Chapter 24
EVANGELINE
I’m frozen. Locked up, physically unable to move and mentally unable to formulate a response. Later, when I replay this encounter in my head, I’ll regret not slapping him.
Close to a minute has passed. I think. Maybe. All the while, I’ve been standing here, fighting back tears. Luca, on the other hand, orders another drink and examines me, supremely smug at my lack of denial.
This is an issue for me. My brain sort of glitches when I’m struggling to process my emotions.
I don’t even know where to begin unpacking his absurd, inappropriate, potentially damaging claim.
Yet just like before, there’s an edge of truth to his accusation. There’s undeniable attraction between Alaric and me. Though we’ve both worked hard to ignore and resist it.
Well, maybe not that hard.
I slept in the man’s arms two weeks ago, for crying out loud.
We had a moment that next morning, I’m sure of it.
When we were lying together in bed and he let me take his hand, I was sure he would pull me into his arms and kiss me.
His interest was clear. I don’t always pick up on subtle hints or pretenses.
There was absolutely nothing understated about the way he leaned in and focused on my lips like they held all the secrets of the universe.
Except he didn’t pull me in, and he didn’t kiss me.
He pulled back.
We resisted.
Yet here stands fucking Luca, spewing damning lies in a room full of colleagues, adversaries, and press.
Ironically, while standing here, still struggling to process the accusation and come up with a reply, I spot Alaric across the room.
He’s wearing a black dress shirt with a perfectly tailored black suit, no tie. His eyes are bright, his smile wide. He’s enigmatic, his energy palpable, clearly in team principal mode, charming the people he’s speaking to.
I remain fixated on him as my brain flounders to string even half a sentence together. It’s silly. Risky, too. If Luca turned around and followed my line of sight, it would add fuel to his unwarranted claims.
I should look away.
Yet I can’t make myself do it.
I’m so ensnared by the man across the room. I’m a mindless moth desperate for the heat of his scorching flame.
What is wrong with me?
Shaking my head, I suck in a breath, galvanizing myself, determined to finish this conversation with my asshole ex.
But then Alaric looks up.
He doesn’t look around. He doesn’t even do a double take. His attention goes straight to me.
An electric energy hums to life between us, our palpable connection buzzing.
His focus is so intense, so hot and distracting and acute, that it aches. My reaction is sharp. Carnal. Jarring enough to finally pull me out of my revery, because if I hold his gaze for a single second longer, I’ll break.
Squaring my shoulders, I scowl at Luca. “That’s a wild and untruthful claim. You don’t know shit about me,” I finally say. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” I add, trying to affect him even a fraction of the way he’s hurt me tonight.
He smirks, the smarmy bastard, then raises both eyebrows in challenge. “Probably the same thing you see in my dad. A free ride, a good head of hair, and a fat bank account.”
I hear it before I can register the sight.
Mia throws out a hand, and it connects with Luca’s cheek in an audible slap.
He recoils, clinging to the bar as if he needs the support.
Mia shrieks, eyes wide with panic. “Oh shit. Oh shit. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Come on,” I insist, finally freed from my mental lockup. “We have to get out of here.”
Grasping her arm, I lead her toward the exit as quickly as our heels will allow.
Within seconds we’re flanked by Kenji and Ren.
“Did you just bitch slap Luca Steele?” Ren asks, awe painted across their expression.
Mia lifts a hand to her chest and looks from me to Ren, her eyes growing impossibly wider.
“Yes,” she squeaks out. “I don’t know what came over me.
I’ve never slapped anyone before. I shouldn’t have done that.
He’s a fellow driver. A much more experienced driver.
Oh my god… Do you think I hurt him?” She whips her head around, frantically scanning the crowd. “I’m so screwed.”
“Breathe.” Kenji grips Mia’s shoulders. “We’ll get it sorted.”
We’re nearly to the doors that lead out of the ballroom when a peppy woman with an official Formula 1 lanyard and sleek black headset intercepts us.
“Ah. Three for the price of one. Fantastic.” She offers a cheeky grin. “I’m rounding up drivers for a group photo. To the main stage, please.”
Ren groans.
“Oh my god. We can’t leave.” Mia’s eyes dart between the three of us. “And now I have to stand next to him for pictures? Ev, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
With his arm still wrapped around Mia, Kenji gives me a knowing look. He and I silently acknowledge that, no, Mia can’t leave. More than that, though, she can’t afford to melt down at her first major sponsor event as a Formula 1 driver.
Which means I’ll be leaving alone. It’s the right move for everyone. The last thing I want is for her to jeopardize her job for me.
I give Kenji a quick nod, then survey Ren to ensure we’re all on the same page.
Mia’s the priority now. They’ll take care of her, and I can retreat to my room where I can have my own meltdown in peace.
Hold your nerve, Evan. Hold your fucking nerve.
With a bravado I don’t feel, I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Mimi.”
My words do nothing to relieve the worry lines on her forehead.
“You’re good?” Kenji asks.
I lie through my teeth for my best friend’s benefit. “Of course. I’m going to head up to my room and call it a night. Everything will be okay, Mia. Don’t fret, and text me later.” I give her a quick side hug and step back.
Kenji nods, his expression serious. “Let’s go take these damn pictures. Then we’ll find Cynthia,” he tells her. “We’ll get ahead of this. Minimize the impact.”
Cynthia, head of PR for Abrams-Rhea, is intense to the point of scary, but she’s phenomenal at what she does. It’s smart to loop her in now. If Luca is even thinking about making this into something, Mia’s team can be several steps ahead.
She sniffles, not even glancing back as Kenji and Ren lead her back into the ballroom.
I’m alone now.
It’s how I prefer it, honestly. Especially after what’s happened over the last ten minutes.
Exhaustion sets in, my shoulders slumping and my feet screaming in agony. The encounter with Luca sapped all my energy. All I want to do is get out of this dress, take a hot bath, and scrub away all the bullshit of this night.
I wasn’t prone to elopement as a child, but I swear the urge to leave is always hanging out in the back of my mind. It’s especially strong after I’ve frozen up or stalled like I did tonight. As if fleeing a scene will compensate for my inability to react in the first place.
Hands balled into fists, I stride down the hall with a single destination in mind: my room.
The silence near the elevators is a relief. I hit the button to call the car, tip my head up, and hold my breath.
The familiar sting in my nose and the burn behind my eyes warn me that it’s possible I’ll well and truly break before I make it up to my room. I’d much rather have my meltdown in private, thank you very much. Luckily, the elevator comes quickly and is empty.
Once I’ve scanned my room key and hit the button for the twenty-fourth floor, the gold doors slide shut, revealing my reflection in their shiny surfaces.
They’re only inches apart when a suit-clad arm darts between them, and they spring open.
“Hold it right there.” The voice is deep. Sharp. Familiar.
I slump against the wall of the elevator, defeated. Though before the doors can fully reopen, I force myself to stand up straight and gather my composure.
It doesn’t matter how shitty I feel right now or how much of a mess I am on the inside. I refuse to earn an emotional hat trick by having a third meltdown in front of Alaric Steele.
So I keep my gaze cast down, determined to hold it together as he squeezes into the small space.
If only I were good at hiding my emotions. My inability is ironic, really, since I’m not always good at expressing myself either. Instead of trying to cover up the war raging inside me, I focus on ignoring Alaric completely, channeling the myriad of emotions roiling inside me into one: anger.
Turns out, it’s not that hard to do.
I am angry. At Luca. For being such a fucking asshole.
I’m angry that he’s inside the ballroom right now, enjoying the party I was excited to attend, potentially running his mouth about me.
Why did I date him in the first place? The way I disrespected myself for a man who didn’t love me makes my blood boil.
It only bubbles more violently when I consider that he may not have even liked me.
His words echo in my head, bringing with them a wave of shame.
I’m furious that he said those things to me, and I’m ashamed I couldn’t react quickly enough.
That I let my friend fight my battle for me.
Mostly, though, my anger revolves around the man who just stepped into the elevator.
I hate that I’m physically attracted to Alaric almost as much as I hate that he’s the most kind, considerate man I’ve ever met.
I despise the knowledge that if the circumstances were different, we might have a real shot at a connection.
It’s a dagger to the heart—the truth that nothing can happen between us.
I’m angry at the world, myself, and—undeservingly—him.
“Hey.” He checks over his shoulder. Confirming that we’re alone, I’m sure. Then he hits the close-door button.
He doesn’t scan his room key. Or select a floor.
Once we’re sealed inside the car, he turns to me and leans closer. “Are you okay? I didn’t see everything, but I saw—”
“I’m fine.” I wave one hand, averting my eyes.
Be angry, Evan. Get mad and stay mad.
If I allow myself to accept compassion from this man, I’ll unravel.