His face reddens. “You think you can talk to me like that? I can end your career.”
I step closer and flash him a lethal smile. “Go for it.”
I cross the ballroom toward the corridor of single-stall restrooms. The bathroom is marble and mirrors and blessedly empty.
I brace my hands on the sink and breathe.
I did it.
It’s over.
I look myself in the eye in the mirror and smile.I’m proud of you, Catherine.
Knock, knock.
My head whips toward the sound.
Through the comms, Hudson whispers it’s him.
When I open the door, he slips in, locking it behind him. He pulls me into a hug. “You good?” he asks quietly.
I look up at him. Really look. And I start laughing. It bubbles out of me, shaky and bright and real. Tears well in my eyes. “I did it,” I say. “Iactuallydid it.”
Hudson beams with pride. “Fuck yeah you did. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too.”
He gives me a soft, tender kiss. Nothing steamy. Just care and something that feels a lot like adoration. Or maybe…love?
I wouldn’t really know what a kiss or hug shared with love feels like, but as I stand in Hudson’s arms, I feel cherished and safe.
He caresses my face and tells me I should head to the van soon. I agree. We embrace one more time and exit the bathroom one at a time.
Back in the ballroom, the energy has shifted. It’s louder now—sharper.
I make my way to the bar and ask the bartender for club soda with lime, needing something cold and bubbly. The bartender delivers my drink, and Eva speaks over the comms.
“Pippa, I think Junior is heading to the bar?—”
My skin prickles. I freeze as if my body knows I’m next to him again for the first time in fifteen years. My mind catches up when our eyes meet.
His widen.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t flinch. Don’t show signs of recognition. Years of practice, training, and self-preservation instinct activate. I won’t give myself or my sisters away. I lift my glass to my lips to partially obscure my face.
I give him a small, polite smile, but nothing more than I’d give any stranger.
His shock is apparent as he stands less than six feet from me. The bartender asks him for his order, but his attention is locked in on me. He takes a slow, small step toward me. “Catherine?”
“Excuse me?”
His jaw tightens. “It’s you.”
As if on cue, Jax appears at Junior’s side—a tall wall of a man now blocking Junior's view of me.
“Good evening,” Jax says.
It takes a moment for Junior to realize Jax is speaking to him. He shakes his head to turn his attention to the imposing and lethal law enforcement officer next to him.
