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At first, I don’t even look up. I know he’s away on business, and he doesn’t have the most unique voice ever. It’s totally possible that the person I heard just has a similarly dark, velvety, masculine voice. Entirely possible.
Then, the voice mentions the club by name, and my ears perk up immediately.
“Yeah, Delirium has been doing well enough lately, but we’ve decided to pursue other endeavors in the business world to grow it even bigger,” says the voice with an unnaturally honeyed overtone.
I glance up, and there he is, sitting ten feet away from me, across from a blonde woman in a short pink dress. My stomach churns at the sight, and all of the blood drains from my face into my belly.
“Yeah, I was wondering what kind of business you meant by that,” the woman chirps, leaning her head on her hand and absently stirring her drink with the other.
I pick apart the woman with my eyes as my anger grows deep inside me. Her bottle-blonde hair clashes with her cheap, fake pink Versace dress that I’m sure she bought from a street vendor. She’s wearing too much jewelry, and her acrylic nails have needed a fill for at least three weeks. Her makeup is overdone and poorly blended, and her false lashes are so thick and long that she looks like a dollar store baby doll.
She’s a mess and a try-hard, but for some reason, Abram finds her to be the perfect specimen for a fancy date at a place like this.
My head spins at the sight of them. Could he really be tryingthis hardto evade me? To avoid the responsibility of caring for me emotionally after all we’ve been through together? What the fuck does she have that I don’t?
For a moment, I consider just leaving. What good would it do for me to cause a scene here, especially in the outfit I’m wearing? It would only serve to humiliate me.
But then I think about how I would feel on the way home, walking too fast as my legs shake from anger and embarrassment. I knew this was too good to be true. I knew allowing myself to fall for him was a mistake.
I get up from the blue velvet chair I’m in and storm over to him. “Abram! What the fuck is this? Who is this?! Why are you here with her?!” I hiss, choosing to compromise a less dramatic tone as long as I get to embarrass him in front of his date.
“Um, sorry, Amelia. Let me handle this,” he says, glaring up at me as he gets up, grabbing my wrist and nearly dragging me into the hallway at the far end of the dining area.
“What the fuck was that?” he growls, gripping my wrist harder as his anger grows in intensity.
Feeling his whole hand around my wrist makes me feel small, and suddenly I’ve lost the part of me that was emboldened to speak up in the first place. Now all I have left is bad excuses and shaky knees.
“Why are you on a date with someone else? I thought we had something together. You just took care of me in my bedroom for the last six weeks,” I whisper harshly, feeling self-conscious as a waiter walks by with a platter of oysters. He glances at me judgmentally, and I momentarily consider flipping the platter over onto the floor.
“I’m not on a date with her. She was one of the escorts in the service that I shut downfor you,” he replies, lowering his voice a bit and commanding control of his emotions again. “I did that so you would stop ragging on me like I’m some sort of a misogynistic asshole. I’m not. I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“Then what are you doing here with her?” I ask, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. I no longer feel fierce and dominant. I feel stupid.
“I was interviewing her for a position in a shell company that my uncle and I are starting. We’re making more cash than we can wash efficiently, so we needed to find another way to do it,” he replies.
“Oh, right, because you definitely took me out for a fancy meal when you decided to hire me. No, no, you just gave me a necklace to show me how much money you have to throw around. But you’d never spend it on me. That would be too embarrassing,” I reply angrily.
“Listen, you don’t have to believe me, but Amelia isnotmy type. She’s not smart enough to work a real job, but she doesn’t have the people skills to work at the club. Without the escort service, she’s kind of out on her ass,” he says, lowering his voice.
I pause for a moment, feeling the full weight of my stupid decision hitting me. “So… you’re not on a date?”
He sighs heavily. “No, and she’s not getting the job either. You saw her. She’s so overdone that she looks like a blowup doll. Even if the company is fake, I need it to look professional. She’s the opposite of professional.”
My confidence starts to return little by little until he opens his mouth again.
“But we’re also not dating, and you barging in here demanding to know what I’m doing while looking like a soccer mom with a Xanax addiction is a fucking embarrassment,” he continues, the agitation returning to his voice.
I want to shrink down to the size of an amoeba. I’ve completely ruined any chances of being allowed back in here, and now I’m being scolded for being too clingy and ruining something important to Abram.
“You need to finish whatever it is you’re here for and leave,” he says sternly, dropping my wrist.
Just as I’m about to burst into tears, one of the hostesses approaches me. “Cambria Hastings? Your order is ready,” she says cheerfully, completely oblivious to the atmosphere created by our argument.
I nod at her without a word, following her back to the front of the restaurant and grabbing my food.
The walk home is absolutely agonizing. Even though it’s only about fifteen minutes, it takes all my strength not to break down and sob hysterically in the middle of the sidewalk.
I want to blame my head injury for making me irrationally upset, but I need to face the truth: I’ve fallen so hard for Abram that he has control over the way that I feel, and I absolutely hate that.
