Illicit Affairs by Holly Dixon

Twenty-Eight

Ava couldn’t believeshe was going through with this as her heels clicked against the tarmac, her arm hooked in Peter’s, peering up at the illuminated grand building of the Beaufort.

All week she had been throwing her very own pity party, her mind awash with the turbulence of her thoughts. Nate’s confession had been too much. From the things he promised to the feelings he admitted—they hadn’t known each other that long! She was wise to his cruel deception, having had many men before him go as far to claim they were in love with her, all just to bed her. Ava wasn’t falling for his lies. She only had to wait for a couple more weeks before he would be shipped back to America and her life would return to normality again.

“Sam said there are no tables left,” Peter advised, glancing down at his phone as he escorted Ava up the red carpet and inside the hotel. “Let me take your coat.”

Ava peered around the opulent foyer in the hotel as she shrugged out of her black peacoat but glanced back at Peter when he suddenly gasped with his wide eyes dragging down her.

Crimson satin clung to Ava’s petite frame, held up by two flimsy straps with a sweetheart neckline. The dress was longer on one side, cascading down one of her snowy thighs and stopping just below the knee. She added elegance to the ensemble by draping her voluptuous curls over one shoulder, a single glittering earring dangling from her lobe.

“Oh…shit…” Peter said, but his tone was not that of a compliment but of grave realisation.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked, turning around to see his grimacing face, her jaw dropping and stomach sinking as the reality of her surroundings sucker-punched her in the face.

Everyone at this event was wearing black.

“It’s alright… It’s not a big deal, they’ll still let you in…” Peter didn’t exactly sound confident, especially as his Adam’s apple rose and dipped in his throat.

“Not a big deal?!” Ava yelled, her eyes glaring at his black tuxedo before hissing at him, “Why didn’t you explicitly tell me it was a black dress codeevent?”

“I…I thought you knew?”

“I’m leaving!”

“No, wait!” He gripped her elbow and yanked her back with pleading eyes. “You promised you’d be my arm candy!”

“Yeah…no—fuck that.” Ava shrugged, tugging against his grip. “I am not walking into that bloody ballroom like a red pariah!”

“Drinks on me tonight and I’ll do all your archiving for a month!” He tried to negotiate like the good little lawyer he was.

“Bugger off!” Ava scowled, continuing to play tug of war with her elbow.

“I…I…I’ll buy you and Sam the most expensive magnum on the menu!” he blurted desperately and finally caught Ava’s attention, including two women stood next to them.

“Go on…”

“Oh, bloody heck, look here,” he huffed, going into his suit pocket, and pulling out a key card, “you and Sam can even have the executive suite I rented for the night.”

Ava wasn’t even jealous knowing he had likely bought a room to impress and hook up with some woman who wasn’t her. She just saw a fun sleepover for her and Sam.

“Deal,” Ava stated, his shoulders slumping in relief before she challenged, “Why do you desperately need me on your arm anyway?”

“Some of London’s biggest names in the industry are in that room and having a woman like you on my arm will work wonders for my reputation.”

He was blunt but at least he was honest.

They both followed the sound of lively music before entering the main event. The grand ballroom was fit for Cinderella with glimmering chandeliers hanging from high ceilings, a majestic glass dome in its centre, and white walls illuminated in a prosperous violet light. White cherry blossom trees decorated the tables surrounding the busy dance floor, and if not for the fact that everyone was wearing black, one could have mistaken the setting for a very expensive wedding or a casino event with the odd blackjack tables dotted around.

News of Ava’s arrival began spreading like wildfire as people turned around and sent odd looks to the woman who didn’t get the dress code memo. She felt her stomach twist as her nails dug into Peter’s arm enough to make him wince. When her face finally found a familiar pair of warm eyes, she felt a shred of relief…until that person decided to burst out laughing at her.

“Omigod!” Sam squealed as she burst into hysterics.

“Yes, hilarious—please can we get me royally blitzed so I can pretend this never happened,” Ava said as she reached the tall standing table without any seats—her feet would not thank her later.

“Certainly. Samantha, will you help me carry the drinks?” Peter smirked, holding out his arm like the complete gentleman as Sam went along with it.

“Yep, great, just leave the pariah to stand here alone and fend for herself!” Ava chided.

“Just keep the table and I’ll get you a bottle of wine.” Sam patted Ava’s shoulder as she passed her but not before winking as she teased, “A bottle of red, yeah?”

Ava glowered at her friend before huffing as she looked out to the dance floor, grimacing at the many people continuing to look her way before gossiping to one another. Still, even though this was social suicide, it was better than spending the best part of her week wallowing in self-pity over the death of her sex life. And then, just as though the gods were mocking her, her eyes landed upon the devil himself, dressed in a black tux and looking like the ultimate million-dollar man.

Stood on the other side of the dance floor next to an impressive ice sculpture, Nate was currently talking to a young redhead dressed in a glittering black gown. The vixen couldn’t have been any older than twenty, with her pretty little hand resting on his shoulder as she laughed with him. They both looked like they were having a swell time, nice and familiar with one another, adding a tasteless new notch to his belt right next to his assistant’s name.

Ava’s hand curled around her temper beneath the table, her nails biting into her palm as her nostrils flared.

What a cunt.

“Who shat in your Coco Pops?” Sam cut through her thoughts as she dumped a large bottle of champagne on the table.

Ava let out a squeak, snapping her attention to her friend before asking, “Where’s Peter?”

“Fuck knows, probably chatting up some bird with the ‘I walked a million steps’ patter, but lookie hereeee…” She fanned herself with his credit card and giggled in mischief. “Bloody idiot should know to never give his card to a lass at an event like this.”

“I’ll raise you that card for these bad boys.” Ava winked, flashing a pair of key cards for the hotel room Peter had offered them both.

Two hours.That’s all it took for Ava to feel the buzz off of the bubbles as she and Sam spent most of the evening gambling at the pop-up roulette tables before finding themselves at the bar sipping Porn Star Martinis and doing shots.

“Naw, it’s nospiking a man when you’re just simply sneaking a Viagra into his complimentary muffin!” Sam slurred, dramatically waving her hands around before leaning her arm on the bar and pointing at Ava’s face. “I’m tellinggg you…it was the best hour of my life!”

“Only an hour?!” Ava blurted as her hand covered her mouth to save spraying alcohol everywhere.

“Well…I had been drinking Porn Star Martinis all night so…I passed out after the first round.” Sam said it so matter-of-a-fact that Ava lost it and began howling with laughter, buckled over until small snorts escaped her nostrils. “He was fifty shades though! Had handcuffs, those wee vibrator thingies, and even had lube in his top drawer!”

“Never trust a man with lube in his top drawer, Sam,” Ava said through tears of laughter.

“Aye, why’s that then?”

“Because a real man shouldn’t need lube. If he doesn’t intend on making his lady’s wax drip for him then he shouldn’t expect her to light his flame.” Ava hid her cheeky smirk behind her glass as she added, “Unless, of course, the front door is locked…”

“True, but lucky for him it was Porn Star Martini–flavoured lube so I didnae kenthe difference!”

Ava’s laughter fluttered above the noise of the lively disco behind them, carrying across the dance floor like birdsong. When she opened her eyes to wipe the tears, something possessed her to peer over her exposed shoulder, a type of magnetism. There she saw him, the dark figure cutting through the dancing bodies and headed straight for her at the bar.

Nate.