Page 11 of Savage Suit

At this point in my life, it didn’t matter. My mother had dodged death, but the Grim Reaper insisted he wanted her and stole her anyway.

“A woman will come along at the most unexpected time, Noah,” Graham inserted. “What you think you want in the future Mrs. Keegan won’t matter considering who she is and the joy she brings to you.”

I raised my hands. “Spare me, Graham. Few people meet their soulmates. You are one of the lucky ones. I’m happy for you, but I don’t hold to that same belief—”

“I didn’t either—”

“This meeting isn’t to discuss my personal life,” I interrupted.

“You’re right. We’ve talked about this a million times, and you’re still a mule-headed jackass. Let’s change the subject.”

I let his insult slide. Though Graham disagreed with my stance, he had enough regard for me to respect my opinion, so I’d return the favor. “I think that’s best.”

Alf walked toward our table, carrying a silver tray. After setting his load on the empty table next to us, he doled out our food.

“The Bouillabaisse with a side of garlic bread for Mr. Keegan and salmon en papillote with asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes for Mr. Morgan. Can I get y’all anything else?”

Graham handed his empty glass to the waiter. “Another Martini.”

“All right. It’ll be just a moment, sir.”

“Give me a day or two,” Graham said after Alf went to fulfill the order. “Let me do a little research on the House of Amage. I’m sure there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Much more, though it was personal and not financially based, as Graham alluded.

Nodding, I unwrapped the cloth napkin to grab the soup spoon.

“I’m fucking starving,” he said, cutting into his salmon.

I inhaled the savory scent and shoved a spoonful into my mouth. The rich flavor of the stew hit my tongue and washed away the last of my aggravation.

Later that evening, I sat in my study, listening to Frank Sinatra and enjoying my favorite whisky. My live-in staff had retired for the evening, and those with their own homes were gone for the day. It was just me and the music. Several copies of The City Post lay on the desk, some older, others more recent. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to have my butler, Lumley, round up the newspaper with theAsk Idacolumn, but Graham had sounded so fucking proud of Soraya.

As I’d read the questions and the answers, I noted when the tone of the advice changed and became edgier, sharper. Funnier. Graham had every right to admire his wife.

Emptying my glass, I picked up the remaining newspaper I’d refused to read. I was on the cover toasting my sister-in-law on her birthday, the day that would’ve been my mother’s birthday, too.

Each time I thought about that night, I remembered the beauty in the blue dress, though a fog clouded my brain, caused by that evening’s drunkenness. I’d kept her panties, even jerked off to the lingering scent the material held. I regretted not getting contact information from her. Fuck, a name would’ve been nice.

She had the sweetest fucking mouth I’d ever tasted, the softest skin I’d ever touched. Always, in the wake of those thoughts, I wondered if I had turned her into a goddess. But, perhaps, believing her perfect was the only way I accepted that I’d fucked a stranger.

Sighing, I opened the newspaper. I skipped the society pages. I couldn’t bear to linger on photos from that night. For me, the moment the angel in blue floated into my room meant more to me than my brief appearance at Tina’s party.

I found theAsk Idacolumn.

I recently began dating a new guy, and my dog growls every time my boyfriend visits. My guy gave me an ultimatum. Him or the canine. My BFF says a dog can’t hold me at night, help pay the bills or send me flowers on special occasions. I don’t want to lose this man, but I love my dog. Please help!

-Sydney

Listen to the dog, woman. His animal instinct is warning you away. Walk away now. Change your phone number and give your dog extra treats for being so protective of you.

I smiled at the advice. Once, I’d heard dogs detected evil. Though I’d never put much thought into the accuracy of the statement, Soraya’s advice might’ve been based on scientific fact.

I scanned the next question, asking about a cat that jumped out of a cupboard and scared a man’s new girlfriend. Today’s column seemed primarily animal-focused. Just for the hell of it, I glanced at the last question.

Recently, my sister had a fling, but she was wasted and doesn’t remember the encounter. She asked me directly, and I promised she was alone, asleep, and perfectly untouched. She was so relieved, saying she would be too old for such irresponsible behavior, I couldn’t bear to admit that I found her asleep, smelling of sex, disheveled, and next to a man whose back was to me. She’d never met this guy before and hasn’t seen him since. I couldn’t see him, so I wouldn’t know him if he waved at me on a subway. She hadn’t slept the alcohol off and never drank as much. But she’d also recently lost her job. My sister needs to loosen up and live a little. She doesn’t understand the concept of a one-night stand. I say life is too short for regrets. I have two questions. How can I admit the truth? What can I do to help her release her inner thot?

-A Concerned Sister