The Bet by Max Monroe

Sophie

Event planners are in hog heaven all around me, chowing down on food, guzzling endless drinks, dancing like they’re set to star in the remake of Dirty Dancing, and losing their ever-loving minds. These are literally the who’s who of private event planning, some of them having been involved in celebrity weddings, state dinners at the White House, and even one guy who’s best known for running all the setup for New York Fashion Week! Honestly, if I weren’t freaking out so much about the seriously delusional fantasy of Jude seeing me and having some sort of ultra-swoony explanation for his disappearance that got me here, I might actually be in awe.

But the fact is I am wigging out while some of my biggest idols are getting their freak on like this is happy hour at spring break, and Jude, for the love of everything, hasn’t even fucking noticed I exist.

Coming here was definitely not a good idea.

I scour the room again, passing right over Cara Ming, one of the top wedding planners in the world, while she drops it like it’s hot to Snoop, and zero in on the man in the suit.

Just as I remembered, Jude looks every bit as handsome and self-assured as I’d expect a man of his credentials to be. He smiles easily, he’s charismatic, and for lack of a better description, he works the room like a whore on a popular street corner.

They’re all eating out of his hand, and by all appearances, the event is a great success.

“Excuse me,” a man calls from beside me, startling my attention away from Jude and up to him. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, pointing to the spot directly next to me.

His dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and trimmed beard are undoubtedly noteworthy, and I try my best to close off my stupid running mind so I can give him all my attention. I mean, there’s a reason they say tall, dark, and handsome, right?

I don’t need Jude’s light hair and bright eyes. I need mystery. Yeah, that’s it.

“No,” I finally answer. “Please, sit.”

He smiles, the look transforming his face from Mafia Boss Kingpin to Man Next Door, and I shift in my seat.

Once situated at my side, he sticks out a hand for me to take and introduces himself. “Hi. I’m Bennett Nickelson. What’s your name?”

I smile, trying my best to leave the awkward pressure of meeting someone for the first time behind and just converse like a normal human being. “Sophie,” I say. “Sophie Sage.”

Well, so much for not being weird. I sound like 007, for shit’s sake.

Nevertheless, Bennett smiles. “Nice to meet you, Sophie. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little out of my league tonight. Some big names here.”

I nod. “I know.”

“I’m not even sure why I got the invitation.”

Oh. I know how I got mine. Ha.

Secret embarrassment flushes my cheeks pink, so I turn away briefly to save myself from exposing that to him. Almost without my permission, my gaze immediately snags on Jude.

He’s smiling broadly, in the middle of an exchange with several different women at once, all of them hanging off him like he’s a damn pull-up bar.

My stomach twists—the traitor—and the urge to get the hell out of here overwhelms me. What was I thinking coming here? He fuck and snuck, right out of my apartment like a bandit in the night. And he didn’t even give me the decency of a goodbye. There’s no coming back from that.

Pushing quickly to standing, I manage only a hasty glance over my shoulder at a startled Bennett. “I’m sorry,” I say, already in a near-run off the platform and toward the front door. “I have to go. Nice meeting you!”

I push and shove my way through the throngs of people blocking me from some much-needed fresh air, my consideration for their personal space practically nonexistent. I take a deep gulp to keep myself from descending into a full-blown panic and barrel past the interior security guard and coat check area like a woman possessed. The dark glass entrance taunts freedom across the room, and my heart races inside my chest with the first vestiges of an actual anxiety attack.

I don’t know what’s got me this worked up, but Lord almighty, I have to get out of here.

Jogging as fast as my five-inch heels will let me, I cross the space and grab on to the handle of the door to pull it wide open, but before I can, a heavy body hits me, forming completely to my back.

“Leaving already?” a deep, rich voice rasps in my ear, his hand coming up to press into the door in front of me. I recognize him immediately, and my body melts backward like butter without my permission.

“What are you doing here?” I ask on a lie of sorts, already very much knowing the answer. Him being here is the very reason I’m here. Which, given the fact that this could have been one of the biggest career opportunities of my lifetime if I’d stopped being so fixated on a stupid guy, is pretty pathetic.

God, Sophie.

“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. You know why I’m here. You’ve been watching me all night.”

I whip my head to the side.

“And how would you know that?”

I can feel his provocative smile against my throat.

“Because I’ve been watching you.”

I hate myself so much for how easily I give in—for the way my body pulses toward him and my breath escapes my lungs. This is a man who left my bed without so much as a goodbye, and yet, here I am, panting over him.

This is not on Sophie Sage’s list for acceptable behavior when it comes to suitors. Not at all.

But Dr. Winters says to have fun. To not think so hard. To just enjoy dating for a while, right?

Just enjoy.

Sucking in another gulp of air, I steel myself against my racing blood and spin in his arms, reaching out immediately and grabbing him by the tie. He smirks, the asshole, and I just about want to crawl out of my skin and wrap it around him, anything to get him inside me faster.

Oh my gosh. This is demented. If I didn’t really need therapy before, I definitely need it now.

“Who gave you permission to touch me again?” I challenge boldly, completely contradicting how I feel just to prove to myself that the rational version of me is still in there somewhere.

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and my heart flips over in my chest.

“Don’t worry, babe. If you want me to earn it, I’ll earn it. All you have to do is say please.”

Bless my own heart, I’m in trouble.