She wondered if he was even aware he’d had his picture taken.
“Are you okay?” she asked after the photographer had moved on.
It took him a moment to answer. An empty smile accompanied the slow bobbing of his head.
“I’m good. So good.” He held out the D on the end of the word, giggling a little.
“Who drove you here?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away, and Riley wondered if the question even registered. The long moment stretched on and only ended when Rita walked up and said, “You two look to be having fun.”
Riley shot her a glance that conveyed, “Seriously?” but didn’t actually call her out for the ridiculous comment.
“Rita, how did Rowan get here tonight?"
“Ooh! He drove his Ferrari. What kind is it again, Rowan?”
The man’s face lit up, but Riley didn’t know if it was because he loved his car or actually knew the answer to this question. “A SF90 Stradale. Badass.”
Riley knew nothing about cars, so the name drop didn’t mean anything to her.
“Okay, well we need to make sure he does not drive himself away,” she told her agent.
Rowan’s laugh was high-pitched, obnoxious, and wrapped around his words as he said, “You mean because I’m going to get shit-faced?”
Not because he wasgoing to, Riley thought. He’d clearly already taken something.
“Rowan, I don’t think you should mix alcohol with… whatever…”
“Okay, who are you? The fun police?” Rita said as she laughed at her own lame joke.
“He could hurt himself. Or someone else,” Riley snapped.
The other woman rolled her eyes. “Would you just relax and have some fun tonight? Here, have a drink.” She grabbed a champagne flute from a server who walked by holding a silver tray of drinks and thrust it at Riley.
“You know I don’t drink anymore.”
“Just hold it. Please. We need you to be photographed?—”
“You want the media to speculate about my sobriety?” Riley asked.
Rita’s mouth was open, but Rowan cut off the conversation by yanking the flute from Riley’s hands, downing it fast, and throwing the empty vessel down.
A few people looked to find the source of shattering glass.
“Someone will clean that shit up,” Rowan said. “I need… four more… of those.”
He hurried away, not bothering to say he was sorry as he bumped into people while presumably looking for more booze.
“Rowan!” Riley cried.
She shielded her face and blinked against the bright flash that assaulted her eyes.
“Get away from me,” she growled.
But the photographer just snapped another shot.
She thought of gently pushing him away but knew that was just what everyone wanted.
