Page 4

The words sound carefully chosen.

I lower my gaze to the champagne glass in my hands and watch the last few bubbles drift to the surface. “Does he?”

When I look up, I catch a flicker of tension in Bane’s expression. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to answer. Really answer.

But then his gaze shifts toward the door, and I know exactly what’s stopped him.

He’s Spencer’s employee. Whatever he thinks, whatever he’s seen, there are lines he won’t cross. I shouldn’t be asking him to choose between loyalty and honesty.

Before the silence can stretch any further, I tighten my grip on the champagne glass. “Bane?”

His attention returns to me. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever get tired?”

One corner of his mouth twitches. It’s the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him all evening. “Constantly.”

“What do you do when it gets too much?”

His gaze drifts toward the closed door. Music filters in from the ballroom whenever someone passes in the hallway outside.

Then he shrugs. “I deal with it.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“It isn’t.”

I laugh again. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

“I’ve been informed that’s one of my more irritating qualities.”

I smile into my glass. “I can think of worse ones.”

His eyes meet mine, and somewhere in the middle of that look, the humor slips away.

“Sometimes the hard part isn’t fixing a problem. It’s watching somebody make the same mistake over and over when you already know where it’s headed.”

I turn the stem of my champagne glass between my fingers. “That sounds oddly specific.”

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. The music filtering through the walls fades into the background. So does the gala, the crowd, and everything waiting on the other side of that door.

I become acutely aware of how close he’s standing. Of the way he’s looking at me. Of the fact that neither of us seems particularly eager to end this conversation.

A crackle sounds through his earpiece. “Bane.”

He blinks, and whatever settled between us disappears.

A second later Spencer’s voice carries down the hallway. “Bane? Where the hell are you?”

Bane straightens, every trace of personal interest tucked neatly back behind professionalism. “I should go.”

“Yeah.”

He reaches for the door, then pauses at the threshold. “Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Bane.”

He nods once and disappears into the hallway.