Page 66 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

Elena closed her eyes before pasting on a smile and turning around to greet Jenny, her brother’s cheating girlfriend and one of Ace’s ex-flings.

“Oh no, I’ve just remembered I’m parched,” I dead-panned.

“Of course you have,” Elena muttered through her smile.

I drifted toward the beverage table, not the bar. If I couldn’t even remember who had taken me home the other night, I needed to stay clear of alcohol. As for my growing suspicion that it had been a certain Russian, and considering the way he’d taken care of me . . . well, I didn’t even want to think about it. Especially since less than two weeks ago, he’d insinuated I was easy, a boring lay, and had low self-esteem in one hit.

My gaze unwillingly searched him out for mere self-protection. Everyone knows where their enemy is in the room. He was either schmoozing some socialite in a dark corner or he wasn’t here.

“Gianna! I thought that was you.”

I turned to see Samantha Delacorte, AKA the Most Superficial Woman in New York City, beelining straight to me.

I forced a smile. “Samantha, how nice to see you.”

She air-hugged me, leaving a cloud of sensual perfume I could hardly see through when she pulled back.

“I’m not wedding-crashing, I swear,” she said. “I saw you from the lobby and wanted to say hello. Honestly, Gianna, it’s been too long. Are you . . .” She looked me up and down, grimacing at my blue halter tutu dress. “All right?”

I copied the sickly-sweet tone of her voice. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy—charities, weddings, tickets to the race tomorrow—I must have forgotten to keep in touch. I am so sorry.”

“Oh no . . .” she started.

I blinked.

“I sure hope Vincent didn’t forget to invite you to our trip tomorrow. The end-of-the-summer Bahama trip on his yacht?” She put a hand on my arm, fake pity shining in her eyes. “I’m sure it was just a mistake. I’ll talk to him—”

“No worries, Samantha,” I said blandly, sizing up the room. “I’ve found I’m allergic to the sea.”

“Bummer.” She pouted.

My gaze stopped on the bar, and I stared longingly.

“Well, Vincent, a few others, and I are up in the penthouse suite watching the game. Go, Yanks! You should stop by after this . . . eventful little party. I’m sure Vincent wants to see you, no matter what he says.” The sympathy in her eyes barely concealed her satisfaction.

To be honest, I was a little stung Vincent hadn’t reached out to me at all. But I knew it was for the best—there could never be anything between us like he wanted. I did miss his friendship, however.

“I’m not going to be able to make it.” I pouted. “I made plans with my cat weeks ago.”

“Shame. Well, don’t be afraid to stay in touch. We all go through periods of depression, you know.”

She air-kissed me on the cheeks and then drifted away.

I sighed.

Took a sip of the punch only the kids were drinking.

Tapped my heel on the floor.

This no-alcohol-and-drugs vow was working out just fin

e—

Val stopped nearby and shook a pack of cigarettes at me with a raised brow.

“Oh, thank God.”

I set my punch on a random table and followed her out the door.