“What?” I mouth, taking a sip of my drink to avoid looking awkward and uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.
As he wades over to me, I can’t stop my mind flashing to how he looked in the hotel room, the last time we were alone. His thumb brushing against my open mouth. He glides through the crowded floor with ease, a tiger swimming through lily pads as people ebb and flow to give him purchase. People glance at him, some a second glance, probably due to his access to Dominic Odericco. To many, he’s the gatekeeper and access granter. To me, he’s the person my brain is telling me to stay away from, but my body refuses to leave. My feet remain glued to the floor until he’s towering over me at the bar, his scent lingering against my lips as I take another defiant sip of my drink.
“I thought you’d finally decided on disliking me.” His lips curve as he scans my face with bright twinkling eyes.
I crinkle my nose. “What are you talking about? I—” I stop as the memory hits me. “Oh my god, I completely ignored you this morning. I’m so sorry.”
He blushes ever so slightly, giving me a confused look. “Were you blowing me off because I asked you out?”
I place my drink on the bar and shake my head. “No. Well, yes. Maybe. Not really.”
He huffs a laugh. “Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up. I just thought you weren’t interested in me.”
My chin tilts to meet him. “I haven’t fully committed to the plan of not being interested. It’s just... complicated.”
“Then this is me generously giving you the opportunity to explain yourself.” He lifts a brow and crosses his arms. His thick hair flops to the side as he leans against the bar. There’s a cheekiness to his demeanor, but I can feel the undercurrent of nerves passing through him.
I guffaw. “I have nothing to explain. I think I’ve made myself very clear already.” Heat crawls up my spine.
He scoffs a laugh, running a hand over his light stubble. “Are you serious?”
I know for a fact that I haven’t made myself even slightly clear. I’m confusing myself with my own actions. My focus should purely be on this competition, but my attention continues to be dragged in the opposite direction, toward the big red arrow saying “hot, charming American wants to take you out.”
Am I acting just like Spencer? Playing pretend, living vicariously through a character I’ve made up. Violet isn’t meant to be any different than Jess except in name, but only when I saw Malcolm did I realize I’ve felt so much lighter playacting as Violet. The past felt detached, rather than etched into my bones.
Maybe Oliver would like Jess just as much as Violet, but I can’t take that risk. Can I? Every man who has entered my life doesn’t stay long enough to garner a second date. But being forced into these situations with Oliver has allowed him to get under my skin, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
He raises his hand and orders a drink from the bartender. “You’ve said you were only interested in being friends, and yet whenever we’re in a room together, you can’t take your eyes off me.”
My cheeks flare. So much for subtlety. I guess I’m not as covert as I thought.
“Yes, I can.” A feeble attempt at rebuttal considering I can’t currently unlock my eyes from his.
Oliver thanks the bartender as a matching Negroni in a frosted glass is placed in front of him. He takes a long sip, then begins to cartoonishly count on his fingers. “You kissed me in a hot tub; we had anamazingtime in the shower. In your room, you looked like you wanted me to kiss you, but then you say you wouldneverwant to go for dinner with me, then you start making the... what did you call them?” He taps his soft lip with a finger. “‘The ooey-gooey eyes’? Then you give me ooey-gooey eyes from across the room at the speed networking thing this morning, but by the time we were face-to-face, you acted like I didn’t exist.”
My lips purse. Fuck, I am throwing him for a serious loop here. If the gender roles were reversed, this would be a toxic red flag nightmare.
He tilts his head. “So forgive me if I’m confused, but you haven’t exactly made yourself clear. If you want to be friends, that’s fine. I’ll happily be your friend. But that’s not how you look at friends, Violet.”
The fake name hits me like a truck, a big fat reminder as to why I’ve been acting like this.
I go to take his arm. “I’m just—” My elbow smacks against my drink, knocking it clean over and leaking red liquid across the bar top. The crowd looks over at the sound of smashing glass, a few resounding “wheeeeeeys” coming from the British contingency in the room. Negroni creeps over the edge and begins to drip on the floor, causing both Oliver and I to jumpback. I glance at the crowd, feeling the heat rising in me completely dissipate into cold embarrassment.
“Fuck, sorry,” I say to the bartender as I take napkins and try to soak up the booze, cutting my hand on a tiny shard of glass in the process. “Ow.”
Oliver steps toward me, taking my hand and assessing it. He pulls a small shard out of my palm, blood oozing out of the cut. He takes a black napkin and presses it against my skin, using his thumb to put pressure on and wrapping his fingers around the other side of my hand.
“It’s okay. I got it,” the bartender says with a weak smile, obviously annoyed to have to stop serving for a couple of minutes to clean up my mess. The crowd waiting for drinks aren’t the most patient of clientele.
“Sorry,” I repeat, internally cringing that this keeps happening in front of Oliver.
My eyes dart back to the crowd to check if anyone is still looking at this display of fondness between the two of us. My first glance brings a sense of calm that nobody really cares what is going on at the bar. That is, until a sharp jolt of pain runs up my neck, goose bumps rising all over my body. I glance again, eyes locking on Malcolm’s. He’s in the crowd, inconspicuous, blending in with everyone else apart from the bright blue eyes that are fixed onto mine.
People say in these moments your blood runs cold. But mine goes hot, like someone is holding a lighter to my arteries. Why is he here? Did he come here, uninvited, just to check his theory? A journalist just following a hunch? The pure hatred radiating from him goes straight to my stomach, lancing me so hard I have to check a shard of glass didn’t penetrate me there. Ithought maybe I’d gotten away with it at the speed networking event, but now the look of satisfied recognition curling around his mouth tells me he’s finally certain.
Malcolm knows Violet is Jess. Malcolm knows Spencer is not a CEO. Malcolm knows Jess is a liar and a fraud.
My heart barrels over itself, beating so hard it covers the sound of the mingling crowd. My fingers grip the edge of the bar, sweat instantly pouring from my palms. My breathing hitches, coming out in broken inhales and shaky exhales. My hands begin to shake, my vision blurring and knees turning to jelly.
