Page 6 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

Savannah

M orning light spilled through curtains I'd forgotten to close, painting warm stripes across rumpled sheets.

I stretched, muscles pleasantly sore, before reality hit me—I was alone.

Of course I was. What had I expected? A goodbye? A number?

The pillow beside mine still held the impression of his head, and I couldn’t resist pressing my face to it, catching the lingering scent of cedar and bergamot.

Evidence that last night hadn't been just a particularly vivid dream.

Good.

I didn't want it to be.

I showered, washing away physical traces of the encounter while mentally replaying every moment.

The hot water beat against my skin, but I could still feel the press of his hands, the weight of his body. Could still hear that low groan he'd made when he'd lost control.

No regrets, I reminded myself.

This was exactly what I'd wanted—one perfect night of freedom before returning to real life. To being Savannah Blake.

Marketing executive.

Woman rebuilding herself after a failed relationship.

Not the kind of woman who had anonymous sex with silver-haired strangers at weddings.

Except, apparently, I was exactly that kind of woman. And I'd enjoyed every second of it.

I dressed carefully in a sundress that hit just above the knee, modest enough for brunch but still flattering.

My hands trembled slightly as I applied makeup, covering the shadows under my eyes, evidence of too little sleep and too much pleasure.

Would I see him at brunch? The thought sent a flutter of nerves through my stomach. What would I say? What would he say? We'd created such a perfect bubble of anonymity last night—reality might shatter whatever magic had passed between us.

Maybe it was better if we didn't meet again.

My phone buzzed with a text from Zoe:

Where did you disappear to last night? Meet me for mimosas before brunch. Terrace, 15 min.

I texted back a quick affirmative, gathering my things. My dress from last night lay in a puddle of gold silk on the floor where he'd dropped it.

I picked it up, folding it carefully before packing it away.

A souvenir of sorts.

The terrace restaurant overlooked the vineyards, bathed in California sunshine.

I spotted Zoe at a table near the railing, already working on what appeared to be her second mimosa.

"Well, well, well," she drawled as I approached. "Someone looks thoroughly debauched this morning."

I rolled my eyes, taking the seat across from her. "Good morning to you too."

"Don't 'good morning' me. Spill." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest.

"Who was he? Where did you meet him? How was it?"

I signaled a waiter for coffee, buying time. "Who says there was a 'he'?"

"Please. You're practically glowing. And you've got a little..." She gestured to her own neck.

My hand flew to my throat, feeling the slight tenderness of what must be a mark.

Heat flooded my cheeks.

"Ha! Knew it." Zoe pushed a mimosa toward me. "Details. Now."

I took a fortifying sip.

"It was nothing. Just a guy I met at the wedding."

"One of the groomsmen?"

"No, a guest. I don't know who he was with."

"Name?" she pressed.

I shook my head. "Didn't ask."

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. "Savannah Blake had anonymous sex? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

"It was just one night," I said, trying to sound casual.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh." She didn't look convinced.

"And that's why you're clutching that mimosa flute like it's the only thing keeping you upright?"

I loosened my grip, realizing she was right. "It was good, okay? Really good. But it's over."

"If you say so." Zoe sipped her mimosa, studying me over the rim. "Though I wouldn't mind bumping into Mr. Silver Fox myself. He was hot."

My head snapped up. "You saw him?"

"Briefly. When he was talking to you at the ceremony." She smirked. "Older, distinguished, looked like he could buy and sell everyone at that wedding. Totally your type."

"He is not my type," I protested automatically.

“Powerful men who keep their hearts locked up? That used to be your type.” Her voice softened.

“But he’s not like the others, is he?”

Before I could respond, her phone chimed.

She checked it, then grinned. "Cami says the bride's table has the best food. Let's head over."

The main dining room was already bustling when we arrived.

Round tables dotted with floral centerpieces filled the space, each hosting a mix of wedding guests in various states of hangover recovery.

Cami waved us over to a table near the windows, where she sat with the bride's cousin and two others I vaguely recognized from the ceremony.

"Savannah! Zoe!" Cami greeted us with air kisses. "Amanda was just telling us about the honeymoon plans. Two weeks in Bali!"

I smiled and nodded, half-listening to the conversation as I scanned the room.

Was he here?

Would I recognize him in daylight, away from the magical garden setting where we'd met?

A familiar laugh caught my attention—not his, but one I knew all too well.

My stomach dropped as I spotted Miles across the room, holding court at a table of business associates.

Of course, he'd be here.

John Parker worked with my marketing firm many times.

He was one of our biggest clients.

"You okay?" Zoe murmured, following my gaze. "We can sit somewhere else."

I shook my head. "It's fine. I knew he might be here."

I just hadn't cared last night, too caught up in my garden stranger to worry about running into my ex.

"He's been watching the door," Cami commented, nodding toward Miles. "Probably hoped you wouldn't show."

"Or hoped I would," I muttered, remembering how our breakup had gone.

Miles didn't like losing things he considered his, even when he was the one who'd done most of the damage.

I deliberately turned my back on his table, focusing on my friends.

The buffet was impressive—everything from eggs benedict to fresh pastries to a carving station with prime rib.

I filled my plate modestly, my appetite diminished by the knowledge of Miles's presence.

We were halfway through breakfast when Cami nudged me. "Incoming," she whispered.

I looked up to see Miles approaching our table, his trademark confident smile firmly in place.

Five months ago, that smile had made my heart race.

Now it just made me tired.

"Ladies," he greeted the table at large before focusing on me. "Savannah. You look well."

"Miles." I kept my voice neutral. "Enjoying the festivities?"

"Absolutely. John throws the best parties." He rested a hand on the back of my chair, slightly too close for comfort. "I didn't see you at the reception."

The implication was clear—he'd been looking.

I took a sip of water, giving myself time to respond. "I turned in early."

Zoe made a small choking sound that she disguised as a cough. I kicked her under the table.

"That's a shame," Miles said. "We could have caught up."

"I think we said everything that needed saying a long time ago." I smiled tightly.

"How's the Madison Street project going?"

His expression flickered—I'd hit a nerve.

The project had been struggling when we broke up, partly because Miles had alienated key investors with his arrogance.

"Moving forward," he said vaguely.

"Dad's stepped in to smooth some ruffled feathers."

Of course he had.

Lucas Turner had built an empire by being everything his son wasn't—diplomatic, strategic, patient.

Miles had always resented living in his father's shadow while simultaneously exploiting the Turner name whenever it suited him.

"Good to hear," I said, not really caring.

"If you'll excuse us, we were just discussing yesterday's ceremony."

"Actually," Miles said, ignoring the dismissal, "I was hoping we could talk privately. Just for a minute."

I felt my friends' eyes on me, waiting for my response.

Especially after last night, the idea of a private conversation with Miles held all the appeal of a root canal.

"I don't think we have anything to discuss," I said firmly.

"Five minutes, Sav. Please."

The nickname grated.

He'd never bothered to notice how much I disliked it when he said it.

"Fine. Five minutes." I stood, ignoring Zoe's concerned look. "I'll be right back," I assured her.

Miles led me to a quiet corner near the terrace doors, his hand hovering near the small of my back but not quite touching—aware of boundaries now that it was too late.

"You really do look good," he said, his eyes traveling over me in a way that once would have thrilled me.

Now it just made me want a shower.

"What do you want, Miles?"

He had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Direct as always. I've missed that."

"Miles."

"Fine." He sighed.

"I've been thinking about us. About what went wrong."

I stared at him, incredulous. "Seriously? Now? After all of these months of silence?"

"I needed time to process. To understand what I really want." He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"And what I want is another chance, Sav. We were good together."

"No, we weren't." The candor of my response surprised even me. "You wanted an accessory, not a partner. Someone to make you look good at events and wait patiently at home while you worked eighty-hour weeks."

His jaw tightened. "That's not fair. My career?—"

"Is important, I know. But so was mine, which you never seemed to remember." I shook my head.

"We're not having this conversation again, Miles."

"Come on, Savannah. You know how compatible we are." His voice took on that cajoling tone he used when trying to get his way.

"Your marketing expertise, my development projects. We make sense."

And there it was—the Miles I remembered. Framing our relationship in terms of business advantages, as if love were a merger to be negotiated.

"I have to get back to my friends," I said, stepping around him.

He caught my arm, his grip just shy of too tight. "One dinner. That's all I'm asking. For old times' sake."

I pulled free.

"Goodbye, Miles."