A man I’ve never noticed before who seems to think he’s Jim Morrison’s reincarnation leans down to whisper in her ear, but her body goes rigid. Her smile turns forced—not like the way I’ve seen her beaming with her crew. He reaches up to lay a hand on her shoulder and she takes a step back. I frown. The guy takes another step forward, looming over her and talking her ear off, not even noticing when she bumps into a chair behind her. I watch as she forces a laugh, then looks around the room like she’s searching for a life raft.
To my dismay, she glances over her shoulder and we lock eyes. Her smile fades. Fuck. Why won’t she look away?
I don’t either.
Now that I think about it, the guy beside her looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen him. When his hand presses against her exposed back as he orders for the both of them at the bar, I swallow my water—even as the bubbles burn my throat—and look around for something else to occupy my attention. It’s not my job to save her, especially not when I’ve been doing enough already, fielding off guys like Thompson. There’s nothing interesting about this soirée, however. It’s all the same peacocks, same shows of wealth I’ve seen before. She’s the most interesting person here.
I steal another glance, only to nearly choke. Hearst is stalking towards me, and there’s murder in her eyes.
“Falkenberg,” she says, cornering me against the wall, a beer in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. Suddenly, the room feels even smaller than before.
“Double-fisting drinks in a professional setting, Hearst? I have to say it gives me a little culture shock,” I remark.
“This one’s for you, dumbass.” She shoves the beer into my hand.
My browsraise.
“I said I’d get you a beer, remember?” Her tone is hostile.
“You said you’dbuyme a beer,” I correct. “This is an open bar.”
“That my family is paying for. Same difference. Take it or leave it.”
I didn’t think she’d ever actually follow through with it, or I wouldn’t have said it. Between prioritizing my conditioning and seeing what alcohol’s done to my mother, I generally have no interest, but I suppose the occasional beer doesn’t hurt so long as I don’t make it a habit.
“It doesn’t count if your father is the one paying,” I say, taking it from her.
“This one’s not personal enough for you? Don’t tell me you want to spend more time with me.” She peers at me with her dark eyes.
“I just don’t like getting swindled,” I reply casually. There’s nothing casual about the way my entire body is attuned to her presence. The way her proximity makes my skin uncomfortably hot.
“You look nice,” she says. I go rigid at her sudden politeness.
“So do you.” It’s an understatement. Her lips are darkened with a sultry shade of burgundy, her brunette hair framing her face. The way her dress hugs her hips should be illegal. It makes me want to shove her against the wall and drag it the rest of the way up her thighs.
These kinds of thoughts will get me fired.
“No date, obviously,” she says with a smirk that needles me. “No time for any of that.”
I take a slow sip of my beer, trying to ignore the way my pulse is pounding in my throat. “No. Obviously.”
Her smirk widens.
“Don’t let me distract you from yours.” I nod to the guy by the bar. He’s not as inconspicuous as he thinks. I can tell he’s watching us, though he’s trying to pretend that he’s not.
“Who?” She turns around. “Oh, Sam? He’s not my date. He’s with the media office.”
That’s where I know him from. Something about her tone tells me there’s more to the story.
“Have you told him that?” It’s not my business, but if the dickhead keeps looking over here it might become my business.
“No. I probably should,” she mutters.
“The persistent type?”
“You have no idea. I thought most people had sense enough to not shit where they eat. Guess I was wrong.”
“Why don’t you tell him to fuck off?” I say.
