Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Hannah
By nine o'clock, I'm actually having fun.
That's the thought running through my head as Bennett introduces me to another partner from the firm—a woman named Diane who immediately compliments my dress and asks where I got it.
We talk about shopping in Silver Lake versus the city, and she's warm and genuine, laughing at my story about accidentally buying the wrong size shoes online and having to walk around the coffee shop in heels two sizes too big for an entire shift.
Bennett's hand stays on the small of my back the whole time, a steady presence that grounds me. Every so often he glances down at me with this look—proud, affectionate, like he can't quite believe I'm here with him. It makes my chest feel tight in the best way.
"You're a natural," he murmurs in my ear after Diane excuses herself.
"I'm really not," I say, but I'm smiling. "I'm just being myself."
"Exactly." He kisses my temple. "That's all you ever need to be."
I lean into him, letting myself believe it. Maybe I do belong here. Maybe all those fears about not fitting into his world were just in my head. Everyone's been so welcoming, so kind. Even the people who intimidated me at first—like Patricia Hendricks—turned out to be genuinely lovely.
A few minutes later, Bennett introduces me to Marcus Smith, one of the firm's biggest clients. He owns a tech company downtown and has the kind of easy confidence that comes from building something successful from nothing.
"So you're the famous Hannah," Marcus says, shaking my hand warmly. "Bennett hasn't stopped talking about you since the coffee incident."
I laugh. "I hope he's been kind in his retellings."
"Very kind. Though he did mention you have excellent aim."
"Only when I'm not paying attention," I say. "Which, to be fair, happens more often than I'd like to admit."
Marcus grins. "I like her already. Bennett, you should bring her to the charity auction next month. My wife would love to meet her."
"We'll be there," Bennett says, his hand tightening slightly on my waist.
We talk for a while about Marcus's company, and I find myself genuinely interested, asking questions about the tech industry and what it's like running a startup. Marcus seems impressed by my curiosity, and by the time he excuses himself, I feel lighter. More confident.
"See?" Bennett says quietly. "You're perfect."
I look up at him, and for the first time tonight, I actually believe it. I'm not just surviving this event—I'm thriving. These people like me. They're treating me like I belong here, like I'm not just Bennett's girlfriend but someone worth knowing in my own right.
Bennett's colleague from earlier, the one who teased him about the coffee spill, approaches with his wife. "Hannah, you've got to tell Claire the story. She doesn't believe me that Bennett actually laughed when you dumped an entire latte on him."
I laugh and launch into the story again, embellishing the details about how much coffee actually ended up on his suit. Claire is delightful, asking questions and gasping at all the right moments. By the time I finish, we're both laughing so hard we're wiping tears from our eyes.
"I knew there was something special about you the moment Richard told me," Claire says, squeezing my hand. "Anyone who can make Bennett laugh like that is a keeper."
My cheeks warm. "He makes it easy."
Bennett pulls me closer, his arm sliding around my waist. "I'm the lucky one."
We talk for a few more minutes before Claire mentions needing to find the restroom. "I'll come with you," I say, grateful for the excuse to freshen up. My feet are starting to hurt in these heels, and I could use a moment to catch my breath.
Bennett kisses my cheek. "I'll be right here."
I follow Claire through the crowd, weaving between clusters of people in elegant suits and cocktail dresses. The venue is beautiful—high ceilings, chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. It's the kind of place I never imagined myself being, and yet here I am, holding my own.
As we walk, I think about how far I've come.
A month ago, I was terrified of this exact moment.
Terrified that I'd show up and everyone would see right through me—see that I'm just a barista from a small town who doesn't belong in Bennett's world.
But tonight, I've proven myself wrong. I've talked to partners, clients, even Patricia Hendricks, and they've all been kind.
Welcoming. They've treated me like I matter.
Maybe I was wrong about everything. Maybe I do belong here after all.
Claire and I chat easily as we walk, and when we reach the restroom, she heads inside while I wait in the small lounge area just outside. There's a velvet bench against the wall and a large mirror, soft lighting that makes everything feel warm and intimate.
I'm checking my reflection, smoothing down my dress, when I hear voices from inside the restroom. The door didn't close all the way behind Claire, and sound carries easily in the quiet hallway.
"Did you see Bennett's girlfriend?" a woman's voice says, light but pointed.
They can't be talking about me.
"I know," another voice responds with a soft laugh. "It's sweet, really. But I just don't see them lasting."
My hand freezes on my dress.
They are.
"They're in completely different worlds," the first woman continues. "I mean, look at the women he usually dates. Lawyers, executives, people who understand his life. And she's..."
A pause.
"A barista," the second woman finishes gently, like she's trying to be kind about it. "It's cute now, but once the novelty wears off..."
"Exactly. He'll realize eventually."
My throat closes. I forget how to swallow.
"She seems nice enough," the first woman says, almost apologetic. "But let's be honest—she's just a phase."
Just a phase.
The words echo in my head, louder than anything else.
Just a phase. Just a phase. Just a phase.
My fingers tighten around my clutch so hard the metal clasp digs into my palm. The music from the main room—the soft jazz that had been playing all evening—disappears completely. I don't hear it anymore. I don't hear anything except those four words looping endlessly.
Just a phase.
My nails bite crescents into my palms through the fabric of my clutch. The pain is sharp and grounding, but it doesn't stop the spiral.
He'll see it eventually. He'll wake up one day and realize what everyone else already knows—that I'm temporary. That this was never going to last. That I was just something fun and different until he found someone real.
I force myself to move, turning away from the restroom and walking quickly down the hallway. My legs feel unsteady, like they might give out at any moment. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. Each inhale feels shallow, insufficient.
Just a phase. Just a phase.
I find a quiet corner near the coat check and press my back against the wall. My hands are still shaking. I clasp them together, but it doesn't help. My palms are clammy, slick with sweat.
They're right. Of course they're right.
What was I thinking? That I could just show up here and charm my way into Bennett's world? That people wouldn't notice I don't belong? That I'm not like them—not educated enough, not successful enough, not enough?
Just a phase.
The words won't stop. They circle in my head, relentless, confirming every fear I've tried to bury since the moment Bennett first asked me out.
I need to get back to him. I need to pretend everything's fine. Maybe if I can just make it through the rest of the night, I can fall apart later, alone, where no one has to see.
I push off the wall and walk back toward the main room, forcing my shoulders back, my chin up. My heart is still racing, my hands still trembling, but I shove it all down. I can do this. I can fake it for a few more hours.
Bennett is exactly where I left him, talking to Richard and another partner. When he sees me, his face lights up, and the guilt hits me so hard I almost stumble.
"There you are," he says, reaching for me. "I was starting to worry."
His hand closes around mine, and I feel the tremor in my fingers. I try to pull away, but he holds on, his brow furrowing.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile. "Just needed a minute."
He studies me, his eyes searching mine. "You sure? You look pale."
"I'm fine." My voice comes out too tight, too high. I clear my throat and try again. "Really. I'm fine."
But I'm not fine. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. My hands are shaking in his, and no matter how hard I try to steady them, they won't stop. My throat feels tight, like there's a hand wrapped around it, squeezing.
Bennett's thumb brushes over my knuckles, and the tenderness of the gesture makes my chest ache. "Hannah?—"
"I think I need to go," I blurt out. "I'm not feeling great."
His expression shifts immediately to concern. "Okay. Let me grab our coats."
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "You should stay. This is your event. You're one of the owners. You have to be here." I pull my hand free. The loss of his touch hits hard. "I'll just grab an Uber."
"Hannah, I'm not letting you leave alone." His voice is firm, but worry sits heavy in his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong." I dig my phone out of my clutch and open the app. "I just need to go. Please."
He stares at me for a long moment. Confusion and hurt flicker across his face. "Did something happen?"
"No. I just—" My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. "I need to go home. The Uber's already here."
He opens his mouth like he wants to argue. Then he looks at the screen over my shoulder, sees the car already marked as arrived outside, and his jaw tightens.
"Hannah."
"Stay," I say, softer this time. "Please. People will notice if you leave. It's your firm. I'll be fine."
He holds my gaze for another beat, then lets out a short breath and nods once. "Okay. But I'm walking you out."
He takes my hand again and leads me through the crowd toward the exit. Every step feels heavy. People are still laughing, still talking, still living their elegant lives, and I feel like I'm watching it all from behind glass.
Outside, the night air hits cool against my skin. The black car is already idling at the curb. Bennett opens the back door for me, then turns and cups my face with both hands.
He kisses me, slow and careful, like he's trying to put something back together that just cracked. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
"I'll come by as soon as this is over," he says quietly. "I don't care how late it is."
I nod because if I speak I'll fall apart right here on the sidewalk.
He helps me into the car, leans in one more time to brush his mouth against my temple, then shuts the door. The driver pulls away. I watch Bennett stand there on the curb until the car turns the corner and I can't see him anymore.
Inside my apartment I lock the door and lean against it, chest heaving. My phone buzzes in my clutch. I pull it out with trembling fingers.
Bennett: Please talk to me. Tell me what happened.
I stare at the screen, throat tight. I can't do this. Not right now. Not when those words are still looping in my head.
Me: I'm fine. Just tired. I'll text you tomorrow.
Bennett: Hannah, you're not fine. I can tell something's wrong. Please let me help.
Me: There's nothing to help with. I just need to sleep.
Bennett: Did someone say something to you? At the event?
My hands are shaking so hard I can barely type.
Me: No. Everything was great. I'm just not feeling well.
Bennett: I don't believe you.
Me: Bennett, please. I just need space right now.
There's a long pause.
Bennett: Okay. But I'm here when you're ready to talk. Always.
The words make my chest crack open. I close my eyes and the tears finally come.
Me: I know. I'm sorry.
I don't wait for his response. I shove my phone into my clutch and sink onto the couch, still in my dress. My phone keeps buzzing—more texts from Bennett, each one more worried than the last—but I can't bring myself to read them.
Just a phase. Just a phase. Just a phase.
I kick off my shoes and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The apartment feels too quiet, too empty. I can still hear those women's voices, still hear the way they dismissed me like I was nothing.