“Big O,” Sloane repeats, face scrunching like she’s fitting puzzle pieces together in her head. “Huh, that’s interesting.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
Her mouth curves into a sly smile. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Before I can press, Evelyn approaches, radiant in midnight-blue silk, with a younger man in tow. His smile is easy and posture relaxed, as if he’s right at home next to the older woman.
“Oh good, you’re all here,” Evelyn says warmly. “I’d like you to meet my nephew, Lucas.”
Lilah’s expression lights up. “It’s so nice to see you again! It’s been years.”
“That’s because I’ve spent the last five of them buried under a mountain of spreadsheets,” he says with a laugh. “Although, thanks to a timely job opening, I’ve just joined the Railers’ accounting department.”
After a few minutes, Lilah excuses herself to use the restroom. It doesn’t take long for my attention to drift, and I grab a champagne flute from a passing tray out of habit, hoping the bubbles might settle the unease that continues to curl in my gut. As soon as the first sip hits my tongue, my stomach turns. I hand the glass back before it can slip from my fingers.
Oh God. What if there’s something wrong with the champagne?
Evelyn sips hers without a flinch, and I realize it isn’t the drink at all.
It’s me.
No, not me.
It’s him.
Oliver Van Doren has dug so deep under my skin that even the taste of champagne has soured. This situation is so much worse than I first suspected.
Across the room, he stands stiffly beside the blonde, who’s busy laughing and cozying up to him. Even though he doesn’t touch her, he doesn’t have to. She’s doing enough of it for the both of them. His gaze stays locked on me. I tighten my grip on my clutch and do my best to pretend that his stare doesn’t sear me like a brand.
It’s possession disguised as patience.
A warning wrapped in a silky promise.
I force my attention back to Lucas, who’s joking about the harshness of Chicago winters, and manage to laugh on cue. But my mind is still a static blur. Every inch of me vibrates with awareness.
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I jolt. I’m almost grateful for the distraction. “Is that Devon?”
All heads turn toward the bar, where Lilah’s ex stands awkwardly beside her. Her posture mirrors his. It’s both guarded and distant. It’s crazy to think that six months ago, they were living together. While Lilah was busy planning their future, he was screwing a colleague behind her back.
“It’s tempting to march over there and knock him flat on his ass for what he did to her,” Sloane mutters.
Evelyn arches a brow. “Perhaps not at a black-tie event.”
“That man deserves it,” Sloane grumbles.
Callie’s gaze zeroes in on them. “I just hope Steele doesn’t notice. He’ll lose it.”
“The last thing we need is a brawl overshadowing the two hundred thousand dollars we just raised,” I say.
Instead of rushing over to rescue our friend, we wait until Lilah makes her way back to the group. Even more surprising than seeing her talking to her ex is that she doesn’t look the least bit upset by it.
“Well?” I ask, a mix of impatience and curiosity bleeding through my tone.
Lilah exhales before dropping a bomb none of us saw coming. “He and Marissa broke up. Turns out the baby wasn’t his.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, eyes distant but steady. “She came clean a few weeks ago.”
