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We moved through the party, and Bartholomew spoke with some of the men he knew. He wasn’t very good at pretending to belong there. He was stiff and cold, unable to crack a smile to save his life. To keep up appearances, I tried to charm them, taking the attention off Bartholomew and his assholishness.
A very slow hour passed, feeling like an eternity. I enjoyed the champagne until my cheeks turned red, and Bartholomew declined every drink offered to him, probably because it wasn’t the harder stuff.
We finally had a minute to ourselves, standing in the rear as the entryway was crowded with dozens of guests in their tuxedos and gowns. Bartholomew stood with one hand in his pocket, surveying the room with that intense stare.
“You see your guy?”
“He’s across the room. Trying not to make it obvious.”
“Then why didn’t you just meet in the middle of nowhere or something?”
“Drug dealers don’t meet in private.” He turned to look at me, his neck angled down slightly because of our height difference. “They like witnesses. Lots of witnesses.”
“So, he’s a drug dealer too?”
“Yes.” He looked forward again.
My gaze moved across the people, some gathered at the high tables, others crowded in groups. My eyes swept across more faces, stopped, and then doubled back. That dark hair. That shadow on the jaw. Those shoulders.
My heart started to race.
He turned his body slightly, talking to someone with that handsome smile plastered on his face.
Eyes the color of hazelnut. Rich, deep, and bold like freshly brewed coffee. The eyes that still haunted my dreams.
“Shit…”
Bartholomew turned to look at me, eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity.
The adrenaline kicked in, pounding in my ears like a steady drum. All I wanted to do was flee before he saw me.
“What is it?” Bartholomew asked. “You’re white as snow.”
“Um…I have to go.” Before I could move for the door, his steady hand grabbed my wrist.
“You have a job to do.”
“Well, plans change.” I tried to twist from his grasp, but if I moved any harder, my wrist would break like a thin branch.
He pulled me in closer. “Is there someone here you don’t want to see?”
My eyes shifted back and forth between his.
He didn’t blink once.
“That guy I told you about…he’s here.”
His fingers relaxed on my wrist. “Is he with anyone?”
“I-I don’t know.” The thought didn’t even cross my mind, but once it did, I was sick. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe he was home alone every night, thinking about me. All those girls on the yacht were now in his bed. Every piece of my spirit had been long replaced by now.
“You want to risk the chance he sees you booking it?” he asked. “Never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how much they hurt you—especially someone who broke your heart. You stay right here with your head held high. Pretend you don’t see him. You’re too absorbed in me to give a damn about anyone else in the room.”
My eyes were locked on to Bartholomew, but my mind was deep in the crowd, following Cauldron at a safe distance. To be in the same room as him, to lock our gazes, to remember our relationship simultaneously…I craved it. But I also feared it.
“Understand me?”
My eyes focused on the man in front of me once more. I gave a nod. “Yes.”
