5. #3
His expression is composed—professional, neutral—but his eyes are aware.. Like he's noticing the tension in my shoulders the way he would in his office. Like he's reading me in a room I can't control.
I force a small smile. The polite one.
The public one.
"Hi, Dr. Lennox," I say softly. "How have you been?"
His mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile, more like recognition. "Naomi." He nods once. "I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm good," I answer automatically.
He doesn't call it out.
He doesn't say you missed two appointments.
He doesn't say the last time we spoke on the phone you insinuated you were thinking of doing something irreversible.
He keeps it clean.
Polite and safe.
The bartender places his drink down.
Grant's fingers close around the glass, but his eyes stay on me.
"Will we be seeing you at the office anytime soon?" he asks, voice low enough that it feels private even in public.
My stomach tightens.
I give a half-hearted smile—just enough to pass. "I'm not sure. My schedule has been hectic."
I couldn't think of a way to tell him I wouldn't be going back.
Grant nods as if he expected that. "No pressure," he says gently. "We'll be there whenever you're ready."
There's something about the way he says whenever you're ready that makes my throat tighten.
I glance over my shoulder without meaning to.
Rodney is across the room, head thrown back in laughter, hand on a donor's shoulder.
Grant's eyes follow where I look.
He sees him immediately.
Then his gaze returns to my face.
He doesn't ask questions.
He doesn't say anything.
But something in his expression shifts—subtle, quick—like he understands more than I've ever told him.
"Isabel told me the same thing when I ran into her," I said with a shy smile.
"Speaking of Isabel I haven't seen her around since we got here. Probably somewhere hiding."
I open my mouth, about to say something then I feel a familiar hand.
Warm.
Heavy.
Settling on the small of my back.
My posture straightens so fast it's automatic, spine snapping into place as if my body has been trained by years of consequences.
Rodney's presence fills the space behind me before his voice does.
"Naomi," he says warmly, as if we're a love story.
Grant's face changes in an instant—so small a normal person wouldn't notice it, but I do.
A blink.
A tightening.
And then he slips a poker face on, smooth as silk.
Grant turns, extending his hand with controlled ease. "Mr. President."
Rodney studies him for a beat too long before shaking it.
"Doctor," Rodney replies, smile polite, eyes sharp. "Congratulations are in order, I assume. I hear you're one of the committee members tonight."
Grant nods. "Yes, sir."
Rodney's hand slides from my back to my waist. The squeeze looks affectionate to anyone watching.
It is not.
Rodney's gaze flicks between us—me, then Grant—like he's assembling a puzzle.
He smiles wider.
The smile he uses when he's about to test you.
"I'd introduce you to my wife," Rodney says, voice light, "but it looks like you two were already getting acquainted."
My mouth opens.
My mind scrambles.
I can't lie fast enough. I can't tell the truth at all.
In the half-second I hesitate, Rodney's eyes narrow like he's pleased to have found a crack.
"Do you know each other?" he asks.
The question is casual.
The trap is not.
I inhale, ready to force words out—
Grant steps in smoothly, voice calm. "No," he says easily. "It's our first time meeting."
Rodney's gaze sharpens. "Is that so."
Grant nods, unbothered. "My phone died," he adds without missing a beat, "and I was just asking her for the time."
It's simple.
Normal.
So normal it almost makes me dizzy.
Rodney's eyes flick to me again, searching.
I smile softly and lift my phone slightly, playing along. "Yes," I say, voice light. "He needed the time."
Rodney's hand tightens around my waist as if my body is the receipt he'll keep.
Then, like the universe wants to complicate everything, Isabel appears at Grant's side.
"Grant," she says, cheerful. "Ready to go?"
She smiles at me immediately—bright, genuine.
Then her gaze flicks to Rodney.
And for the first time all night, I notice it clearly.
Isabel doesn't acknowledge him.
Not with a greeting. Not with a title. Not with the wide-eyed respect everyone else performs.
Just nothing.
Grant's eyes flick to her—warning, quick—then back to Rodney, poker face still flawless.
"Yes," Grant says, calm. He turns slightly toward Rodney again. "We're heading out. Congratulations on the win, Mr. President."
Rodney nods, still studying him like he's filed the interaction away for later.
Grant inclines his head to me. "Naomi."
The way he says it isn't intimate.
But it feels like a tether.
I nod once, small. "Good night."
Grant and Isabel walk away together, disappearing into the thinning crowd.
I watch them longer than I should.
Rodney's fingers squeeze my waist hard enough to bruise.
"Come," he murmurs, still smiling.
I turn back toward him, smile already fixed in place.
But inside, something has shifted.
Because now Rodney has a new name in his world.
And Grant Lennox has a face in mine.