The Perfect Fit

I slick on a final coat of lipstick and check my reflection in the mirror. Smiling to myself, I smooth my hands over the fabric of the same red dress I wore the night I met the guys at Marché de Viande. It seemed only fitting to wear it tonight. Like we’ve come full circle. I guess we have.

Butterflies swirl in my stomach. Establishing Hellsgate Media is akin to conquering the world, and I’m so proud of them. And if I’m honest, the shy high school nerd with braces is also excited beyond belief to be their guest for the evening.

And after tonight, I will put on my big girl pants and initiate a conversation about our arrangement. Our three months will be up in a few days, and I don’t want it to end. I don’t think that they do either. While it’s outside the norm to have my heart stolen by not one man but three, our relationship feels so effortlessly right. Except they didn’t steal it, did they? I gave it willingly.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I wonder how the hell I got so lucky? West, Zeke, and Xander are any woman’s dream, and having the love of all three of them feels like I’ve somehow cheated at life and come out the victor.

I grab my purse and head for the elevator. A car is waiting for me downstairs, and the guys are waiting for me at the club. Without warning, anxiety churns in my gut, and I fight to swallow it down. Everything will be fine. So what if every single person in the media world is going to be there tonight? It doesn’t matter if rumors fly about my article being published because I’m dating West Archer because I know the truth.

The truth.

It sits like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I can tell the guys that I don’t feel well and spend the night curled up in bed watching trashy TV instead. I could wait for them to come home and celebrate with them then.

I shake my head. No. I must go. And then tomorrow, before I ask them if I can stay, if we can make our arrangement permanent, I will tell them who I really am. Even if it means losing them.

All I can do is hope that they have it in them to love Liliana Constantine as much as they love Lily Sloane.

Rain hammers the roof of the limo roof as it pulls up outside the nightclub. The ride was short but lonely, and I can’t help but think of how the four of us could have put this spacious interior to good use. There’s always the ride home. A thrill of excitement shoots through me, and I smooth the fabric of my dress over my hips and peer out the window at the crowd gathered outside.

Everyone who’s anyone in the world of media is here tonight, many of them still awaiting entry under the shelter of their umbrellas. I spot Julian standing near the entrance with some of the writers from Genevieve, as well as Handsy Andy, the PR guy. Ugh! Ignoring him, I grin and wave frantically at Julian, but of course he doesn’t see me because of the tinted windows.

Excitement and anticipation swirl in my stomach, and I wish the guys were with me so I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious about stepping out of this limo on my own. Take a deep breath, Lily. They’ll be there when I get inside.

I’ve never been interested in being the center of attention, and in recent years I’ve shied away from any kind of limelight at all, but tonight feels different. I’m proud of what Xander, West, and Zeke are doing. I’m honored to stand by their side and beyond freaking blown away by the fact that I get to go home with all three of them at the end of the night.

The car rolls to a stop, and the door is pulled open a few seconds later. Driving rain lashes my face when I step outside. I was hoping the driver would offer me an umbrella, but I should have thought to bring one for myself like all the people in line did.

The red carpet squelches beneath my heels, and a scowling bouncer steps in front of me as I reach the doors. “It’s a private event, Miss.”

“I know. That’s what I’m here for. I’m on the list, name’s Lily Sloane.” I go to walk past him, but he bars my way.

“You don’t get in without a ticket. I’m sorry.”

“What?” I gape at him, then peer over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of one of the guys. Surely they’re here by now.

“You’re blocking the entrance. Please move.”

I blink away the torrent of rainwater that runs into my eyes. “I’m with the owners. West and Ezekiel. Xander? They’re expecting me.”

“I wasn’t told about you, miss.” He shrugs. “Now please move.”

“Please. Just ask inside. They’re expecting me.”

He rolls his eyes like his patience is growing thinner by the second, but guess what, buddy, so is mine. I’m soaked and my hair and makeup are ruined. He roughly grabs hold of my arm and jostles me. “You need to leave.”

“Take your goddamn hands off me,” I snap, wrenching from his grip. “You’d better go get one of your bosses out here right now.”

Another bouncer, burlier than the first, approaches, and I realize we’re creating a scene. The people in the lines, including my would-be colleagues from Genevieve, are murmuring and staring at me like I’m a circus act. “What’s the problem here?” the second bouncer asks.

“She says she’s with Mr. Archer and the owners.”

The burly one looks me over from head to toe and shakes his head. “News to me.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I shout. “Just go get one of them. If they find out you left me to stand out here in the goddamn rain, heads will roll.”

They exchange a wary look, and the original bouncer must think there’s some truth to my words because he goes inside the club. I turn back to the street to see if the car’s still there so I can take some shelter from the driving rain, but it’s already gone. Folding my arms over my chest, I shiver and wait. A few seconds later, my heart soars when I see Zeke step outside with the bouncer by his side.

“She says she’s with you, Boss.” The one next to Zeke points at me.

The other bouncer stops me when I bound forward, yelling Zeke’s name.

He studies me but shows no sign of recognition. His face is completely blank, like he’s faced with a stranger. Then he shakes his head. “Nope. Not with me.”

Is this some kind of joke? I frown at him. “Zeke?”

He takes a step closer. I smell his distinctive cologne, the one I find so comforting when he has his giant arms wrapped around me. Instinctively, I edge forward, seeking his reassurance and warmth. My teeth are chattering from being cold and soaked to the bone. But his face twists in an angry scowl when he says, “Go home. You don’t belong here.”

My head swims with confusion and fear. What is this? Did he discover the truth about me? In desperation, I lunge for him and grab his hand, but he shrugs me off. He gives me a look filled with such revulsion, and I feel it like a punch to the solar plexus. It’s like my touch disgusts him. Like I mean nothing to him and never meant anything at all. As though those hands that know me so intimately are strangers to me.

Tears merge with rain and drip from my face as my heart is torn from my chest, leaving behind a gaping hole. It shatters into a million tiny fragments at his feet and leaves me gasping. “Zeke, please?” I hate the desperation in my tone, hate myself for pleading with him in front of all these people while he pretends that I don’t exist. But I’m so confused. I don’t know what else to do.

He dips his head, bringing his face close enough for me to hear his spiteful voice and see the fiery rage dancing in his eyes. “You are a lying, cheating whore, Lily. Nobody wants you here.” He blinks and the fire is extinguished, leaving a void so dark and empty that I’m afraid I will fall inside and be lost forever.

I dimly register him speaking to the bouncers. “Put her in a cab and get her the fuck out of here.” Without another word to me, he strides back inside the club.

The bouncer is looking at me differently now. His eyes are full of pity, and I can’t stand it. He signals a cab and guides me to it. I can hear whispers and not-so-muffled conversations about how embarrassed I must feel and what a disgrace I am, but it all washes over me. I’m practically numb when I climb into the cab, shivering from both the cold and the shock.

When the driver asks where I’m going, I give him Jen’s address. I need to go somewhere that someone won’t pretend I don’t exist. What the hell just happened? Did they learn my identity, and if so, why did he still call me Lily? If they would just let me explain …

Fumbling with my purse, I pull out my cell phone and check for a message from Xander or West telling me that Zeke has lost his mind and I’m not to listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. There’s nothing since the last text from West instructing me to meet them at the club.

I dial his number, and it goes to voicemail. So does Xander’s. I even try Zeke’s. After leaving three equally incoherent voice messages, I grip my phone with both hands and wait for one of them to call me back.