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I couldn’t help a smirk. “I doubt my life savings would approach your tier, Mr. Platinum Donor.”
“The things we have to do to get decent cafeteria food around here.” He shook his head.
Despite the banter, the mood remained somber. “Are you okay?” I finally asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” I dared to move closer to him, close enough that our arms nearly touched. “Of course it does. That was a violation.”
“Great, well, you can report her to the hall monitors.”
“Davis—”
He turned to me. “The last thing I want is for this to be an even bigger deal. I’m banking on the photographers having signed literally anything that would keep them from selling those pictures, or I’ll be paying out more in bribes than charity tonight. Charging Harper Tyne with assault is only going to drag us both through the tabloids.”
“She can’t get away with—”
“Make no mistake, I would be the one paying the price if I reported this. I’ve already dealt with Harper’s Tynies when Everett cheated on her last year; I don’t see it going any better if I’m directly involved.” He held my gaze for an extra second, and the pain in his blue eyes fractured my heart.
Everything in my brain revolted against this idea: justice had to be served; Harper Tyne would just do this to another ex-boyfriend’s family member; Davis could not be treated as a pawn. But I bit back my bossy side and nodded. This was his choice to make.
Davis turned back to the view and took another drink of his champagne, grimacing.
I offered him my glass. He glanced at his own. “I’m all set, thanks.”
“If you’re hoping to kill any germs, champagne has about half as much alcohol as mouthwash.”
He laughed. “Probably even less when it’s got this much sugar in it.”
I took a sip and confirmed this was the sweetest champagne I’d ever had. Maybe it cost less that way.
Davis raised his glass. “To disinfecting our minds of the last five minutes.”
I would be happy to forget the kiss that had been thrust upon him, but did he want to erase these minutes on the balcony together? For once, I felt like I was seeing Davis as a real person, not just a rich, hot guy who’d always gotten everything he wanted.
He definitely hadn’t wanted Harper Tyne to kiss him tonight, and there was something here that ran deeper, a pain he wasn’t sharing. The image of him out here, silhouetted against the fading light, came back to my mind. Alone. Lonely.
At least his toast I could share. “To starting over.” I clinked my flute against his and we both took a drink of the weirdly sweet champagne.
Davis looked out over the city again, the sky fading from pink to purple. “Do you think there’s somewhere where they’ve never heard of Everett? Tibet? Mongolia?”
“Hm. Do you think his films offend ISIS?” I decided not to read anything into the fact that usually I could only joke around like this with Natalie.
Davis pretended to contemplate this seriously. “I think all of the ones I’ve seen. Maybe he’s trying to bother the Taliban, too, because I swear he’s got to be adding more shirtless scenes to his scripts. Specifically requesting them. A shirtless rider.”
“Hey,” I said, mimicking Davis’s posture of leaning against the railing, “we’ve all got to do our part to fight terrorism.”
“So true. I’ll be sure to thank him for his sacrifice next Veterans Day.” The amusement relaxed from his face. “Do you ever wish you were an only child?” he murmured.
I wasn’t sure he intended for me to answer—or to hear that—but I wasn’t going to leave him hanging. “Maybe for a few minutes.”
“Hm.” Davis ran his free hand over his face. “Can we just forget he exists for a while?”
“Sure.” I let the conversation lapse. For a moment, we just looked at one another, and everything else that had happened tonight evaporated. We were simply two people standing on a balcony with champagne and a romantic, sunset cityscape.
I fought the urge to place a comforting hand on his arm. I’d only had to see him a couple times in the month we’d been working together, but the amount of time I spent thinking about getting close to him was enough that I had to be suspicious of my own motives.
This was Davis Freaking Hardcastle. The man who’d requested working with a male director rather than me.
