Chapter 19 Helena #2
“So I see. And you look amazing. Like, so grown-up. Come and have a drink with us.” She dragged me over to a raised platform where four or five others occupied a velvet seating area.
I wanted to say no at first—I was waiting for Pratt, after all—but then I realized that I could see the door even better from there, so I let her rope me in and present me to the group.
“Guys, you remember Helena, right? Valerie’s little sister.
” I saw a combination of confusion and excitement on their faces, but not a single one of them showed any trace of guilt.
Despite the rage I felt deep down, I greeted them affably and sat in a free space between Maddy, who was pouring champagne, and Preston Whitaker, who was just as arrogant as his name suggested.
We’d never had much to do with each other, so it was no surprise that he looked at me like he’d never seen me before.
Not that it mattered, since Maddy was soon monopolizing me.
“So how was it in England? Did you meet any of the royal family?”
That was what she wanted to know? I suppressed a snort, but I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“No,” I replied, gesturing toward my gin and tonic as Maddy offered me a glass of champagne. “And being sent into exile wasn’t much fun, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Well, you’re back now.” She pulled out her phone. “We should announce it right away. What’s the hashtag for your big return?”
I held up a hand to stop her photographing us together. “Sorry, no can do. My parents would throw a fit if they knew I was here. You know, because of all the Valerie stuff. Better if I stay incognito.”
Maddy’s eyes widened and took on a sorrowful expression.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t do more back then, you know, after Westwell—after the pair of them came to such a terrible end.
But my collab partners weren’t on board, and Valerie wouldn’t have wanted me to lose my contracts for the sake of getting into a pointless war with Trish Coldwell.
The show must go on, right? Val would have done the same thing. ”
I wanted to answer back—I was certain in their position Valerie would have been loyal.
But as I looked around the table at these people, staring at their phones and exchanging petty small talk, I didn’t know if what had existed between them and my sister had really been friendship, or more like a marriage of convenience.
I was sure about one thing, though: as much as I had wanted to be a part of this exclusive group before, I had zero interest in it now.
So as I mulled over a fitting reply, I let my gaze flit now and then to the door, and suddenly my breath caught in my throat. Not because Colton Pratt had finally graced us with his presence—but because Jessiah Coldwell had just walked into the Glowfly.
We hadn’t seen each other since I’d left his apartment that evening, a little over three weeks ago now.
I’d caught myself keeping an eye out for him at the functions I’d attended with my parents, admittedly, but no dice.
Although I don’t know what I’d have done if I had run into him.
Said sorry again? Told him, perhaps, that it was Adam’s notebook I’d stolen and not the hoodie?
Ha ha, surely not. Still, my heart hammered against my ribs when I saw him.
“Oop, there’s Coldwell the Second.” Maddy had spotted him as well. An empathetic look met mine. “Shall I get him thrown out?” she offered. “I have strong ties with the bouncers.”
I almost laughed out loud at that suggestion—I might not have seen Jessiah in the last few weeks, but I had googled him more than was good for me and had read probably every single article about him.
Almost none of them mentioned his position in the Coldwell family; most focused instead on his passion for restaurants, bars, and clubs, just like Lincoln had said.
Jessiah was clearly something of a kingmaker when it came to a venue’s success—and so he was a welcome guest in every single establishment in New York City.
Even if Maddy were the leader of the free world she’d never get anyone to kick Jessiah Coldwell out.
“No, don’t worry.” I shook my head but didn’t say anything else.
I’d never have told a soul that part of me was happy to see him, in a simple dark gray T-shirt and jeans, looking better than every other guy in the place in an expensive, extravagant outfit.
Jessiah didn’t need flashy clothes to get my attention.
He just had to exist. Since he’d apologized for his tirade against Valerie, his effect on me had grown.
Maybe because it was no longer rage that had the upper hand, but something else altogether.
He was laughing about something his friend must have said—I recognized him as Balthazar Lestrange—then he went to the bar. From there, he cast his eye around the club and almost at once, as if it was written into the script of our complicated involvement, his unerring gaze met mine.
Despite the fact it wasn’t exactly bright in the club, I thought I could see anger in his eyes. But I was still trying to force myself to break eye contact with him when he looked away, turning his back on me for good measure.
I felt a pang of dismay somewhere deep inside me. Well, what did you expect? asked a voice in the back of my mind. I had no response.
“Hey man, you’re here—finally!” Next to me, Maddy stood, and I looked up in confusion.
What with Jessiah’s arrival, I hadn’t noticed anyone else approaching our table.
The newcomer was warmly welcomed by everyone else before he finally turned to me, and my hello got stuck in my throat from pure surprise.
“Hi. We don’t know each other yet, right?” he asked, smiling at me. His dark eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“No,” I replied, offering my hand. “I’m Helena.”
“Colton Pratt.” He took my hand, still smiling. “Pleased to meet you, Helena.”