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When I was sure the coast was clear, I exited the conference room, quickening my steps to my office.
The huge breath I released after was a bit refreshing. It was like a break, but only temporary. I never seemed to catch a break.
Collapsing in my chair, I ran a hand down my face.
Unrestrained, I let the tears pour down my cheeks. I couldn't do this anymore— all this—everything.
I needed someone— I needed Emma.
Shakily, I found my phone, and without a second thought, I dialed Emma.
The phone rang for a while before she picked on the third ring.
“Hey, girlie,” she chimed.
“Emma,” I breathed. “I need to talk.”
thirty-one
Ethan
“Give me your strongest whiskey.”
The bartender hesitated briefly before nodding.
I noticed the flicker of fear in his eyes. It was subtle but noticeable. Something that occurred each time I interacted with common people that knew who I was.
“A glass of Macallan rare cask coming right up, sir.”
He turned, gliding his thumb over bottles. My eyes followed his movement for a while before I turned in my stool, bringing my elbow from the marble bar.
The lighting was warm against the velvet sofas and mahogany tables.
The air was filled with the scent of exotic blooms and whiskey, complimented by soft jazz music.
The ambiance was everything I disliked. Still, it wasn't enough distraction for me.
“Here, sir.” I turned to the bartender and picked up the glass of whiskey he slid to my end.
This glass was my third? Fourth? I didn't know. I’d lost track.
I needed a distraction. It was why I was here.
Work used to be my distraction. It’d always been.
But it seemed I'd encountered something far greater. I’d encountered Evie.
I brought my eyes past the railing to the ground floor, where a few bodies littered.
Faint, vibrant music streamed through the floor.
You could tell that the patrons were having fun from the way they gyrated against each other.
Perhaps if I wanted a real distraction, I needed to leave this VIP section. Go to the ground floor… mingle… dance.
A small, humorless laughter escaped my lips at the thought. I never thought about odd things.
The guilt was very much still there, but it was worrisome that other thoughts—thoughts of her— were slowly overshadowing it.
