Marcus and Sareeta exchanged stricken glances. “Christ. I thought your agent would’ve notified you already. My apologies; of course it wasn’t my intention to tell you this way.”
Lilah blinked, a smile frozen on her face, the news washing over her like she’d been doused in ice water.
It would be typical of Jasmine to wait until after the New Year to deliver the bad news, so it wouldn’t spoil Lilah’s holiday. She probably hadn’t thought Marcus would have the opportunity to break it to her personally.
Lilah managed to keep her composure long enough to excuse herself as gracefully as possible, her throat tightening. She barely made it out of the crowd before she started crying.
…
He’d felt it for a while, but tonight finally confirmed the suspicion that had been nagging at the back of his mind since Vancouver: Shane was in big fucking trouble where Lilah was concerned.
He’d tried to ignore it. Being unimpressed by the guy she was with—Clint? Brent?—wasn’t jealousy. It was pity that she was stuck with a guy who seemed so goddamn boring. Shane could tell just by looking at him that he was the type who thought having money was a substitute for a personality.
But the feeling he got when he saw her kiss Len, like he’d been punched in the stomach and the dick simultaneously, was one he’d felt only once before, when he’d watched her walk outof that party with Dean. And back then, he’d had a very good reason to feel that way: they’d done it specifically to piss him off.
This had nothing to do with him, though, and he felt it just the same.
It wasn’t even like the kiss was anything to write home about. Barely a peck. But she’d smiled at Clem as she’d pulled away, what he knew was a real smile—which had disappeared as soon as she’d met Shane’s eyes. Maybe even from across the room she could tell what he was thinking—the way he wanted to stride over to her, take her by the hand, and haul her into an empty bedroom, like the last time they’d attended one of Yvonne’s New Year’s parties together.
“What are you looking at?” Bailey had asked, craning her neck, trying in vain to see over the heads of the people around them.
He’d almost forgotten she was there. “Nothing.”
As hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop watching her. Maybe “watching” was the wrong word; it was less premeditated than that. She stood out anyway, statuesque and attention-grabbing even when she wasn’t trying; and tonight, strutting around in fuck-you heels, glittering practically from head to toe, she was trying.
She seemed to have ditched her date at some point and was mostly hanging out with her friends—having the time of her fucking life, from the looks of it. He fought the urge to approach her again. He didn’t have any reason to.
But later in the evening, when he saw a flash of red hurrying out of the room, his feet carried him after her practically before he knew it. Bailey had long since disappeared, so he felt only the smallest twinge of uncertainty as he followed Lilah at a distance down one hallway after another, slipping past the boundaries ofwhere guests were allowed, then disappearing through a doorway.
He hovered outside the door for a minute, debating whether he should turn around and go back to the party. Instead, he opened it.
It was a guest bedroom, by the looks of it—tasteful, immaculate, minimal, everything in it obviously ridiculously expensive.
He didn’t see her, though.
“Lilah?”
A scrap of pale forehead poked up from the other side of the bed, nothing visible below her red-rimmed eyes. His stomach twisted at the sight, and he let out an involuntary exhale through his nose.
“What?” Her voice was thick with sobs.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.”
“Do you want me to get your friends?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
She hesitated, her gaze watery but unwavering, then slowly shook her head again.
He shut the door behind him and made his way to the other side of the bed. Lilah was seated on the floor, back propped against the bed, long legs askew like a beat-up rag doll. Next to her was an open bottle of champagne.
He’d never seen her like this. It stirred up the most bizarre cocktail of feelings in him: anger, empathy, protectiveness. He didn’t know what to do with any of them.
He eased himself down onto the floor next to her. “Is it…did that guy do something? What was his name?”
