Page 3 of One Night Stand After Another
“Dude, I was drunk.” The bastard had taken his bourbon-soaked, off-the-cuff comment seriously?Invite her to the wedding. Maybe I’ve still got a chance.The rest was blurry, forgotten. But one thing was clear: even after their cease-fire, Jack was still fucking with him.
Zane tossed his spoon onto the table.
“In vino, veritas.” Jack smirked. “You poured your heart out. Kissing her was a shit thing to do to me back then, but we were stupid kids. I had no idea you felt that way about her. Still do, from what you said six months ago after that distillery tour. So, get out there and make it happen, pal. Maybe you can actually close the deal this time.”
Do not hit him, even if you owe him a right cross or two for decking you at his graduation party. You are not in high school anymore.
Jack was still talking, seemingly oblivious to Zane’s spiking annoyance. “You are gonna die when you see her. I’d be jealous, except, well—Lila. Listen, pal, I know how it feels to fuck up and lose everything. I also know how it feels to get it back. I want that for you.” There was zero bullshit in Jack’s gaze. He meant it.
That only irritated Zane even more. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. I was drunk. I didn’t mean it. Everyone has moved on.”
“Clearly.” Jack’s gaze dropped to Zane’s clenched fist. “If you punch me, you’ll have to deal with Lila.”
Zane peeled his fingers apart and held them up in the air, fingers spread wide. “This is your wedding. I guaran-fucking-tee you Clara did not come here to see me.”
“Maybe not, but does it matter? She’s here. The woman you still dream about.”
“I don’t remember saying that.” Even if it was true.
“You did. Repeatedly.” Jack cleaned up Zane’s caviar mess and started another tray. “Are you going to let a little thing like ten years cock block you?”
Maybe?People changed in ten years. Zane didn’t expect to start where they’d left off, not after what he’d done, but at the very least, they could talk. He could tell her the truth. He hadn’t told Jack everything after the distillery tour, he remembered that much. It wasn’t his desire for Clara that haunted his dreams—well, it wasn’tonlythat—it was the devastated look in her eyes when he’d lied.
“Fuck you.” Zane wiped his hands on a clean towel and left Jack plating the hors d’oeuvres for his own wedding, just as the smug bastard deserved.
“You’re welcome,” Jack called after him.
“Whatever—you’re still an asshole.” He was not the hungry boy snatching at scraps from Jack’s table anymore. Zane had built a name for himself, by himself. More than a name—an eclectic collection of NYC restaurant wonders. He was rich and should be happy, damn it. But nothing dulled his sharp urge to do more—be more. Still, he believed Jack was genuinely trying to do him a solid, which was why he paused at the kitchen door and turned.
“Fine—thank you. Even if this blows up in my face and she slaps the shit out of me, I do appreciate the gesture.”
He expected Jack to laugh or at least grin, but his old frenemy nodded, chill as fuck, and simply said, “Good luck, and come find me later, okay? A buddy of mine has an opportunity that might interest you.”
Zane raised one eyebrow. “Why don’t you want it?”
“Because I already have everything I need.”
And Zane didn’t, and the fact that Jack knew it burned. “You just have to rub it in, don’t you?”
“Old habits die hard,” Jack shrugged. “Just find me so I can introduce you. You need to move fast on this.”
“I’ll think about it.” But he could already feel excitement stirring—maybe that was his problem. He needed a new project.
As Zane stepped out of the kitchen, he scanned the dining room, automatically checking the flow of his servers circulating drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and the swiftness of his bussers clearing plates. He noted the happy buzz of the crowd and was relieved. He’d worked like a beast to make Jack and Lila’s wedding reception perfect in every way. Truthfully, he’d put so much staff on this party, he didn’t really need to be in the kitchen. His sous chef was more than capable of running the place in his absence, and she usually did.
He unbuttoned the chef’s coat he was wearing over his dress shirt and tie and slipped it off his shoulders. Then he hung it in the servers’ station, retrieved his suit coat, and headed for the circular bar in the center of the room.
Ned, Jack’s older brother, best man, and indie folk sensation, blocked his path. “Have you seen Marie?”
“Sorry, no.”
Ned moved on, and Zane wondered if there would be trouble tonight. All hell broke loose when the renegade of the Calabrese family came home. He hoped this time would be an exception.
“What can I get you, Chef?” Chet, his favorite bartender, asked.
I’d kill for a Manhattan.“Club soda with lime,” he said aloud.Better keep a clearhead.
Jack had invited Clara. She was here.
