“You’ve been staring at her all night, you know. Why don’t you just go over? There’s no rule saying you can’t fraternize with guests. Sample the goods before you purchase.” He leans back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.
I hook my thumb over my shoulder to where Callie stands, likely berating a member of the event staff, if the distraught look on her face is any indication. “Are you saying I should risk her wrath?”
He shrugs. “No, I’m saying that if you aren’t going to buy the girl’s evening, someone else is.”
His comment has me sitting forward, clamping my palms down over my knees as my eyes find the girl again. White-hot jealousy rips a fiery path up my spine, making my stomach clench around itself as a tall man with silver hair approaches her, his hand reaching up to grip her bare shoulder.
Every fiber of my being wants to rip it clean off his arm. Maybe grind it down into mush and feed it to him.
Would serve him right for breathing the same air as someone as exquisite as she is.
A sharp pang tears through my chest, possessiveness unlike I’ve ever known rearing its head inside me. It slithers like slime along my tendons, coating them in thick darkness and damn near pushing me across the room.
My fingers tighten around the armrests of my chair, and I feel a couple of the calluses marring my palm split open from the pressure. The man says something that makes the girl laugh, and I grit my teeth against the urge to do something stupid.
I’m practically vibrating with anger, my insides clenching so hard it feels like I might pass out. My hands shake where they’re clutching the seat, nausea rolling up through my stomach like a cloud of smoke, desperate to be set free.
Even an act as natural as breathing becomes labored the longer I watch the two interact.
I pull my eyes from the bar and push onto wobbly feet. A dense fog collects in my mind as I try to ignore the emotions battling inside me, and I suck in a deep breath, steadying myself.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke.”
Liam sighs, rubbing at his clean-shaven jaw. “Your mother’s going to ask where you went.”
“So, lie.” I reach down, patting his cheek once, twice, adding a bit of extra oomph with the second one. “That’s what I hired you for.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, shoving my hand away. “But I’m putting a bid on something for you. You’re not gonna make me look bad, too.”
I pause, my throat thick as I stare out into the crowd again. My heart thumps like a wild animal against my ribs, painful in its revolt, and my gaze flickers to the girl again.
This time, she is looking; no, that’s not quite the right word.
She’s watching. Pointedly turning away from the man at her side to stare me down across the room.
I can’t see the exact shade of her eyes, but I feel the weight of their acknowledgment.
It stabs at something in my chest, poking at the crazed organ inside, and I reach up to absently rub the spot, unable to tear myself from her sight.
“Her,” I say, tipping my chin. “Bid on her.”
3
I’m starting to remember why I don’t go out much.
The man at my side—supposedly a senior investor at some Wall Street firm he refuses to name—leans into me for the third time since sitting down, running his pudgy index finger along the rim of my empty champagne glass.
“It just isn’t right for a little lady as stunning as yourself to sit here alone all night,” he says in a low voice that I feel against my hair.
He’s been scooting toward me in tiny increments as if I can’t tell he’s just trying to get a better angle of my cleavage in this dress.
My discomfort grows tenfold, and I’m cursing myself for not putting up more of a fight when Aurora and Mellie gave me this dress. But I didn’t feel like arguing, and I’d already made them late having to apply my own makeup.
Mellie wanted to, but there was no way she’d be able to cover the scar on my cheek as well as I’ve learned to.
I offer the man a thin smile, well versed in the art of warding off creeps. That was my mother’s favorite brand, after all.
“Like I’ve said, I’m not alone. My friends are in the bathroom.”
His lips purse, and I lean back on my stool to do a quick sweep of the ballroom, wondering where the hell my “friends” have disappeared to. The second we arrived and got our tickets, Mellie and Aurora made themselves scarce.
Presumably, to mingle and look at auction items they might be able to afford, but part of me can’t help feeling purposefully abandoned.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve left the building entirely. Probably slipped out the same time Aiden James did, hoping to get close to him.
Warmth floods my cheeks at the memory of our gazes colliding just moments ago; I’m still not even sure if it was me he appraised from the stage across the room, but it felt nice to temporarily entertain that idea.
The distance between us made it easier to pretend. From his vantage point, there’s no way he’d have been able to see my scars, or the anxiety threading through my nerves.
That was the most exciting thing to happen all night.
At my side, the man inches even closer, his breath coasting over my jawline as he blatantly gapes at my chest.
My opposite hand creeps up my sternum, fingers grasping at my neckline, pulling the skintight material as far over my cleavage as it will go. This, Riley. This is what Boyd warned you about.
The man reeks, like stale booze and popcorn, and apprehension coils tight in my stomach, though I can’t pinpoint the exact cause.
It’s always this way when I’m around strangers, though—a numbing sensation of unease holding my insides with an iron-clad grip, refusing to let go or tell me why I feel this way.
Deep down, I know it has to do with the assault from two years ago. The fact that I can’t remember anything about it, though, is what tortures me the most.
But it wasn’t always like this.
Once upon a time, I was blissfully ignorant of how the world can break a person.
Now, awareness sits like a brick in the core of my being, alerting my body to danger. But the memories are hazy, frayed at the ends, and I can never latch on to them long enough for my brain to process fully.