Eleanor drifts away, satisfaction trailing behind her like a victorious perfume.
I desperately want to follow her and unleash every single thing I’ve swallowed over the last three-plus years. Tell her exactly how I feel about her, her son, and everything their family represents.
But Miles is still here.
I smile at him. Smooth, professional. Working to salvage the situation while my stomach bottoms out and the room tilts around me.
“Forgive Eleanor. She’s known my family for years. Always popping in to give her unwanted opinions.” I laugh lightly, trying to downplay Eleanor’s jab. Like my fund’s not hemorrhaging credibility by the second.
Miles nods politely, but he’s tuned out. The warmth is gone and he’s casting around for an exit strategy over the next few minutes. Bennett’s still in my peripheral vision, locked in place.
Finally, Miles excuses himself and I pivot, heading straight to the bar. I want nothing more than to wallow alone in my misery. Bennett trails a few steps behind me.
Worse, he’s quiet.
And Bennett’s quiet is never nothing.
I grab another glass of wine and Bennett orders a whiskey neat. We take our drinks and head to the shadowy corridor. Walking away a few steps, we move further from everyone. I drain half the wine, trying to drown my heart palpitations. Bennett stares past me, the ice melting in his glass.
The air hangs heavy between us. I cast around for things to say, but nothing feels right.
He takes a few big gulps of his drink, then sets the empty glass down hard on the side table.
Finally, he levels his gaze on mine.
“I’m not your project, Tori. I never was.”
Flat. Gruff.
Wounded.
Then he turns and disappears into the sea of suits.
And I let him.
I’m good at that.
CHAPTER 32
BENNETT
Iwalk away from Tori like it doesn’t rip me in half.
Like my fingers don’t know every curve of her body.
Like I can’t still taste her on my tongue.
Like my heart doesn’t beat for her.
Optics.
It’s always about fucking optics.
And I’m still the liability my dad always said I was. Still the same guy people expect to fly off the handle, the most likely to throw hands or say something stupid.
Right now, I’d love to do just that.
Tell Eleanor to shut the fuck up, that Miles guy to get his head out of his ass.
