Tuxedo Tryst Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Tuxedo Tryst

  ISBN 9781419916939

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Tuxedo Tryst Copyright © 2008 Nikki Soarde

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication August 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Tuxedo Tryst

  Nikki Soarde

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Grand Marnier: Societe des Produits Marnier-Lapostolle Joint Stock Company

  Jockey: Jockey International, Inc.

  Oscar de la Renta: Oscar de la Renta, Ltd

  Ralph Lauren: PRL USA Holdings, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Jake balanced the champagne flute in his fingers and tucked his other hand neatly into the pocket of his trousers. He sighed with satisfaction.

  The new tuxedo had been well worth the money. He savored the silky texture of the finely blended wool and the luxurious drape of the tail-length cut. The white wing-collar shirt hugged his torso, the trim-fitting vest and jacket accenting his broad shoulders and narrow waist. A tux was about far more than formality and fashion. It was about accenting the best of who and what a man was. It was all about image and success.

  And that was why he had indulged himself in the Oscar de la Renta creation. It was a statement, a manifestation of what he hoped to achieve in the new year. He looked forward to a year of new beginnings, new adventures and grand successes—in the business world at least. Relationships and affairs of the heart were another matter entirely.

  His eyes scanned the enormous foyer. White mini-lights glittered among the miles of white organza draped from the ceiling. Red roses and white lilies graced every corner, and a ten-foot ice sculpture depicting the nude forms of a man and woman entwined in an embrace with their faces turned hopefully skyward served as the eye-catching and provocative centerpiece for the Grand Opening Gala and Charity Ball for the newly renovated home of Valerian Enterprises. The décor and the decorations were spectacular yet not ostentatious, and in truth, Jake was impressed with a company that could strike such a delicate balance between the two.

  It did take some time, however, to find his lady amidst all the faces and all the glitz and glamour of celebratory decorations and decadence, but at last he spotted Rheanne lounging by the chocolate fountain. She was engaged in animated conversation with a gaggle of other women in glittering gowns and excessive makeup. He’d been with Rheanne long enough to recognize at least two other women from the accounting department where she worked, and he decided this was as good a time as any to rejoin his date.

  He’d left her to speak to an old college friend whom he’d spotted in the sea of strange. He’d enjoyed the brief trip down memory lane, but now the respite was over— and therein lay the problem. It had felt like a respite. He’d needed a break from Rheanne—needed a break from the woman he was considering moving in with—and that spoke volumes.

  He raked his fingers through his thick mop of ash-blond hair and sighed in resignation. He’d come to his decision and was only now allowing himself to acknowledge it. In all honesty, he’d probably known for weeks. It had just taken him a while to…accept the fact that yet another relationship of his was doomed to failure.

  Not that he was a Casanova, by any means. But he rarely found himself wanting for a date, and had had his share of long-term liaisons. It was just that they all seemed destined to blow up in his face eventually. And when he’d been particularly frustrated with the female of the species, he’d even indulged in the very occasional dalliance—on the other side of the sexual fence. Not that those indulgences had been any more successful than his involvements with the fairer sex. But they had been…intriguing. And highly satisfying.

  He caught himself smiling as he recalled those affairs, but then the smile fell away as he reminded himself that it was hardly the time for a stroll down memory lane. He had to deal with Rheanne, and soon. Not tonight however. He wasn’t an idiot, after all. He’d break up with her tomorrow. After they had their fill of each other tonight.

  He grinned. Rheanne may not have a lot of intellectual prowess or flexibility, but her physical talents were another matter entirely.

  He tipped up his champagne flute and drained it in preparation for facing Rheanne’s friends. He was just about to head her way when a sultry voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Not many men can wear red and pull it off.”

  She was a vision in gleaming green silk and sparkling emerald-cut diamonds. Jet-black hair had been swept up in a luxurious arrangement that left a cascade of curls tumbling down her back but exposed a pair of well-toned shoulders and a long, swan-like neck. Green, almond-shaped eyes held his gaze. They were hypnotic—like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. In fact everything about her reminded him of a cat. He mistrusted her immediately.

  He smiled, touching the bow tie knotted snugly at his throat and skimming his hand down over the satin nipped-waist vest. “It seemed fitting for the occasion. I hoped I could, as you say, pull it off.”

  Even her smile was cat-like as she trailed a blood-red fingernail down his chest. “Actually, I was thinking it might be more fun if I pulled it off.”

  Honestly stunned by the blatant advance, Jake felt his mouth drop open. He was still fumbling for words when he was rescued by the whine of a microphone being turned on.

  “Good evening, everyone,” said a woman from the dais that had been erected in front of the large bank of south-facing windows. “Good evening and welcome to the Valerian Enterprises Grand Opening Gala and Charity Ball.”

  A round of enthusiastic applause followed and beside him Jake heard the woman mutter, “Oh lovely. The requisite speech from the throne.”

  He turned to her and whispered, “Pardon?”

  “Evan Valerian,” she said as if that explained everything.

  He shook his head, confused.

  “The CEO of the company?” she added, her tone hinting at his idiocy. “He loves giving pep talks, patting himself on the back and generally hearing the sound of his own voice.”

  Jake was surprised. His impression from Rheanne was that Evan Valerian was well liked and respected by his employees. Jake ran his own business and hadn’t had to deal with employers for years. But part of the reason he had gone into business for himself was because he’d had a string of horrible experiences with inept managers and short-sighted CEOs. From what he’d heard, Valerian Enterprises was top-notch, one of the best, and he had tremendous respect for a company that did right by the people
who filled its offices.

  He arched his eyebrows. “Not a very nice way to talk about your boss and the man who’s footing the bill for this party and handing out profit-sharing bonuses this year.”

  She snorted, raised her glass to her lips. “He’s not my boss, honey. He’s my husband.”

  “Oh.” He snagged another glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. “I see.” And he did. He saw perfectly.

  He turned to watch as the man of the hour ascended the dais—and promptly forgot all about the snarling cougar beside him.

  Evan Valerian had style. He too wore a tux, and thanks to Jake’s own recent shopping experience, he recognized the suit as a Ralph Lauren. It was a classic cut, chosen, no doubt, to suit Evan’s somewhat more distinguished station of authority. A platinum vest set off the white pinwhale shirt and satin-notch lapels. A fine line of silver edged the white bow tie and added a most delicate touch of whimsy. Although he probably tipped the scales at close to forty, Evan boasted a full head of chestnut brown hair and the physique of a man half his age. Which the suit highlighted admirably.

  But it was the vivid blue eyes set in an animated face that really caught Jake’s attention. They looked out over the crowd, taking everything in and conveying a sense of warmth and sincerity.

  “Good evening, everyone,” said Evan at last, his voice commanding despite its soft timbre. “And welcome. As much as I hate long, boring thank-you speeches and have no intention of handing out gold-plated, anatomically incorrect gold statues…”

  There was a ripple of laughter and the woman beside him muttered, “God spare me.”

  “I do have some announcements, acknowledgements and even a few awards to hand out before we get to the good stuff like prime rib and Grand Marnier. However, before I dive into the mundane details of Christmas bonuses, profit-sharing percentages and employee recognition I would like to propose a toast.”

  He continued to speak, his soft baritone commanding the absolute silence and unwavering attention of those in attendance. And Jake was no exception. He remained riveted throughout the speech and presentations, unable to drag his gaze away from a man who seemed to epitomize everything Jake had ever aspired to be.

  He was almost sorry when the last plaque was handed out, the final toast made, and Evan finally handed the crowd over to the party coordinator to make sure everyone found their way to the buffet tables that had been set up while he spoke.

  “Thank God that’s over,” muttered Mrs. Valerian. “I’m starving for some good beef.”

  Tossing him a lascivious glance, she looped her hand through Jake’s arm even as Jake watched Evan descend from the dais and disappear into the shadows beyond. He chose not to acknowledge the double entendre in her words.

  “Would you mind leading the way?” she asked when he made no move to follow the crowd.

  “Uh…” He dragged his gaze back to her face. “I’m sorry, but I need to find my date.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure she’s fine. I need someone strong to hold my glass while I get my food.” She massaged his biceps. “But we have to eat quickly because I have to leave by eight. And that won’t leave a lot of time for…dessert.”

  Gently, but without equivocation, he extricated his arm from hers. “I’m sorry but I really can’t. I have to find my date.”

  She stood there, gaping at him, obviously not accustomed to being brushed off.

  Jake was just bracing himself for a hefty dose of venom when, apparently having decided he wasn’t worth the effort, she lifted her nose, turned on her four-inch stiletto heels and marched off.

  He had barely breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a sharp fingernail jab his shoulder.

  Instantly irritated, he whirled, ready to do battle, but stopped cold. “Oh. Rheanne. There you are. I was just about to—”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Pardon?”

  Scowling, she pointed toward Mrs. Valerian. “That. What were you doing with her?”

  His jaw muscles clenched. “I wasn’t doing anything. I was just talking. And I don’t recall there being a law against socializing at a company social function.”

  Her scowl remained plastered in place. “An attractive man does not just talk to Nadine Valerian.”

  “Oh. So you know her then. And you would have preferred I snub the boss’s wife?”

  “She had her claws on you. And you didn’t seem to mind.”

  He opened his mouth to argue the point that considering she had been almost fifty feet away he didn’t quite see how she could have discerned whether he “minded” or if he was drooling down the front of his shirt. But then he stopped himself. What was he doing? He’d already decided he and Rheanne were over. Why try to patch things up when he only planned to rip it apart again tomorrow morning?

  Maybe this was for the best. But how exactly to handle it? He didn’t want to ruin her evening. He knew how much she’d spent on that dress, and wanted her to be able to continue to enjoy her party.

  He gave her his best “I’m innocent” smile. “Well, I couldn’t protest too much, since she expressed an interest in buying some wine.”

  Jake sold wine. That was his business. He produced a catalogue highlighting the finest vintages from around the world, and distributed them to restaurants, bars and any customer who was blessed with a discerning taste in wines and the means to indulge it.

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Sure.”

  “No. Really. I admit she was very flirtatious, but her interest in the newest Chilean merlot seemed sincere.” He made a show of checking his watch. “She wants to meet with me in an hour to go over the catalogue.”

  “Tonight?”

  He shrugged. “I’m still building a business, baby. I can’t turn down any opportunity.”

  Rheanne studied him as if trying to decide if he could really be that gullible. “I know that woman, Jake. I’ve heard all about Nadine Valerian, and the only interest she has in your wine is if she can drink it from your navel.”

  He grasped her hands, brought them to his lips. “I have no doubt she has…ulterior motives. But she’s a very wealthy woman, and she said she is thinking of buying a restaurant. This could be a big contract for me.” He shrugged. “If I have to play her a little…so be it.”

  “So you’re going to meet with her.”

  He nodded, glanced over the crowd and spotted her already licking Beluga caviar from her fingers. “I can play the game, but I’ll be good, hon. I’ve walked through my share of cougars’ dens.” He grinned. “And come out unscathed.”

  She frowned. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, the gesture as absent and patronizing as he could manage. He released her hands. “Don’t believe everything you hear, sweetheart. But right now I’ve got to run down to the office and pick up a catalogue and a couple of sample bottles.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Sorry.” He was already walking away. “I’ll be back and finished in time to dance with my best girl.” He blew her a kiss over the crowd and headed for the entrance. When he was sure he was concealed enough by the crowd he ducked down and slipped back through the milieu, heading for the stairs that led to the main offices on the upper floors.

  In an hour Rheanne would see Mrs. Valerian leave and would assume she was going to meet with Jake.

  Jake on the other hand would spend the next couple of hours exploring and possibly napping on one of the leather couches he knew adorned the lobby on the third floor. Then he’d come back at around ten o’clock, with his tux sufficiently rumpled to convince Rheanne that he had not been a man of his word and had indeed indulged in a little pussy-tussle with a friendly cougar.

  She would have had a few hours of relatively worry-free enjoyment with her friends, and when he came back having proved he was exactly what she thought he was, she would be sufficiently indignant with self-righteous rage to dull the blow.

  A good plan, he thought, all in all. And would save
him the horror of sitting across from her in some overpriced restaurant and watching her dissolve into tears after he told her their plans to share bathroom space had evaporated in a puff of smoke.

  He took the stairs two at a time and ascended into the murky half light of vacant offices and blank computer screens.

  * * * * *

  Evan Valerian slapped the file folder closed and blew out a sigh of resignation. He should really get back to the party. It was his night to mix with the people he rarely saw, to pat backs and extend good wishes and generally touch base with the team of people who had made his company into the success it was today. The problem was his mind was elsewhere.

  He glanced at the computer monitor, at the tiny envelope blinking on the bottom of his screen. He had mail. Important mail. Mail he needed to open. Mail he was too terrified to read.

  Closing his eyes against things he had no wish to see, he rocked back in his chair and swiveled to face the window. The night was cold and crystal clear. A full moon hung in the sky, so big and bright, it seemed to hover just on the other side of the window. As if he could reach right through the glass and touch it. Its light glittered on the snow-covered streets and rooftops, all but eclipsing the effect of the thousands of mini-lights that still adorned the trees lining the streets. Christmas was a month past, but the lights remained all winter, adding much-needed sparkle to the long cold nights here in Toronto.

  He smiled, unable to remain untouched by the beautiful scene spread out before him and the festive mood of the party rolling on without him downstairs.

  The party.

  The party reminded him of his wife.

  And thinking of his wife reminded him of the e-mail.

  Unable to put it off any longer, he swiveled his chair to face his computer and clicked on the cheerfully blinking icon.

  Chapter Two

  “Finally!” Jake breathed the word on a sigh of relief. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to find the lounge he’d had in mind. Of course, now that he thought about it, it made sense that the arrangement of leather couches and solid oak occasional tables would be tucked into the spacious south corner near the executive offices. There was even a mini-bar complete with a gleaming espresso machine, stainless steel fridge and stacks of heavy stoneware mugs and fashionably tiny cups.