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Chapter Seven
Aaron bumpedthe woman’s knee as he squeezed past, muttered an apology and tried to control the jolt of pain that shot through his temples.
He was seriously late. The room was full. And he had the mother of all hangovers. He slumped onto the only spare chair in the packed-out venue, which happened to be in the middle of a row in the middle of the room, and tried to drown out Oliver’s voice.
It grated on his ears like nails down a blackboard, reminding him of school assemblies when he’d had to block out his brother’s smug Head Boy addresses and keep his head down to avoid the teacher’s frowns that clearly said, “Why can’t you just be more like Oliver?”
Aaron jolted in his seat. He hadn’t thought of that period in his life for years. Not since uni, in fact. Probably the lack of sleep this last week, tying up all the loose ends on the workers’ compensation case he’d been handling with Fishers. They’d bled every last drop out of him and he’d crawled out of the office close to midnight and grabbed a takeaway before dropping into an exhausted sleep.
He’d decided to make up for it last night, though. And hell, was he paying the price now.
“… Investment in renewables is at an all-time high and their future has never looked brighter or, for that matter, more urgent. Millennials get this, investing more than…”
Aaron transcribed “blah-de-blah-blah blah” over Oliver’s voice. He dropped his chin to his chest, crossed his arms to stem the nausea barrelling around his stomach, and cast a glance at the row in front.
And froze.
Polly freakin’ Fletcher. He’d know those curls anywhere—a fountain of tiny black corkscrews cascading off her head and down her back. And next to her… Fuck.
Alice. His stomach lurched. Not the Alice he was used to, either, hair neatly tugged into one of those hair scrunchies she always wore; oh no, this was the new shiny version of Alice, glossy deep chestnut hair falling straight and heavy around her shoulders. Without even thinking, he leaned sideways to try and see if she had her glasses on. The woman next to him shot him a you-are-invading-my-personal-space look.
He couldn’t blame her. He’d dragged on his crumpled black jeans from last night and a T-shirt that had been in a basket of unironed but hopefully clean clothes.
He probably still smelled of bourbon and coke.
He could hardly fumble in his pocket for a mint, either—she’d definitely think he was trying to grope her. Who made chairs this small and put them so close together? Someone with an extremely poor understanding of personal boundaries, obviously.
And why couldn’t he stop gawking at Alice? He tried but he couldn’t seem to control his eye muscles.
A guy seated three down from him let out a loud chortle. Had Oliver actually cracked a joke? Alice’s head swivelled to look at the guy, a smile hovering on her lips.
Nope, no glasses. Big Bambi eyes. Kiss me eyes. Eyes she wasn’tallowedto have.
And then he did the dumbest thing. He lifted his hand and gave her a wave.
It must have caught in her peripheral vision because her head twisted that bit further and their eyes met.
Her smile widened—he guessed it was a smile. To be honest, her mouth opening and shutting like that was more reminiscent of a goldfish. Then her head snapped to the front.
Aaron hunkered his elbows onto his knees and sank his head into his hands.
Before he knew it, a loud round of applause thundered in his ears. He hadn’t registered a word of Oliver’s presentation because his addled brain had been trying to work out a damage-control strategy. His inclination was to run, but that would look weird, particularly now Alice had spotted him. He stood up abruptly; the woman next to him was still seated, talking to her friend. He sat down again and rifled a hand through his hair. The wait was killing him.
Glancing up, he spotted Dad and Andrea at the front with a group of people lined up for book signings. He had a vision of vaulting over the rows like hurdles, but he’d probably throw up if he tried that stunt.
By now, Polly had turned around and was grinning at him. He flicked his gaze away, pretending he hadn’t seen—only to spot Carts standing against the far wall, accompanied by his equally height-enhanced parents and younger sister, lined neatly up near the door like sentinels. The Wells family never sat at events because no-one could see past their heads.
Shit on a stick. He was surrounded.He took a breath. Think this through. He was a god-damned lawyer. He needed to tamp down this illogical fear inside him. Nothing had happened between him and Alice. They’d had afunevening. She’d adequately measured up in the girlfriend stakes, despite the slight mess-up with the panic attack. He’d returned the favour with some harmless flirting practice… then they’d gone their separate ways.
Fine. Everything was fine.
It just didn’t feel fucking fine. It felt like they’d ripped each other’s clothes off and made out wildly in the sand dunes.
Was that why he couldn’t face her? Because his imagination had gone off on a weird tangent? And now it seemed the whole thing was being blown out of proportion by the hangover that was threatening to gouge his eyeballs out from the inside. He lifted his head. Polly called out something that sounded like, “You look like shit.” But he might have misheard.
The woman beside him finally rose and the row emptied out. Alice’s back was still turned. Was she doing it on purpose? Maybe she was keen to avoid him too? He frowned and another red-hot needle spiked into his brain. There was nothing for it. He’d just have to tough it out. After all, there was potentially another three months of this ahead of him. He stood up again. His head spun slightly and he steadied himself with a hand on the chair in front.
“Hi Polly,” he managed to croak. “Didn’t quite catch that?”
