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“Well,” Johanna said, clapping her hands to command our attention, as if everyone wasn’t waiting for this conclusion of our week together. “What an incredible event. Thank you to every single one of you for making it so special.” Applause went up everywhere and I rolled my eyes. Applauding yourself for attending seemed asinine when there was an announcement actually worth making, but alright. “Thank you to our speakers.” More clapping, more irritable, anxious pacing. “To all the contestants, and especially our top five. Thank you to the wizards behind the curtain. This event wouldn’t be worth attending without our incredible IT team.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered to myself, earning a surprised side eye from one of the older attendees I’d chatted with at length. Gray, springy curls, dark skin, boring outfit and an equally bored expression. She stared at me for a moment before catching herself. But not before I grimaced and gave her an apologetic nod and wave.
Really, I was just trying to slow my breathing. It had to go to El. It’s the only thing that would make it worth it. I should’ve cared about the sound crew and camera guys, the PA’s and producers, the donors and ten million, six hundred thousand and forty-eight other fucking names she rattled off in her seemingly endless closing speech, but there was only one person—one woman—in this entire building that I gave a shit about and she was standing with her arm slung around Pierce fucking Christensen like they’d both be happy either way. Good for them. I wouldn’t be happy unless this went one way. The right way. The way that gave my Pix the money she needed to chase this big, beautiful dream of hers. She was always built for greatness, and it was time the world saw it on a much larger scale.
“Without further ado—” Fucking finally. I froze mid-stride, my fist propping my head up, elbow braced on the arm beneath it. My oxygen supply amputated abruptly, eyes locked on Johanna, praying she really had proper brain cells in that pretty head of hers and hadn’t gotten where she was based on a sex tape or some other scandalous method of acquiring fame I’d been too trusting to look into. “The winner of this decade’s Leaders’ in Thought Grant is…” Of course, they’d do a drum roll. Jesus. “Pierce and Cheyenne Christensen!”
Fuck. Me.
My eyes snapped to where I’d seen them last, though there was a dull roar of applause somewhere past the cotton in my ears. I spotted them. Right as El stopped patting his back in exchange for a tight hug with Cheyenne, that practiced, internet-approved smile on her beautiful face.
No. No. I didn’t understand. She was light years ahead of them. This didn’t make sense. This was bullshit. I wanted to demand a recount, but then they were making their way up onto the stage, and Elora was wheeling around on her heels. For a moment I thought it was toward the exit, but when her eyes found mine across the room, she froze, shoulders slumping as she offered an apologetic smile, like she was disappointed for me, instead of herself.
Of course she was.
I was in love with a saint, and she didn’t even know it.
“Honestly, I don’t know what his end goal was, but there we were, stuck bobbing in the south Pacific…”
Johanna King liked to talk. A lot. And was, evidently, immune to social cues because nothing about my grunts in response, or placid expression, seemed to tell her to please fuck off quite like I hoped they would. A handful of us had reconvened downstairs in one of the many hotel restaurants with a built-in bar, including dancing. Go figure. I wasn’t sure what was making my mood worse, the woman to my right who was incapable of catching a hint, or the woman on the dance floor letting the store-brand Chris Hemsworth run his paws all over her waist as they laughed and spun the night away celebrating his asinine victory. Seriously. Who the hell did he fuck to beat Elora?
“Have you ever been?” Johanna chirped. Blinking, I just shook my head, rotating my glass on its rim. In all honesty, I lost track of where the hell she’d been in the most recent story of grand adventures somewhere after Hawai’i. Regardless, I hadn’t really traveled much anywhere aside from Alaska, Washington, and Florida, so it was a safe wager to go with no. “Oh, you just have to make the time! It’s enchanting!” she gushed as I knocked back the last of the whiskey. A dull throb formed behind my eyes, and I wondered if one could die of defeat. Spontaneous combustion would be ideal.
All of that strategizing and running in circles for nothing. I glanced up to where Pierce and El were dancing, and she winked at me from across the room before returning to their celebrations, as if all were well with the outcome of the day.
“And the food! My God, Broderick, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Sounds amazing,” I said simply. I was about to motion for the bartender, hoping to snag my tab and get the hell out of here, but a ball of infectious energy slunk onto the stool beside me, and I didn’t have to turn to know El had just arrived.
“Miss Rhodes,” Johanna chirped cordially, “looking good out there!”
“Ahh! I’m so sweaty,” El said as she fanned herself, grinning as our eyes locked. “Pierce is relentless.”
Fucking Pierce.
“Wore her out, I’m afraid.”
I closed my eyes at the sound of his voice, working to summon enough energy to be professional with the guy feeling up my Pix all night. Attempting to mimic a neutral expression, I turned to face him.
“Broderick, my man!” he exclaimed, reaching out to grasp my hand. I hated that he felt sincere. Like he gave a flying fuck about me when I’d just been envisioning tearing him off her. Maybe breaking his face. Jameson would’ve.
“Hey, congrats,” I breathed.
“Thanks, buddy. Just gonna dance the night away, soak it up, do the whole Vegas thing before we gotta ship out to reality tomorrow morning.”
“Nice,” I said, bobbing my head and bringing my gaze back to my drink. I could feel El watching me intently, surprise pulling my attention sidelong again when he turned to our hostess.
“Miss King, I believe I owe you a dance!”
“I couldn’t leave Broderick moping alone over here,” she said, smiling in a way that made me feel wholly uncomfortable.
“I insist,” Pierce said so kindly only a psychopath would turn him down.
“I’m not moping. Go have fun,” I encouraged. “I was about to head out, anyway.”
“Boo, party pooper,” Johanna teased before smiling up at the victor himself, much to my relief. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
And just like that, they skipped off to join the crowd of strobe light infused, gyrating bodies. Knowingly, I turned on El, who was grinning victoriously. “Did you just ride to my rescue, Pix?”
