“Don’t leave,” he finally speaks.
My eyes are focused on the floor, but I lift them and meet his mossy green, penetrating gaze.
“No, that’s more your thing,” I respond sarcastically, pulling my arm away firmly enough for him to let go. His eyes are beseeching, and something is building between us.
So many unspoken truths that are right on the tips of our tongues, but now isn’t the time to say them.
“I’ll be back by the time the appetisers come. I’m at table 8.”
“So am I.”
Of course he is. He’s probably sitting right next to me. How else would I slot back in? Anya was right to be worried.
For the first time, I’m questioning whether I can do this. This isn’t the right assignment. I can’t keep him safe. I’m too emotional.
A word I never thought I’d use to describe myself. I’m notemotional, I’m controlled. I’m calm. I’m collected. But right now, my axis is all out of whack, and I’m all over the place.
I head back out of the main room, with even more eyes on me, leaving Owen standing at the table watching my retreat. And out of every single pair of eyes, I feel his the most.
I head to the ladies’ room and close the door, thankful that not only do the stalls have locks, so does the main door. Which means I don’t need to risk being interrupted.
I throw my clutch onto the counter and bend forward, gripping the beautifully smooth white marble, groaning.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” I spit at my reflection. I’m talking to Lucy, not Kara. “Pull your shit together.”
I pull out my phone and dial Andrews. He answers immediately. “You need to put Davis on this. I can’t do it. I’ll carry on for the dinner, but tomorrow I’m out.”
I don’t let him answer because he will talk me down. He will convince me. He will dangle the freedom that I’m so desperate for. He will dangle the five million pounds. He will dangle that I owe him.
Fuck. I do owe him. But I’ll find another way to repay him. Because I can’t do this. Lucy, Kara, whoever the fuck I am, can’t do this.
I take a few deep breaths and my phone vibrates. A message displays, and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I open it.
It has to be you, little one. You can do this; I wouldn't have given it to you if you couldn't.
Andrews
I want to punch Andrews. But the logical side of the brain fully understands why it needs to be me.
A knock on the door signals that my time is up, and I need to put my game face on. I take one last breath and check my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes are wide and alert.
I look emotional and turned on.
Which I can assure you, I am not!
The bang on the door comes again, angrier this time.
“Coming.”
Grabbing the clutch, I open the lock and pull the door, about to apologise politely, but the words die on my tongue as I see the tailored tuxedo standing in front of me. A large chest is waiting, and when I look up, I’ll see Owen’s green pools.
“This isn’t exactly giving a girl a minute.”
He pushes me back into the toilet, his body crowding mine. I step back and turn, letting him join me in the bathroom. I cross to the other side of the small room, hovering by the hand dryers, desperate for space.
This isn’t what I had in mind.
Like, at all.
