Chapter 61
Aria’s POV
Williamsburg Social was crowded but not uncomfortably so, the Thursday night crowd skewing toward young professionals unwinding after work. Ryan was already at a table on the outdoor terrace, nursing a whiskey on the rocks. He stood when he saw me, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of navigating shark-infested waters.
"If it isn't the future Mrs. Blake," he teased, pulling me into a quick hug before we sat down.
"Don't start," I warned, signaling to the waitress for a martini.
Ryan chuckled. "That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea. If I have to look at one more cake sample or champagne flute, I might scream."
"Well, I come bearing potential good news. My agency is looking to outsource some social media campaigns for a few of our smaller clients. Nothing huge, but solid work."
I raised an eyebrow. "And you're only offering this now because...?"
"Because my boss finally realized your company delivers better results than our in-house team." Ryan shrugged unapologetically. "Better late than never, right?"
"I suppose I should be grateful for the crumbs from your table," I replied dryly, but there was no real resentment in my voice. Ryan and I had known each other too long for that.
My martini arrived, and I took a grateful sip. "So, tell me about these potential clients."
For the next hour, we discussed business, carefully avoiding more personal topics until the second round of drinks arrived. Then, with timing that could only come from decades of friendship, Ryan leaned forward and asked, "Are you really going to marry Ethan Blake?"
I swirled the olive in my fresh martini, considering my answer. "Until the wedding ceremony is over, nothing's set in stone."
Ryan's eyes widened slightly. "That's not a 'yes, I'm madly in love and can't wait to spend my life with him.'"
I offered a mysterious smile. "Life is complicated, Ryan."
"And you're being cryptic." He studied me for a moment. "I saw how he treated you back in college, Aria. The hot-and-cold routine, the way he'd parade you around when it suited him and ignore you when it didn't. You deserve better than that."
"Maybe I'm not the same girl I was in college," I replied softly.
The conversation shifted to safer ground—reminiscing about our childhood adventures in the Hamptons, the trouble we'd gotten into at summer camp, the time we'd "borrowed" his father's boat and nearly crashed it into a yacht owned by a Hollywood director.
By midnight, we were pleasantly drunk, laughing at old stories and enjoying the cool evening breeze coming off the water. When Ryan suggested moving to a new bar that had opened nearby, I reluctantly declined.
"I should head home. Early meeting tomorrow."
Ryan insisted on waiting with me for my car. When my Uber finally arrived, I stepped toward the vehicle in my high heels, stumbling slightly on the uneven cobblestones near the curb.
"Careful there," Ryan immediately reached out, steadying me with a hand at my waist. "These stones are treacherous even when you're sober."
"I'm fine," I insisted, pulling away perhaps too abruptly. The last thing I needed was to give anyone the wrong impression about Ryan and me.
"Thanks for tonight," I said, climbing into the waiting car. "We should do this more often."
Ryan nodded, hands in his pockets. "Next time, bring Sofia. I haven't seen her in ages."
"Will do. Goodnight, Ryan."
I waited until he had turned away before directing the driver to the Harper mansion on the Upper East Side. The house may no longer feel like home, but it was too late to head back to Brooklyn tonight.
The mansion loomed dark and imposing as we pulled up, only a few lights visible in the windows. My father must have returned from the hospital—Victoria never left lights on unnecessarily, claiming it was wasteful.
I made my way up the path, my heels clicking on the stones. I'd stay the night here rather than call another car to take me back to Brooklyn. My old bedroom was still maintained, even if it no longer felt like mine.
---
A shock of ice-cold water jolted me awake. I gasped, flailing against the sudden drenching, only to find my father standing over my bed, an empty water pitcher in his hand and fury in his eyes.
"What the—" I spluttered, pushing soaked hair from my face.
"Explain this." He threw an iPad onto the wet bedsheets beside me. The screen displayed a gossip website—PageSixNY.com—with a headline that made my stomach drop: [HARPER HEIRESS CAUGHT IN LATE NIGHT TRYST WITH MYSTERY MAN—ENGAGEMENT ALREADY ON THE ROCKS?]
Below the headline was a series of photos: Ryan steadying me on the cobblestone street, his hand at my waist; Ryan and I laughing together at the bar; me leaning close to him during our conversation, my hand on his arm.
"It's not what it looks like," I said automatically, my brain still foggy from sleep and last night's alcohol.
"It never is, is it?" My father's voice dripped with contempt. "Do you have any idea what this does to our family's reputation? To the merger negotiations? I just spent three weeks in the hospital, and the minute my back is turned, you're out carousing with that Winters boy!"
I scrolled through the article, reading the salacious speculation about my "secret lover" and the suggestion that my engagement to Ethan was a sham. The photos were real but completely innocent—twisted by careful selection and framing to suggest something that wasn't there.
"Ryan is an old friend. We were discussing business," I explained, my eyes scanning the comments section. The Internet vultures were already circling, delighting in the possibility of scandal.
"Business," my father repeated incredulously. "At midnight? In a bar? With your hands all over each other? Save the excuses, Aria. The Blake family has already called, demanding an explanation. Do you realize how this could affect the announcement of our merger?"
As he ranted, my focus sharpened. These photos hadn't been taken by a random paparazzo—the angles were too perfect, the timing too convenient. Someone had tipped off the photographers. Someone who knew I'd be at Williamsburg Social last night. Someone who wanted to create trouble for my wedding.
My eyes drifted to the doorway, where a flash of white caught my attention. Scarlett stood partially hidden behind the door frame, watching the scene with poorly concealed satisfaction. Our eyes met, and I saw the momentary flicker of alarm in hers before she schooled her features into a mask of concern.
"I'll fix this," I told my father, cutting off his tirade. "I'll talk to Ethan and explain everything."
"You'd better do more than explain," he growled. "If this merger falls apart because of your indiscretions, you'll regret it. I've already instructed our PR team to release a statement denying any impropriety, but the damage is done."
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. My father glanced at his watch. "That will be Ethan now. Get yourself cleaned up and meet us downstairs in five minutes."