Chapter 24 Alone #2
“Feelin’ a little emotional, huh? Happens when you don’t let Ben do his fuckin’ job.” He inches back to meet my eyes, thumb grazing my cheek. “Skip the booze tonight, yeah? Keep that head of yours clear.”
The tension coming off Andrew isn’t heat—
it’s shivering cold.
Hail on bare skin.
If I see his face, I’ll know exactly what’s going through his head. And worse, he’ll see what’s going through mine.
Andrew can’t see my cracks, my weak points,
the soft spots I’ve tried to concrete over.
Or he’ll know how fucked up I really am.
My head drops.
My eyes find the floor,
then Raymond’s shoes.
Black. Shiny. Cruel.
If I bite back,
his mouth starts running and shit spills.
But if I keep my mouth shut, he’ll leave—
His hand slides off my cheek.
“If you need me, I’ll be at table twelve.”
Then his shoes step out of frame.
Only floor where he used to stand.
Andrew slides my drinks across the bar.
I reach for them without looking up.
The second my hand meets glass,
his finger comes over mine, long enough for his touch to press warmth into my skin.
Like he wants to soothe me,
be there for me in a way he can.
The stage band’s saxophone screams across the floor, waking me up.
I avoid his eyes,
grab the drinks,
and leave to find Ben.
But the second I turn,
Andrew’s gaze burns my back,
scorching his name into my spine.
Ben’s sitting with a few producers at a round table, gold chandeliers dripping light down on half-eaten shrimp cocktails.
I slide into the seat beside him.
I’m not upset, not on edge…
definitely not planning a quiet little war to piss off Andrew.
Not at all.
I glance back at the bar
through the waiters floating by with trays.
Andrew’s pouring expensive scotch into crystal.
The bar lights hit him,
throwing shadow across his jaw.
When he sets it down, he finds me instantly.
One look makes the room hush,
a pulse of silence dropping between us.
Ben moves closer,
arm falling lazy across the back of my chair.
He leans in, all perspiration and cologne.
He murmurs low in my ear.
The moment Ben brushes my hair off my shoulder, I feel Andrew simmering under my skin.
I drag my hand up Ben’s arm, the thought of Andrew seething sending a thrill down my spine.
This isn’t about making him jealous.
(Yes it is.)
But this is what happens when you hold my breath hostage for ten days.
He’s the one who chose restraint.
I’m just choosing… the opposite of restraint.
I lean into Ben,
my breath trailing down his throat,
and I press a featherlight kiss
right under his jaw.
When I pull back, I lift my glass,
brushing my bottom lip across the rim,
my gaze sliding back to Andrew.
His fingers are strangling the edge of the bar,
knuckles ghost-pale.
Ben follows my gaze, finding where my attention is pointed. “Mm. You puttin’ on a performance?”
I smirk. “Enjoying it?”
Ben chuckles,
his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“Be hotter if you were lookin’ at me when you did that, not lover boy over there.”
I turn to Ben,
my palm drifting down his thigh.
“That all you need? Some eye contact?”
Ben grins. “I’d rather feel you grindin’ on me,
“but hey—cheers.”
Then his smile fades,
eyes hardening on Andrew.
“Why the fuck’s he even here?”
I shrug, knocking the drink back to drown the mosh-pit in my chest.
“I don’t hire the staff.
“The coordinators do,” I tell him.
He sighs.
“Fuckin’ beautiful. Just what I needed.”
I squeeze his thigh.
“Be useful and grab me another drink?”
He leans back, takes me in.
Then glances over at Andrew again,
chuckling. “He’s already sweatin’. You sure you don’t wanna let him breathe a minute?”
“No,” I say, bringing his drink to my lips.
Ben’s icy-blue eyes set to dusk.
“You’re sick in the head, Baby—
“and I’m hard as fuck.”
I shrug. “Don’t worry. No one’ll notice.”
The comment slides out with a smirk.
Okay. Yeah. That one was below the belt.
Ben breathes out,
shakes his head once like I’m impossible,
then leaves.
Andrew sees him walking up,
holding steady as if it’s taking every ounce of him not to react.
His shoulders are pulled tight.
He holds there a beat too long,
then pushes off the bar.
He doesn’t greet Ben,
doesn’t look in his direction.
Ben leans into the bar with a cocky head tilt.
“Another one of those for my girl,
“if it ain’t too much trouble.”
Andrew’s whole body’s cursing—
snatching a glass,
pouring fast,
eyes burning a hole into the bartop.
Then, as he pushes the drink toward Ben,
he finally looks at me.
His gaze is fucking smoldering.
His brow lifts like—
push one more button, baby. I fuckin’ dare you.
And fuck. I hate how he can make my skin flush with only his eyes.
As the crowd moves between us,
the gala blurs to the background.
Just me, him,
and Frank Sinatra through the saxophone.
Ben grabs the drink,
smirking and glancing between us. “That pour looked personal. You good, boss?” he asks Andrew.
Andrew shakes his head. “Don’t fuckin’ talk to me, man,” he mutters, tossing a towel behind him as he walks away.
Ben chuckles, amusement all over his face on his way back to me. “Yo, he’s heated.”
I smile and take the drink, take a sip,
my gaze locked on Andrew,
not letting him breathe.
Ben sinks into the seat beside me,
sliding in close,
fingers skimming the slit of my dress.
“You good now? Had enough?” he asks.
“Not yet… Let’s see what those hands are good for.”
Ben’s grip flexes on my thigh, his grin wicked. “He’s two fuckin’ seconds from swingin’ on me.”
I cock a brow.
“Don’t tell me Jersey’s got you shook.”
He laughs under his breath
and leans in, mouth at my ear.
“Rooftop Romeo? Nah.”
His breath hits my jaw,
fingers digging deeper into my thigh.
“Afraid of what you’ll do to him? Yeah.”
His other hand climbs to the back of my neck,
giving it a gentle massage as a producer asks me about my next project.
And for the next hour,
I let Ben’s hand linger to make Andrew suffer.
I let Ben’s kiss land on my temple—
one of Andrew’s favorite spots.
I let my body melt into Ben’s touch,
let my eyes drown in Andrew as he watches,
his gaze blistering.
He’s seconds from imploding.
He’s falling apart.
I never cared much for jealousy until now.
On Andrew, it’s fucking gorgeous.
Warmth spills under my skin,
blood pumping fast,
lips tingling from the last sip.
Then Ace Ryder appears,
snatching up my hand before I can protest, flashing the giant Hawaiian grin I’ve known most of my life.
“Borrowin’ her,” he tells Ben. “She don’t got a choice.”
The horns hit—
Valerie—
and the room brightens under it.
I glance at Raymond across the floor.
He’s already watching,
judging my every move
as if I’m about to strip on the bar.
“No, no,” I shake my head,
tugging back to pull free.
Ace laughs, shaking his head, then nods.
“C’mon, it’s tradition.
“You ain’t sittin’ this one out.”
I tumble into his ear. “Raymond’s watching.”
Ace’s big brown eyes hit me.
“Fuck Raymond.”
He pulls me forward, twirls me once,
and I’m swept into a jazz line-dance Mom taught us—hips swinging low, shoulders rolling, our feet brushing heat across the floor.
It’s dirty jazz—
sliding, dipping, my hair whipping—
and when I laugh,
it comes out reckless, full-throated.
Ace feeds it, throwing me another spin,
chandelier flashing, and I steal a glance.
Andrew’s mid-pour,
whiskey flooding the glass,
not noticing that it’s overflowing.
‘Cause he can’t tear his gaze away,
a slip of wonder in his eyes, cracked with awe,
soaked in oh-fuck-I’m-done.
Then he flinches—
eyes down,
glass drowning.
Mutters “Shit” as he fumbles for a rag,
wipes it up fast.
When his eyes flick back up, this time,
there’s a laugh under his breath,
a shake of his head,
a blush crawling up his neck.
Ace yanks me back into the song,
and the band leans into our dance.
The two of us belt the next chorus,
then he breaks into a laugh through it,
our bodies knocking the rhythm out of each other, the same way Mom and I used to lose ourselves in the kitchen.
My chest aches from grinning,
and when the horn peaks,
I throw my head back
and let the song take me.
By the time I collapse into my chair,
my chest’s heaving, hair stuck to my lips.
Ace dips low by my chair, elbow on his knee.
“Girl, you forget we got studio in the morning, eh? Tomorrow we grind. Don’t go knockin’ back too many.”
I laugh into my glass, breathless.
“Says the guy who’s on a first-name basis with every bartender from here to Maui.”
He pushes up from the crouch,
arms spread wide with an island smile.
“Eh, you right, cuz. But at least when I drink,
“everybody has a good time.”
He laughs, claps Ben on the shoulder,
and disappears into the crowd.
At the bar,
Andrew’s shaking hands with Raymond
and James, Raymond’s CEO brother,
pouring amber into both their glasses.
Raymond leans in,
conversation too low for me to catch this time.
Andrew nods, jaw clenched,
eyes flicking my way for a heartbeat,
then gone.
I can’t shake the thought Raymond knows it was him on the roof—if that’s what this little powwow at the bar is about.
I’m two seconds from leaping out of my chair to shut it down, but before I have a chance to move, they break.
Raymond turns,
gaze hunting until it lands on me.
He’s coming this way,
strolling through the crowd,
slapping backs, nodding,
eyes never leaving mine.
Then he’s beside Ben,
hand on his shoulder as he leans in—
“Told the bartender to cut her off,” he says,
low enough to confine,
loud enough to gut me.
“This isn’t a playground for girls who can’t hold their drinks.”
My brows shoot up.
I glance between Raymond’s cocky smirk
and Ben’s blank face.
All Ben does is fucking nod.
It hits harder than anything Raymond could’ve said.
Which is exactly what Raymond wanted.
To prove, not only can he control me,
he can control my Boys too.
Raymond raises his whiskey,
mouth breaking into a smug grin.
“You’re supposed to be heir to Soundwave,
“not the entertainment.”
I sit there, paralyzed,