“I’m really sorry. Last thing I want is to fuck up our friendship over this.”
“We’re good.” She leans in, her kiss on my cheek gentle, leaving a trace of warmth. “It’s curious, you’ve got this image, like you’ve got it all figured out, except when it comes to women. Then, you seem . . . lost.”
I let out a short laugh, more out of discomfort than amusement. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Her curiosity piqued, she asks, “Who do I remind you of?”
“Someone I used to know,” I say numbly.
My chest tightens.
Because the woman she’s unintentionally channeling tonight? There’s a very real chance she might be there in the flesh.
???
One of the cons about coming out about my hearing condition is that people have taken to shouting at me, like I can’t hear at all. It’s enough to give me a headache worse than when I was straining to hear people.
Even the flirtatious attempt by the marketing department’s latest addition, who loudly declared her single status and interest, felt more like a yell meant for a stadium than a failed-attempt at seduction. If there’s one way to blow your career at my company, it’s to think I’m interested in having a fling with someone on my staff.
Yet, there’s one individual who seems determined to keep her distance, the young intern with the heart-shaped face from Yonkers. Our eyes have met several times, but each encounter is met with her quick retreat, a clear avoidance that speaks volumes more than the overt shouts I’ve grown accustomed to.
The grand ballroom at the Plaza is buzzing, everyone’s looking sharp—tuxes, gowns, the whole nine yards. It’s the usual chaos that kicks off when the crew gets unlimited access to drinks and a green light to forget who’s boss for a night.
The majority are hanging on to their professional veneer by a thread. Already, at least five folks have blurted out things to me they’d never have the guts to say sober. Lucky for them, some of them are talking into my left ear, which has gotten progressively worse over the past few months.
I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of them, even the bosses, consider quitting after tonight’s shenanigans.
I’ve always managed to keep it together in front of the staff, even back when I was drinking. Which, for the record, I’m not. Tonight, I’m sober as a judge, watching the spectacle unfold with a sort of detached amusement.
My gaze drifts back to Grace while the finance crew yaps in my ear. She’s cracking up, right in the thick of it with a bunch of summer interns and newbies. By the looks of the empty bottles and shot glasses crowding their table, they’re really leaning into the booze tonight. Guess their young livers can handle it.
My pulse kicks reflexively scanning her companions for a familiar face.
If Grace was going to bring anyone along, it’d be Lexi. Looks like she stayed back in Maryland. Is she avoiding me on purpose?
I grip my sparkling water a little tighter.
She’s not showing up. She would’ve been here if she was coming.
I need to step out, get some air. “Excuse me,” I grunt, edging past the finance crew’s nonstop gab.
I duck out to the balcony, seeking refuge and maybe a bit of sanity. My hands grip the railings as I stare blankly at the traffic below, tension coiled tight in my chest area and shoulders. No one approaches me this time.
“You hiding out here?” Killian’s voice cuts through the traffic, the sweet scent of whiskey trailing him.
I take a deep breath, a part of me missing the buzz that comes from a good quality whiskey.
Being sober makes you realize how much bullshit flows when lips are loosened by liquor.
Killian, clearly not wasted, has that relaxed vibe—just lightly buzzed, enough to take the edge off these social gatherings.
He leans against the railing next to me, his relaxed state evident by the abandoned bow tie.
I give a tired chuckle. “Figured I’ve worked the room long enough.”
I try rolling my shoulders, hoping to shake off the tension that’s been my constant companion tonight.
He eyes me, concern etched across his face. “Everything all right?”
