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A group of models passed me, all of them no way in the vicinity of sober. Most were high on some substance or the other, by choice or through a cocktail they left unattended.
I shook my head and took the steps, letting Damon follow me.
It wasn’t even ten o’clock. By the time it hit midnight, one of that crew, if not more, would be sitting in a corner passed out or rocking because they were jonesing for another fix.
The club was crawling with predators. I never let anyone buy me a drink or set my glass down at one of these shindigs.
I couldn’t trust anyone, even my friends here. Sticking to sparkling water in the guise of a vodka tonic was better.
Man, I went through a lot of effort to hang out with people I couldn’t stand.
As we climbed the steps, tension seemed to radiate out from Damon.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you do this?”
I glanced at him. “Do what?”
“Come to these events.”
My eyes widened. Well, shit. I wished Damon would stop reading me like that.
“What makes you—”
“It’s all over your face,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ve watched you from the moment we arrived. You hate every second of being in this environment. Is all the time you spend with these people worth the energy it takes out of you?”
“This is part of my lifestyle. I’m a public figure. My job is for people to see me out and about at events.”
“No, your career is based around clothing. You model it and design it. Those are the only times you have to be around this crowd. Being here is just an excuse to push buttons.”
I abruptly stopped my climb to the second floor and whirled around to face him. Immediately, he grabbed hold of my waist before he collided with me.
With me a step above him, we were at eye level. “Are we here for your analysis of my mental health, Dr. Pierce, or to figure out who could have framed me?”
“We can do both, Ms. Morelli. Avoiding the truth doesn’t change it.”
Irritation pushed at every nerve in my body, and the desire to stomp my stiletto into his toes sat high on my priority list.
“You want to talk about avoiding the truth? What about you? Tell me this need to protect me and watch over me isn’t driven by your fixation on what happened to Maria? You couldn’t save her from her choices, so you’re determined to save me.”
His jaw clenched. “You are not Maria. Your situation has nothing to do with her.”
“Oh, really. ’Cause from where I’m standing, you still haven’t let go of your guilt, and I’m dealing with the consequences. I refuse to go from one prison cell to another.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t care about the terms of my release. I don’t need you with me twenty-four seven. We both have jobs. I navigated this life before you, and I’ll manage after you.”
Before I realized what he was doing, he fisted my hair and pushed me against one side of the stairwell wall.
“Let’s get this straight. There is no after me. This is a done deal.”
A chill slid down my spine.
I’d never let him turn me into someone like my mother. I’d never allow myself to become a woman trapped.
“I decide my future, Damon Pierce.”
