THE DEBT (Manhattan Nights #7)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

LACHLAN

After Sabrina hangs up on me, I resist crushing my cellphone in my fist. Instead, I slip out of the alcove of the hotel ballroom, my steps quick as I head back to the bar, not even bothering to look for Deborah as I bite down the urge to demand whiskey and water as soon as my fingertips touch the rim of yet another glass of flavored seltzer.

I down half a glass before the bartender, a younger guy with barely-whiskers on his face, clears his throat.

The lights beat down on the wide dance floor in the hotel's plush ballroom, turning the whiter-than-white marble into a blinding mass of color as I walk through the crowd. My eyes scan the room, but they don't find anything that's not here a thousand other nights.

I pull out my cellphone. It's ten o'clock.

Maybe Sabrina won't come after all. Maybe she took my warning seriously, and she's already on her flight. Maybe she's already packing for Seattle. Maybe she's already gone...

Maybe I should be, too. I'll only make a fool of myself if I go on thinking she wants me. If I forget the way I’ve treated her.

I sigh aloud, leaning my head against the wall near the bar.

Deborah will be pissed if I leave the party early. The guests will be pissed. The people who matter will be pissed.

"No one really matters," I mutter, chuckling at my distress.

I straighten and slap a hundred on the bartop, rolling my shoulders and lifting my chin. There's playing the part of the dutiful Best Man to look like the innocent fool to everyone watching, and then there's actually being a fool.

Being back in New York, back at the scene of the crime where I screwed the people closest to me, not only makes me a fool. It makes me a goddamned one.

Determined never to be that same fool again, I drink the rest of my seltzer and make my way towards the exit, already crafting an explanation for my date in my head.

Relief lifts my lips into a grin as I see the double doors, but then, a bellowing voice cuts right through my mood.

"Lachlan! Wait up. Lachlan, where you headed, bro?"

I exhale, shoving my hands in my pockets as I turn to face Drew's giant groomsman, Nikolai Slotts, lumbering my way.

"Nik. I see you made it. Come for the free booze?"

"Mate, I wouldn't miss this engagement party for the world. Now tell me, where you headed?"

I shrug, trying my best not to swing my eyes to the main doors—repeatedly as groomsman number three, Daniel Sabine, saunters up.

"The bar, perhaps?" Daniel asks, fidgeting with the groomsmen's pin in his hand, making sure it's in the right spot on his lapel. He holds onto the damn thing more than his own wife, who likely is sitting in a corner, pulling out her phone—as usual, seemingly bored out of her freakin' mind.

I look over at the line at the makeshift bar in the corner, but the line's moving way too slow for my taste.

"Ah, I'm not, actually," I answer. "I've got a personal matter to take care of."

Daniel tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "A personal matter?"

"Yeah," I start, pulling out my wallet and swiping open my iPhone screen. "I'd rather not say where, man. Family reasons. It's too private."

"Yeah, totally. We get it," Daniel responds, running a hand down the smooth side of his perfectly-shaven face, the nervous set of his brow slipping away as he moves in closer. "But what're we gonna do without you?"

I pause, my thumb hovering over my phone as I look up at him. We'll be just fine without me, I think.

"One thing at a time, I guess." I nod, shoving the iPhone back into my pocket. "Today's just not the day."

"Oh, come on," Nik pipes in. "It's ten o'clock on a Wednesday night. Surely whatever you've got to take care of can wait till the morning?"

I glance over at the doors, catching a glimpse of Daniel and Nik's wives, seated at their table, sipping on champagne and checking their phones.

They look bored, too.

"And for the love of Pamela Anderson’s t**s," Nik bellows again, "Dan, stop it with the fidgeting, will ya? You look fine. You're just lucky Lachlan arranged for our suit fittings in the first place."

I chuckle as Daniel blows out his full lips, tugging at his shirttail and straightening the bottom of his burgundy tie.

"No, no, no. I am. The suit looks great." Dan pouts for a second. "Yeah, no, I know it is...As soon as I can fix these sleeves."

Meanwhile, Nike, AKA the real-life Paul Bunyon himself, rolls his eyes, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in my direction. "You're a better man than me, Lachlan. Corralling our group of ragtag hooligans is no simple task, but somehow you managed to make us look sort of like gentlemen."

"I tried my best, Nik. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Nik glances down at his own grey pinstripe suit, the same one he once railed against for several hours of fitting, before clearing his throat.

"Yeah, thanks for the suits. I guess that's why Drew picked you as his Best Man, eh?"

"I'm not trying to brag or stroke my own ego...But yeah." I shrug, looking back at Drew's table as Dan adjusts his tie for the third time since Nik started in on him. "It is a big responsibility. I wouldn't have been half the Best Man I am if it wasn't for you guys."

Nik's eyes twinkle at me.

"Oh, so you're saying I'm the Best Man's Best Man, eh?"

"Uhhh, well..." I swivel away from Nik and his massive fifty-five-foot frame, taking a step towards the doorway. "I guess that's as good a way to put it as any. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got places to go and people to see."

"This person is more important than being here tonight?" Nikolai asks, his voice more somber this time.

"Definitely." I smirk, lifting my chin.

"Can I ask who?"

"Nope."

"Please?"

"Sorry. You guys are just going to have to wow the crowd in your new suits without me."

Nik grins. "Yeah...you might be right. Plus, It's not my fault they make the Italian cut of these suits so damn slim. It's discriminatory, that's what it is. Doesn't take into account any of us plus-sized boys," he booms. "I have a mind to write a letter to these designer jerk-offs. Tell 'em what I think of their bigoted bullshit."

"Nik, I don't think neither Dolce nor Gabbana gives a flying f**k about this sort of thing. But if writing a letter will make you move any faster, then be my guest."

I glance behind him...just as Deborah comes sashaying around a corner with a bottle of champagne in each hand, followed a few steps behind, drop-jawed and pissed, by a friend. A young blonde reporter I recognize from the tabloid who collects photos of models and musicians for a local gossip rag.

Shit.

Nik laughs beside me. "It was worth every penny to look this good, though. If only Dan had pitched in a little more..."

“Hey,” Dan shouts, “I contributed.”

“Three bucks, a pack of Altoids, and an expired condom don’t count, Dan.” I point to the door, more desperate than ever to get the f**k out of here. "Now, guys, if you'll quit verbally jacking me off with all of your compliments, I'm out of here."

Nik laughs. Daniel sighs.

I don't know what the hell that means...But it's time to get out of the way before Deborah prods her heel into the middle of my back.

I start pointing while I walk. "Don't break any more suits with your pecs," I warn Nik. "Daniel, stop fidgeting with that damned pin of yours. Gentlemen"—I wave in a half-salute as I try to slip away—"it's been a pleasure."

As I rotate toward the doorway, I can already feel the burning in my chest.

On instinct, I pick my seltzer up off the bar.

And before my lungs have time to inflate, I see a vision. A memory. A past ripped from a dream.

A walking fantasy wrapped all in silk.

The most stunning sight of the entire night walks in, smiling demurely.

Sabrina.

Seeing her again, after all this time, is like taking a hit of alcohol. It zooms through me, straight to my chest.

And for one f****d-up moment, I forget how to breathe.

I forget how to think.

In the seven years I've known her, Drew's beautiful little sister never was one for extravagant dresses. Aside from her love of pricey shoes, she was the type of woman that could make a potato sack look like couture.

But right now, as she walks into that room in a silky decadently dark plum-colored number—the perfect match for her earth-colored hair— she looks more ravishing than any goddamned thing I've ever seen.

She'd always been a twig of a thing.

But now, those formerly slim curves seem slightly softer, fuller. And for that, maybe my lungs can finally inflate.

"Christ," I say under my breath, wondering if the word's a prayer...or a curse.

The softness of the light reflecting off her dark, coffee-colored coif highlights the indescribably gorgeous shade of her deep, blue eyes.

She walks, her head bent low, away from a tiny cluster of men and women who have formed around her. And while some gather around the drink table, she scans the room with a careful, appraising expression.

I will her eyes to look at me, to notice me from across the room.

But of course, she doesn't.

It takes me several seconds to realize that in my concentration on Sabrina, I've completely forgotten about Nik and Daniel's probing commentary.

If I’d actually been drinking alcohol, like in the old days, I would have probably broken down right where I stood and walked right over…

Date be damned.

"Holy Christ on a cracker," Nik rumbles beside me, acknowledging Sabrina's grand entrance. "I wasn't sure Sabrina was going to show up. I even heard earlier today that it was likely that she wasn't."

Daniel sighs. "I was sure of it. I mean, after Davis dicked over half the wedding party, I thought she was just going to opt-out. Maybe get a new hairdo and maybe a new boyfriend. Jeez." He fidgets. "I'm sure there are plenty of people at this party dying to get a piece of her..."

I take another sip of my seltzer water, not ignoring the fact that I'm one of them.

Nik chimes in, his jaw still slack as he stares in her direction. "Yeah, well, that prick Davis Carson used to be one of the biggest finance sharks. Everybody knows that. Poor Sabrina. To get caught up in that fucker's bloodied waters. And now...this party..."

I manage to pick up on the tail end of the conversation through a veil of memories. Memories of her. "I wouldn't be too sure of that," I say in a low tone, dazed by Sabrina's presence.

My heart races as I watch her, warm and intimate with other party guests. My bowtie grows tighter around my neck. And those specks of dust I once imagined on my shirt start to multiply.

I don't care.

I'm supposed to be my best friend’s Best Man. Nothing is supposed to be more important than my duty to Drew and to my family.

I can only make matters worse for all of them by being here. I know it’s best to stay out of the fray, out of harm's way.

And yet still…

I straighten my shoulders, eyes locked on Sabrina’s back.

"I need to go talk to someone," I say to the two groomsmen in my line of sight, without checking if they can hear me. I take one final sip of my drink before putting it on the bar. "Be right back."