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And all this thanks to Mase Stirling’s billions.
I don’t like the feeling of being on display as we’re ushered through the club, the clamour of too-loud music and press of bodies knocking me back a few steps. My chest tightens and I reach for Bexley’s hand. But Grayson has pulled Bexley away for a quick word, filmed by Johnny, one of the camera people The Suitor producers sent to document the weekend to show next season, like an incentive.
This is what happens when you become a contestant on the reality show—you get to rub elbows with baseball players and billionaires and, oh, yeah, most ofyourfriends will fall in love withhis.
Except for your best friend, who has been left out of the couplings.
In the crush of clubgoers, I’m shoved from behind. It gets worse when Grayson is recognized, and I’m pushed away from the others as a group of women with sharp heels and even sharper elbows surround them.
More people join the throng, and my pulse begins to race.
I’m not good with crowds.
The familiar dampness begins under my arms as any moisture in my mouth is drained into my sweat glands. I need a drink.
I need to get out of here.
But as more join the crowd surrounding Grayson and Bexley, the route to the exit is blocked. I’d have to shove my way through, and I’m not much of a shover.
Deep breath, Fiona. Ten of them. I wish I’d brought my bag with my stash of sour candy instead of tucking my cards and my lipstick in the hidden pocket of my skirt. I don’t even have my phone with me.
This is too much. The breathing isn’t helping, and I start to sway back and forth, which is never a good sign. Someone touches my elbow and I jerk away.
Mase raises his hands. “You okay, darlin’?”
I nod and keep nodding, even though I’m far from okay. High above, hidden pipes release a steady stream of bubbles and the dancers cheer.
Watch the bubbles, Fiona.
There’s so much going on—too many people, too loud, too much of everything. A drip of sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades. Bexley is far away, caught in an ever-growing rush of people along with my other constants, Boen and David.
They know what to do for me, but I can’t get to them.
Mase is still beside me and there’s a part of me that’s embarrassed for him to see me like this. But I can’t move, even though I want nothing more than to run. Get out. Get some air. Get—
“Hey.” Mase places a gentle arm around my shoulders and I draw a shaky breath at his touch. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he asks into my ear.
I only nod, fighting to breathe as I gaze unseeing over the people laughing and talking, jumping to catch every falling bubble. Mase is a warm presence beside me, solid and safe.
My pulse begins to steady as I concentrate on the bubbles.
“Better?” he asks. When I nod again, he steers me away from the others, away from the crowd pulling the air from the room. “Why don’t you meet us up there?” Mase points to one of two staircases leading to a sitting area overlooking the dance floor. “I’m going to try and pull them out of there and don’t want you to get stepped on.” He smiles, dimple showing, like his only concern is for my feet rather than rescuing me from a panic attack.
I’m not there yet, but it’s coming.
I nod again, and he loosens his hold on me. “Thank you,” I say in a hoarse voice, looking up so he can hear me.
“Anything for you, darlin’.” He gives me a wink.
Mase
IwatchBexley’sfriendhead to the stairs. I’m not sure what happened there, but it didn’t look good.
With everything Grayson told me about his friends, no one said anything about her not liking crowds. That was more than not like crowds. I wouldn’t have brought them here otherwise.
Fiona. Her name is Fiona.
I watch as she pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking over at me. I nod with a reassuring smile and she waits for a laughing couple to pass before she starts up, the fabric of her green dress tightening over her hips as she begins to climb.
