“Oh.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s it.”
“That’s definitely it. Speaking of which, how is your wife?” I slowly pulled my wrist away from his grasp. “Her name is Sharon, right?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “She left me, but Shhhh! Don’t print that. No one knows yet.”
“My roommate is over there waiting for me.” I started to step back. “I need to—”
“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist again, much harder this time, his fingers pressing deep into my skin. “Were you shitting me about the interviewing me when you were a journalist thing?”
I shook my head. I remembered that awkward encounter all too well. A full day interview where he and his father, unsurprisingly, fed me rehearsed answers about Elite. After blowing off the interview three times in a row, they gave me answers I could’ve found on Wikipedia and turned a simple profile project into an absolute nightmare.
“Did you ask us how this amazing airline was really built?” He grabbed a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray and tossed it back. “Did you ask us how we really started this, by chance?”
“With all due respect, everyone already knows the answer to that.” It was embedded in the history books as the ultimate Cinderella story.
“No.” He shook his head, his speech slurred. “Everyone just thinks they do. Come home with me and I’ll give you the exclusive…You have to swallow, though, I’m clean, so no condoms.” He looked me right in my eyes, giving me a familiar look that reminded me of someone else. “I just hate confirming the lies year after year at these parties…I’m getting very tired. Very old and tired…”
I was slightly curious as to what he meant by ‘confirming the lies,’ but minutes ago he’d claimed that he invented Starbucks coffee machines so I knew this was just the liquor talking.
I started thinking of another excuse to get the hell away from him, but a blonde stepped between us and took his hand—whispering into his ear.
“He’s here?” he asked her, his eyes wide. “He actually came?”
The woman nodded.
“Where?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked away.
Without saying another word to me, he turned away and followed her into the crowd.
Relieved, I headed to the other side of the hangar, in desperate need of some space. I pushed my way through the guests and past the packed restrooms. Noticing a “Silent Auction” sign hanging above a door, I stepped inside a room full of glass cases and mirrored walls.
The curator immediately handed me a blue sheet of bidding paper and smiled. Then, as if she knew I wasn’t in here to bid on anything, she rolled her eyes and whispered, “You came here to check on your makeup, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m just trying to get some space.”
“Sure.” She pursed her lips and snatched the blue paper from my hands. “You can ‘get some space’ on the far side of the room for twenty minutes. Then you need to get out.”
“Thank you.” I stepped away and stared at my reflection.
Even though there were small bags under my eyes, Meredith had done wonders with my makeup. The second I told her my flight was diverted and there was a gala tonight, she’d insisted on dressing me from head to toe.
Although I still wasn’t sure about the revealing green dress she’d made me wear, the bronze glittering eye shadow and bright pink lipstick were nothing short of amazing.
I dug through my clutch for the lipstick and suddenly heard the sound of glass shattering onto the floor.
“What the hell? You can’t just barge in here, sir!” The curator gasped. “Sir, you have to get out. Now.”
My head snapped up and I saw a red-faced Jake through the mirror’s glass. His eyes met mine in the reflection.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He bellowed.
I looked back at him, completely confused. The few guests that were in the room headed for the door, murmuring their shock.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gillian?” He repeated, even louder this time.
“Excuse me?” I spun around.
“I didn’t stutter.” He gritted his teeth and walked over to me. “Why the hell were you talking to Evan Pearson?”
Shaking her head, the curator picked up her brochures and left the room, leaving the two us alone.
I wasn’t sure why he was glaring at me right now but my blood was beginning to boil at his rude ass intrusion. “I’ll talk to you when you calm down,” I said. “Whenever you realize who you’re talking to.”
“I’m talking to you.” He hissed. “And I’m talking about Evan Pearson, someone I need you to never, ever talk to again.” He stepped closer, pressing me against the wall. “But since you’ve already done it, I need you to tell me why the fuck you were talking to him, and I need you to explain it right now.”
“I wasn’t talking to him. He approached me when I got here, insisted on getting a dance, and telling me stupid jokes.”
“You expect me to believe that shit?” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I don’t care what you believe.” I felt my face turning red. “And I don’t have to explain anything to you. Do you really think you can tell me who I can and can’t talk to?”
“When it comes to certain people, yes.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, Jake,” I said, feeling angrier than I’d ever felt before. “But you don’t own me.”
“I’m aware.” His forehead touched mine and he slid a hand under my dress and between my thighs, tapping my bare pussy with his fingertips. “But I’m pretty sure, for however long our arrangement lasts, that I do own this.”
My breathing slowed as he pressed his thumb directly against my clit, but I didn’t back down.
“Our arrangement only covers sex with other people, not conversations with other people.”
“Is that so?” He moved his hand away, leaving my pussy throbbing. “Do we need to add a common sense clause about not letting other people put their hands on you and you fucking laughing about it?”
“He’s the CEO’s son, Jake. The press was watching his every move. What was I supposed to do?”
“Before or after he tried to fuck you?” He damn near shouted. “Do what you do to me so easily, walk away.”
“That’s your specialty, not mine.” I felt the sudden urge to slap him. “He was drunk and I was simply being nice in entertaining him.”
“You can be nice to anyone but him. As of this moment, he no longer exists to you, so don’t say as much as one word to him again.”
“When I see him on my way out, I’ll be sure to say goodbye. I might even say, ‘Nice seeing you again’.”
“Then consider this arrangement over.”
“Because I talked to Evan Pearson?” I was on the verge of losing it. “Because you feel like he’s some type of threat?”
“Because he’s my goddamn brother.” He said it so loudly that the woman who’d just walked into the gallery stopped dead in her tracks.