What If (Willowbrook Book 2) by Ashlyn Mathews Page A

about a pseudonym.” She scanned the ballroom for an exit. “What’d you pick?”
    The place was packed, and suddenly, she wanted to be sick. Eve was infamous for meddling in other people’s life, and then some.
    Above the music, the teasing sound of a woman’s laughter snagged her attention. In a semi dark corner of the room, she made out the silhouette of a woman standing close to a tall man. Like a firefly drawn to the heat of a mesmerizing light, the man leaned into the woman, nuzzled her neck, and whispered something into her ear. Emma couldn’t miss that body or that profile. Drew .
    “Did you hear me?”
    Eve’s impatience yanked Emma back from the wonderful fantasy she was having of throttling the woman with Drew. Normally, she wasn’t the jealous type. However, the woman with Drew looked very familiar.
    “Give it to me again.” She looked anywhere but at the couple. Eve gave her the pseudonym. Emma sucked in air. “Eve, I can’t—”
    “Don’t you see, Em? This is your chance to get Drew back.”
    “I don’t want him back. I’m here to see if he’s happy.” Why hadn’t she sounded more convincing?
    “Ma’am?” The emcee’s tone hinted of annoyance.
    “Gotta go.” She ended the call and looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the front doors. More guests waited for their turn. Shifting from foot to foot and rubbing at their bare shoulders, the women glared her direction. It was cold out there.
    She dropped her phone inside the small, satin clutch dangling from her wrist, and grasping the fabric of the dress, Emma pulled her shoulders back and walked over as confidently and as regally as she could. The emcee tilted his head down to hers. She gave him the pseudonym. He scanned for the pseudonym on the screen of his electronic tablet.
    “You sent a late change request.” He tapped on the microphone. A hush went over the crowd. “Didn’t like Marie Antoinette, eh?” He laughed. “I don’t blame you.”
    Everyone stared their direction. With an exaggerated bow and a smile her way, he said, “May I present Marguerite St. Just.”
    Apparently no one in the room realized who Marguerite St. Just was other than the man in the corner shooting daggers at her with his eyes. Clearing her throat, she reached up and skimmed her fingers across the smooth edge of her mask.
    With the anonymity the mask gave her, she could become anyone, including a woman who could resist the sexy hunk of a guy who continued to stare at her from across the ballroom. The force of his glare could level a building. Tipping her chin at Drew, she hitched up her dress and made her way down the marbled steps onto the ballroom floor.
    At her sides, men offered her their arms. She accepted the closest man’s and steered him anywhere but toward Drew. The last she saw, before she disappeared into the crowd, was Drew with his arms crossed tight over his chest.
    Dammit, once Eve came back for her at midnight with the limo, Emma would give her meddling friend an earful. Emma was here to observe. Not to be tracked and possibly hunted down by her ex-boyfriend.
    “By the way, name’s Red.”
    “Red, huh?” She snuck a peek at the man at her side. The mask he wore couldn’t hide his square jaw, bright blue eyes, or friendly smile.
    “Red’s my favorite color.”
    “And I bet the color of your jersey,” she offered.
    He laughed. “How’d you guess?”
    Tilting her face to him, she shrugged and smiled. The twinkle in his baby blues told her he got that she knew he played for Drew’s winning football team. Would this man play again for the team in the upcoming season? Yet, why should she care? Football was what had kept her and Drew apart.
    “You from around here?”
    By here, he must mean the Bay area. “I’m from Oregon.”
    “You flew here for a party?”
    “Call it crazy, but yes.” She had two hours before the limo arrived to pick her up. Then she’d catch a redeye flight back home to the small town of