“I don’t hate you,” he said again. There was a slight tremor to his voice.
“Oh, Jacob,” she murmured. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But either way, I think you hate yourself far more than you could ever hate me.”
The shuddery, pain-filled breath he released told her she had guessed right. He looked as though he had dropped ten pounds in the last ten minutes, the skin of his face stretching tight over his cheekbones.
Despite her lingering anger, pity moved in her chest. She lifted a hand to his cheek. He exhaled and imperceptibly leaned into her touch. “I’m sorry for you,” she said very clearly, not relishing his flinch. “But you still had no right to treat me like you have.”
He didn’t stop her when she ducked under his arm and left the room. The hallway remained deserted, and she skirted through the busy ballroom to make her way to the cloakroom.
There was no description for the emotions roiling inside her, so she didn’t bother to try. Restless, her fingers drummed against the counter as she waited for the coat-check girl to find her wrap.
“I should have known you were up to something when you asked to be my plus-one.” Remy reached past her and placed a tip into the jar when the girl returned with her cloak.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She accepted the cloak and allowed Remy to assist her with donning it. He placed a hand on the small of her back as they walked out of the mansion into the chilly night air. “I donate to many charities.”
“Yeah, I know. Generously. But anonymously. You only attended these events when your mother summoned you.”
Because Mei wanted to maintain her image as the perfect, beleaguered mother in front of her fellow philanthropists. “I love raising my profile in the community.”
Remy snorted, the sound out of place on the otherwise elegant man. “Please. Who was that guy? I would assume an ex, but you don’t do relationships long enough to have an ex.”
“I do relationships.”
“Trust me, you don’t. Or we’d be married by now.”
She clutched her wrap closer and managed a small smile. She had met Remy a few years ago at a friend’s house. The younger man wasn’t, as many people assumed, a fashion model. He was an escort. A damn good one too, and amply compensated by his clients. “The hell we would. You wouldn’t last two days as my husband.”
Remy gave an injured sniff but didn’t argue with her assessment. “Come on, sweetheart. You didn’t show up here out of the goodness of your heart.”
She shrugged as he handed his ticket to the valet.
“I’m never going to believe—”
“Remy, just drop it.”
He clammed up and stared at her, surprise written all over him. Unable to look at him, she turned and stared at the driveway, willing their car to arrive faster.
“Akira. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Thanks.”
Her short answer did not satisfy him. “You haven’t been the same since your mother died.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “I’m hardly mourning my mother, darling. You know what she was like.”
“Yeah, but death affects us—”
She made a sharp gesture with her hand. “Please stop. If I wanted you to treat me like one of your clients, I would pay for your services.”
Remy pursed his lips, considering her. “Okay,” he finally said. “If you want to talk, I’m here.”
She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to go home and brood over Jacob and lick her wounds in peace. Was that too much for a woman to ask?
Akira uttered a sigh of relief when Remy’s sleek Porsche came into view. She slid inside the passenger seat and relaxed inside the buttery-soft leather. Only to stiffen when she made the mistake of glancing out the window, catching Jacob frozen in the act of donning his coat.
So she wasn’t the only one who had lost the partying mood.
Jacob shrugged his light coat on slowly and stood on the top step of the mansion, staring down at her. The moonless night cast too many shadows on his face for her to decipher his expression. His hands pushed into his pockets, and he took a single step down the stairs.
