Page 23 of Ethan & Grace

Without asking, Jessie grabbed one of the shots from the table in front of us. “To the hottest face in the city!”

“The country,” I corrected, as if the accolade mattered to me in the slightest. The INsider had done an online poll—which I’d only found out about two hours ago—and I’d been voted the most attractive man in British high society. It was a ridiculous award and didn’t mean anything.

Charles snorted. “Evidently everyone who voted for you has terrible taste.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t make the top ten,” James shot back in my defence, his eyes following an older woman in a blue dress who had walked past our table several times in the last ten minutes, clearly hoping to draw our attention.

“Says the guy who came in a place behind me,” Charles retorted.

James ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not all about looks. What’s inside matters too.”

“If that were the case, we’d all come in last place,” I said dryly.

Jessie broke out in loud laughter, as if I’d just told the joke of the night. Charles and James looked at me sullenly. I was the only one of us still sober, although my urge to go off the rails was strong—not just to drown my sorrows, but to provoke my dad and get back at him for so smugly lecturing me to behave impeccably. But getting wasted wouldn’t just hurt him; it would hurt Henry, Mum, and most of all, me.

“You didn’t call me back,” Jessie said softly. She had leant closer, and her breasts pressed against my upper arm. The sweet scent of vanilla rose to my nose and stirred something in my groin, bringing back memories of our time together at the Pearl Gala. After my dad’s crisis manager, Vivian, had forced me into a family photo with my parents and Henry, I’d taken Jessie back to my penthouse to escape the stuffy event.

“I’ve been busy,” I said evasively.

Jessie traced a finger down my chest. “It sounds like you’ve had a stressful few weeks. I can help you relax.”

“Not interested,” I said.

She blinked. “Why not?”

I removed Jessie’s hand from my chest. “Don’t get me wrong. I had a great night with you. But I’m just not cut out for more than one night, if you know what I mean.”

She pouted. “But why? We were so good together.”

“We were, but that doesn’t change anything.”

Jessie finally got the message. Her expression cooled, and she drew away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Too bad. You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I am,” I replied, my cock berating me. But parties, sex, and booze had always gone hand in hand for me, and without one, the others suddenly seemed less appealing. Even if my body disagreed.

“Hey!”

Nate was back, just in time to save me from my conversation with Jessie. He’d slipped away earlier to try his luck with a redhead who’d smiled at him from across the VIP lounge. Now she stood at his side, with his arm draped over her possessively.

“Reagan, may I introduce my friends? This is James Asterdam. His family more or less owns the British fashion industry. His mum is the designer Natalia Asterdam, and his dad is the CEO of Asterdam Fashion,” Nate explained, clearly trying to impress Reagan with the wealth and influence of his friends. “The guy next to James is Charles Eddington. His mum is in real estate. All those fancy new skyscrapers you see around the city are her doing. His dad, Alistair Eddington, is a cabinet member and is running for prime minister in the next election.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Charles, raising his glass to Reagan.

“And the unfriendly looking one is Ethan Darlington. His—”

“I know you!” Reagan cut Nate off. “Your dad is that rapist.”

“Alleged rapist,” Charles countered. “He’s not been convicted yet. Innocent till proven guilty, as they say.”

Strictly speaking, it should have been my job to defend my dad, but what was the point? He was guilty. The hearing was still to come, but I knew the indictment, and more importantly, I knew my dad. I didn’t doubt that he’d abused those women. I couldn’t say that aloud, of course, but I wouldn’t lie either, so I kept quiet. How people chose to interpret my silence was up to them.

Reagan wrinkled her nose. Her look of distaste suggested she didn’t share Charles’s opinion.

Nate jumped in before she could reply and start an argument. “I feel like dancing. You?”

Reagan hesitated.

“Come on! I’m a great dancer.” That was an outright lie—Nate was a terrible dancer—but she nodded anyway, and Nate whisked her away from our table before she could change her mind. He shot me a withering look as he left, as if I were to blame for my dad’s crimes almost costing him a one-night stand.