Page 27 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

“Manipulative,” I muttered, actively ignoring the voice in my head. The one that was repeating his words on a loop.

About us.

Keep me around.

Oh hell.

Well, Easton hadn’t been wrong.

The party was boring. Like, excruciatingly, dreadfully, on-the-verge-of-slipping-into-a-coma boring .

I’d assumed I would feel like a kid in a candy store surrounded by so many high-ranking politicians, city officials, and prominent personalities.

Not that I thought they would be openly discussing scandals or shady business dealings, but I thought there might be at least some boastful storytelling.

Reminiscing about a wild case or airing grievances about the thankless job, like a scene out of a TV drama.

But life wasn’t TV.

If there were exciting conversations taking place, it was hard to overhear them because the party itself seemed to be having an identity crisis.

It felt more like an upscale dinner service of individual tables and not a cohesive celebration.

There was very little mingling, and even less talk about work.

When there was, it was nothing scandalous or even entertaining.

Everything I overheard was polite small talk, family discussions, or golf plans.

Golf, the most boring of the sports.

Beyond that letdown was the even worse fact that the food sucked.

It wasn’t that the Justice Unrestrained dinner had set a high bar.

Okay, that was also true, and I’d purposefully skipped lunch in anticipation of a similar meal.

But it plain and simply sucked. Every course was a tiny portion of some statement dish with funky plating.

Beyond the taste, the size of the party far exceeded the capabilities of a dinner like that.

Hot dishes were cold by the time they were served.

Cold dishes were tepid. Foam dishes were puddles on tiny plates, and everything was soggy.

I clearly wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Food was either politely choked down or mixed around the plate to appear picked at.

The servers looked frazzled. The chef was heard shouting from the back more than once.

Even the man of the hour looked unhappily resigned at a nearby table while his wife fussed about like a moth let loose in a lamp warehouse.

The only complimentary thing to be said about the whole shindig was that the party space itself looked beautiful. That was no surprise since I’d seen Melissa working behind the scenes—usually trying to talk Violet or the chef down.

If the event planner from Gilded recognized me from the auction, she gave no indication in the polite greeting she’d offered me and Easton.

The other positive was my date. His frequent commentary and disgruntled critiques made it difficult to stifle my laughter. The fact he always leaned closer to whisper them in my ear caused a very different reaction that I also smothered.

When a plate of beef carpaccio salad—something that looked and smelled like they’d accidentally harvested the dirt from the garden rather than the vegetables—was set in front of us, he leaned in again. “When Dave said he asked for steak for his dinner, I doubt this is what he had in mind.”

“I doubt this is what anyone has in mind when they hear the word steak.”

His soft chuckle near my ear was more than I could take, and I tried to shift to put some distance between us.

Distance he didn’t allow.

He gripped my face and squeezed my cheeks as he tilted my face up, forcing me to look at him.

I thought he was going to chide me for attempting to move away.

But he just held the eye contact for a tense moment before moving his hold to palm the back of my head.

He kept his tight grip there as he used his free hand to fork up some food.

I didn’t bother eating any. Even if I would’ve been able to stomach the smell and taste before—and that was a big if —the butterflies having a rave in my stomach prevented me from swallowing a bite.

That lone bite was all he managed before he dropped the fork with a clatter. He angled my head toward his mouth. “Fast food burgers on the way home?”

“Please.”

“Christ, this is shit. People have started cutting out. We’ll leave soon.”

I shook my head, and my mostly empty stomach threatened to launch up and attack me at my betrayal. “Once that first brave soul left and opened the floodgate, too many followed. Violet is getting upset, and that seems distressing to Dave. It’ll look better if we stay for a while.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. I owe you some edible food.”

“And you’ll fulfill that obligation. I even plan on making you spring for animal style and a milkshake. But I can wait.”

“At least one of us can…”

My laughter cut off when one of our table mates stood suddenly and headed toward the bathroom—with what appeared to be a stuffed napkin.

A vaguely familiar looking man took her spot.

He was probably only in his mid-forties, but what was likely a consistent lack of sun protection had left him with overly tan and aged skin that was extra creased with lines. Not smile ones.

Frown lines.

Or maybe glower lines. I wasn’t sure if that was a thing, but even with his relaxed features, he came across as angry.

It didn’t help when he slapped the table and made me jolt. “Easton Wells, how the hell are ya?”

Easton must’ve just noticed his arrival because his hand tightened reflexively on my head. “Jerry.”

“It’s been a long time. Good to see you, but not as good as it is to see your lovely date.” He smiled at me. “What’s your name, darling?”

“This is Maddie,” Easton introduced, though there was an odd edge in his voice. “Maddie, this is Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, taking his outstretched hand.

The man kept hold of mine, and I almost didn’t care. I was too distracted trying to place him.

It’s Niko Stavros all over again.

“How did you meet this lucky bastard? He rarely leaves his office, so are you also an attorney?” He narrowed his eyes for emphasis. “No, you’re too pretty to be soulless. What do you do, beautiful Maddie?”

Easton answered for me again, adding a low chuckle. “Nothing. I keep her too busy.” He tugged me to plaster my side to his, dislodging my hand from the other man. “Isn’t that right, guppy?”

I secretly loved the nickname—awkward origin aside—but the condescending way he said it was enough to change that in an instant. Instead of warming my belly, it made me grit my teeth as I forced a smile.

The other man tried to ask me more, but Easton cut in each time with evasive and patronizing answers that steered clear of any mention of my actual life.

The skillful way he handled it without his motives coming across as strained and suspicious gave me a glimpse at what made him a successful attorney.

It would’ve been impressive if it weren’t for the glaring fact he was making abundantly clear.

He’s embarrassed.

He doesn’t want people to know I am a college student.

It wasn’t like our age gap was a secret. One look at us made that obvious. But in his head, there must’ve been a difference between me being younger than him and me still being in college.

And God, that hurt. Because behind the indignation tightening my chest until I wanted to scream were all the insecurities his deflections tapped into.

That I wasn’t good enough to even be his date.

That he knew it, too, and that was why he was going to great lengths to avoid sharing anything about me.

That I was a silly little girl.

Pretty on his arm, but nothing more than that.

At the blow of his shockingly belittling answers, I thought about the way he always hovered. How he’d backtracked at the Justice Unrestrained dinner to make me come with him to the bar. I wondered if he hadn’t trusted me unattended at the table.

Well…

This sucks.

Part of me—a big one—wanted to correct him. To say exactly what I was and what I did. But that wasn’t part of our arrangement. I was there to make his life easier. To serve my purpose and do as he said.

Even if he was ashamed of me.

Before I did something I would regret, I stood.

Or tried to.

With his hand on the back of my head, I barely inched out of my chair.

He must’ve known I was pissed because he suddenly dropped his arm across my lap and wrapped his hand around my opposite thigh.

If not for the circumstances, the intimate embrace would’ve heated me in a wildly different way.

As it was, it was my rage that was stoked.

I didn’t want to make a scene. I was dramatic, but not like that. Usually, at least. In that moment, I was tempted to knock my drink right on his lap.

Accidentally .

And the maddening man at my side knew that, too. He lifted my glass and set it down out of my reach under the guise of straightening the table. While he did, the hand on my thigh tightened.

A silent warning.

One I didn’t heed.

I waited a few long minutes, not paying attention to the small talk he made with mystery Jerry.

I expected my outward tolerance of the situation would be enough to get Easton to remove—or at least loosen—his heavy arm, but he didn’t.

It was the opposite. Somehow reading my intentions, he put more pressure on my lap.

I didn’t let that stop me and attempted to stand anyway, desperately needing a second to get my head together.

All I managed to accomplish was inadvertently sliding his hand farther up my thigh.

Jerry’s gaze dropped to the connection, and all my fidgeting had made it seem like I was purposefully trying to get Easton to touch me more.

The man gave me a smile that heebied my freaking jeebies.

Every womanly instinct I had flared to life.

The ones that warned me away from dark alleys, dodgy drinks, and online marketplace finds that seem too good to be true.

I wasn’t the only one.