Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

Briony never imagined that at thirty, she would become the prime target of every gold-digger and social climber in town.

She slipped out alone onto the balcony, craving a breath of fresh air.

Peter followed her out, balancing a plate with a slice of frosted cake.

He wasn't exactly new to show business-three years in, a handful of forgettable lead roles in period dramas, but nothing that ever made waves. By now, his agency had all but pushed him to the sidelines.

He'd pulled every string he could just to get an invite to tonight's party, all for a chance to make an impression on Briony.

"Ms. Kensington, it's matcha cream cake. I remember you said you liked it."

His voice was gentle behind her. Briony turned, glancing indifferently at the cake he offered before meeting Peter's eyes.

He was handsome enough, even by Hollywood standards-tall, soulful eyes, the kind of looks casting directors loved for brooding second leads.

Briony swirled the champagne in her glass. "Sorry, I don't eat sweets."

"But in your last interview, you said matcha cake was your favorite..."

"I was just making conversation." Briony looked him in the eye, her tone cool. "I know what you're after, but I'm afraid I'm not in the market for a boy toy. You'd better look elsewhere."

Peter's smile faltered.

Briony turned and strolled back into

as soon as she'd dodged one

a hard woman to

was none other than Maynard, CEO of Vypera Technologies-and her most persistent suitor

the city's most eligible bachelors. Thirty-five, single, strikingly handsome, eldest son and heir to a

was backing a major film for Starlight Entertainment, so for the sake of the partnership, Briony couldn't afford to be too frosty

over

you don't seriously go for those pretty boy

Peter was a headache,

women with the subtlety of a

good read on him: the trick was to never

lightly. "If there's chemistry, that's all

are you looking for? Whatever

"You flatter me, Mr. Maynard. I rushed here and haven't eaten yet. Please, enjoy yourself—I'm going to

to whatever looked

she went, he followed. A few wealthy guests tried to approach her, but Maynard's warning glare sent

didn't react. One persistent man was easier to handle than