The glass in my hand tips forward and I watch in what feels like slow motion as the amber liquid splashes down the front of Asher’s perfectly pressed shirt. Gasps ripple through the people nearby. Emmy’s mouth goes slack, her eyes wide.
Asher freezes, blinking down at the dripping mess on his chest. A small part of me, the remaining whisper of logic I still have, reminds me that this wastechnicallythe plan, but guilt still churns unpleasantly in my stomach.
Everyone in the vicinity is staring at us, waiting for either me or Asher to make the next move. I take a deep breath. No turning back now, I suppose. I may as well go all the way.
‘I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again?’ My voice comes out as a hiss and I make sure to project loud enough to carry over the music and slice right through the sound of any conversation.
More heads turn.
Heat scorches my cheeks.
Mortified is not a strong enough word for what I’m feeling right now.
Asher’s eyes snap to mine and for half a heartbeat I think I’ve broken him. Then the warmth from earlier disappears, his jaw tightens, and he steps into the role like he was born for it.
‘You think I wanted to bump into you?’ His words are like glass and his voice drips with disdain. ‘Trust me, Imani, the last thing I want is to waste another second on you.’
The words hit harder than they should and even though I know they’re not real, my chest still squeezes painfully.
He tosses a look of pure disgust my way and then storms off into the crowd. The people around us start to murmur and I want to sink into the floor.
‘Imani!’ Emmy’s hand lands on my arm, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Oh myGod, are you okay? What wasthat?’
I force my lips into a trembling smile. ‘I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.Really.’
But it’s not fine. Not even close. My heart is simultaneously racingandfeels like it’s been caved in.
Emmy pulls me into a comforting hug, speaking a hundred miles a minute, but I’m not paying attention. I can still feel the ghost of Asher’s warmth against my waist even as the sting of his words echoes in my head.
It was fake, I remind myself as Emmy guides me back towards our table.An act. It wasn’t real.
So why do I hate myself for the look on his face when I threw that drink?
CHAPTER EIGHTAsher
It feels like every single pair of eyes in the room are on me and I can’t blame them.
The last thirty seconds are playing on a loop in my mind. One moment, Imani is in my arms, her soft curves pressed against me as I steady her and keep her from falling. The next, her drink – a pink, fruity concoction – is being splashed over my front and she’s staring at me like I’m a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe.
It wasn’t real, I remind myself as I purposely avoid Teddy’s questioning gaze and dip through a set of double doors that lead me to the restrooms. It was just an act. This is what we wanted to happen. This was the plan.
Sort of.
Really, the plan was to just start sowing the seeds of a failed relationship and a lingering bitterness that’s only grown over the last ten years. I wasn’t expecting to have toput it into action so soon. And I definitely wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty when push came to shove.
I open the bathroom door and step inside. It’s blissfully empty, so I can drop the façade of looking furious and irritated. I lean against the basin and assess the damage in the mirror. My shirt is damp, there’s a light pink stain blossoming on the front of it, and I smell vaguely of peach and something sickly sweet.
As I drag a paper towel across the sticky mess on my chest, accomplishing nothing except spreading it further, I wonder if this whole thing is finally about to blow up in my face. I’ve agreed to go along with Imani’s plan under the belief that, ultimately, my father won’t care about some more bad press but I don’t think it really occurred to me just how committed Imani would be to seeing this through.
I thought at most we’d shoot each other glares from across the room and maybe whisper thinly veiled insults about each other. But Imani does everything wholeheartedly, including this.
The memory of her lips parting in surprise as I snapped back at her forces itself into the forefront of my mind, and that sharp sensation of guilt stabbing my stomach rears its ugly head again.
Trust me, Imani, the last thing I want is to waste another second on you.
Logically, I know that she’s well aware that I didn’t mean it and that it was all part of the act. But I can’t get the image of her face crumpling out of my mind. I’m starting to wonderif maybe I played the villain role a little too well. Which is technically a good thing, I remind myself over and over again. It’s good that I looked like a complete ass. It’s good that it looks like Imani hates me with every fibre of her being. It’s even better that everyone saw and that they’re all whispering about us already.
The more it seems like we’re on the same page and I’m committed to this plan, the less likely it is she’ll hate my guts when it inevitably falls through.
