagined the drift of cologne that clung to the air around him, the warm strength of his grip, the hard line of his body as she pressed against him, imagining their long legs intertwined as they kept rhythm to the music.