Chapter 10 #2
“I can’t wait to see them,” he says, and I realize then that his eyes have never left mine.
It’s… intense, and though it’s thirty degrees outside and my nose is frozen and my face hurts, sweat still beads on my spine, his attention keeping me hot.
“I actually wanted to ask you if you’d like to be the primary photographer for my new bar, the one breaking ground in a few months–it’s a twenty-thousand dollar payout. ”
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
He doesn't move. He doesn’t look away. His voice stays low and deep. “I’m going to have the new location feature photos from the original locations, you know, like how every Hard Rock has artifacts, I want every Velvet to link back to the flagship locations.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I’m not usually emotional when I’m drunk. My teeth chatter, despite the fact that my body is in flames beneath his coat, in his presence. “You haven’t seen my photos of the passage yet.”
His nostrils flare. “I don’t need to.”
My heart pounds, leaping into my throat, making my words hard to speak. “What if you hate them?”
“I couldn’t. I wouldn't." That’s all he says. Just like that. And then I realize he’s still holding my hand from when he guided me out here. I look at our connected hands, and swear that he squeezes mine as I do.
I blink up at him, ignoring the tear caught in my lower lashes, and the way it spills over embarrassingly.
“It’s only money,” he says, likely thinking I’m crying over the life-changing amount. I don’t really even know why I’m crying, but I shake my head, because as much as I should care and as much as I need it, I don’t care about the payday.
“It’s not about the money.” My words hang between us for a moment before Ford uses his free hand to swipe away another tear, one I hadn’t felt fall.
“What’s it about?”
I shake my head, not even aware of the words that are going to spill out of me until they do. “The way you believe in me.”
His lips part, and the entire world stops as I wait for his reply. But the patio door swings open, and I turn to see Harry, and feel myself let go of Ford’s hand.
“Julie–” Harry starts.
“Juliette,” Ford corrects, standing taller, slipping both hands into his slack pockets. “I’ve known Ms. Wilson for many years, and she prefers Juliette. Or Jules. But never Julie.”
I slide his coat off of my shoulders, and pass it back to him. His eyes come to mine, and a soft smile curls his lips, green eyes twinkling, full of life. My body aches to be pressed to his, and even though this moment is wrought with confusion and booze, still, I know I can’t go to him.
He isn’t mine.
And he doesn’t want to be.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as Harry palms my hand, holding it without weaving our fingers together the way that Ford did.
“Come on, I got you some water,” he says to me, not acknowledging Ford beyond a simple tip of his head. Ford stays outside, his coat over his arm, and the last thing I see as the door swings closed are his eyes on mine.
Inside, I face Harry, who shoves a plastic cup of ice cold water into my hand. “Come on, drink it,” he encourages, pushing wild strands of hair off my face affectionately.
“Don’t you want to know why we were out there?
” I ask, head swimming from the champagne, my voice breaking as it fights to be heard over the sudden roar of a new song.
I glance out to the last people at the rehearsal dinner–Kat, Zennie, Cade, Sutton, and Avery–and smile at their happiness, all of them dancing and drinking, enjoying life.
I look back at Harry, who's watching me.
“Aren’t you jealous that I was outside and alone with him?” I ask, feeling brave and bold, but equally angry and tired, too. Harry nudges my hand up, and I sip the water as he peers over his glasses at me, humor in his expression.
“Jealous?” he asks, his lips twitching as he battles whether or not he’d be in trouble if he laughed or not. Ford may be older, but if Harry thinks that his age makes him unattractive and someone not to be worried about, he is so wrong. And I can’t wait to tell him. But Harry, Dick and Balls…
“Juliette, Ford Mercer is… well, you’re not his type.”
I blink. The water slips from my hand and shatters into plastic shards, a piece landing atop my foot. The music plays, but I can’t hear it. Surprisingly there are no tears lingering behind my eyes.
“I thought you were going to say he’s old, but no. You didn’t do that. You went for me again.” I shake my head. “I’m taking a taxi back to my place. I don’t want to be with you tonight.”
“Jules–” he starts, and I almost stop in my tracks and give him a moment to explain himself, because he didn’t call me Julie, and that means he listened to Ford.
But calling me by my right name isn’t reason enough to run into his arms. I’m worth more than that, and the champagne and suit jacket temporarily draped over my shoulders has shown me that tonight.
Still. There’s something else that needs to be said.
Turning, I brace my hand on my forehead, and sigh. “You say these awful, cruel things to me and act like it’s okay. And it’s not.”
I walk straight toward the coat check and collect my things, ignoring his calls as I push into the evening night right where the two remaining cabs are lined up. I slide into the backseat, and give the driver my address, and close my eyes.
Ford made me feel beautiful tonight. I run my hands down my dress, and replay the way it felt to have his eyes on me.
I wish I could bottle up that warmth, and that lecherous desire he makes me feel.
When I open my eyes again, the driver is parked in front of my apartment complex, and I’m home. Harry’s car isn’t out front–he didn’t show up to apologize, or even check on me.
I trudge up the stairs and lock my door once inside, and fall asleep in my dress, the last thing on my brain before I pass out…
“You’re a showstopper in that dress, Juliette.”