But Hillary wasn’t cheering.
Her expression was tight, her mouth a flat line. Instead of clapping or laughing, she looked . . . furious.
The kind of pissed that made his stomach drop.
Murphy’s grin faltered, just a fraction. Around them, the crowd was still howling, but all he could see was her.
And all he could think was that he'd gotten it wrong.
Back at the bar, Hillary slipped her coat from the back of her chair and murmured something to Sasha. Murphy couldn’t hearthe words over the roar of laughter and music, but he saw the way Sasha’s brows arched, the way Hillary’s shoulders were tight as she headed for the door.
No one else seemed to notice. But he did.
Murphy’s grin faltered. What had happened? He thought he’d been helping her. That he was lifting the pressure, making her laugh, taking the spotlight off her. But the look on her face . . . that hadn’t been gratitude.
Without stopping for his jacket, he shoved out into the snow. The cold slapped him in the face, but he barely felt it.
“Hillary!” he called.
She kept walking, coat wrapped tightly around her, boots crunching hard and fast against the ice.
“Hillary, wait!” He jogged after her, breath clouding in the freezing air. She stopped suddenly, turning. Her eyes cut into him, sharp with fury—but underneath, there was something else he couldn’t name. Something that made his chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” Murphy said, holding up his hands. “Look, I know I messed up there. I’m not sure how, but?—”
She shook her head. “That was humiliating.”
She turned, making her way back.
“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Please.”
Her voice was cool, clipped. “Why? What are we even doing here?”
“You looked freaked out up there. I was just trying to help.”
“Why?! There is nothing between us. I don’t need you coming to my rescue. Now everyone in there is going to think —”
Murphy’s stomach dropped. “It’s not nothing. You know it’s not. What are you running from?”
“I’m not running from anything.”
“You say we’re too different, but?—”
“Because we are,” she snapped. “We have nothing in common.”
“I don’t believe that.” His voice was rough, his breath visible in the cold. “You think I’m too young? Fine. But age is just a number, Hillary. It does not define me or you for that matter.”
Her eyes flashed. “It’s not just that. We want different things.”
“How do you know what I want,” he shot back, “when you won’t even let me tell you?”
Silence stretched between them, their breath fogging in the night air, the hum of the bar faint behind them. Finally, her shoulders slumped.
“This has to stop. This is my job. And it’s interfering. I do not need you swooping in like that. I am capable of handling myself.”
His mouth hung open as he shook his head. “No one in that room doubts that you can handle yourself. I . . . I was just trying to help you.”
“And now everyone in there is talking about us. We need to be done. For both our sakes.”
