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Focus, dumbass.
I see no signs of injury and glance up at her face again. Her brows are lifting in question, but below the fringe of dark red lashes surrounding her eyes are dark smudges. She tried to hide them with makeup.
She means emotional wounds.
Obviously not liking that I’m looking too closely, she turns away. I’ve been given the cold shoulder before. Endured the silent treatment a time or two. But her dismissal hits different.
“Who do we need to beat up?” I tease, trying for a different tactic.
She turns back. Her copper brows knit in confusion, but she smooths them quickly. “You’re really offering to beat someone up for me?”
“No.” I jerk my chin toward Alex. “That’s what I have him for.”
Alex grunts. “Glad I’m useful.”
Katherine packs her things away in a tote bag and straightens, meeting Alex’s gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with my manicurist.”
Of course, she’d have someone available outside of normal business hours. Money greases a lot of wheels.
“We wouldn’t want to keep you from your mani-pedi.”
She doesn’t smile or laugh like I’d hoped.
God, what’s it going to take to melt this woman? And why do I care?
5
KATHERINE
I take no pride in the fact that I’m hiding out at the gala. There are so many people here, none of whom I wish to talk to. So, I’m biding my time until I have to appear on stage.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I stay half-hidden behind a large potted palm tree in the hallway. I take a closer look at the long, elegant fronds. It’s a Majesty Palm. Good choice if you can keep the humidity high enough, and I don’t doubt that someone working for this hotel keeps the plants in tip-top shape. The Winstead is known for their massive pots and artful arrangements.
My phone gives a distinctive little trill, and I glance around to make sure I’m still alone. Some days, I feel like I’m two different people. Today, I am not VP of Relationship Management at Chanler and Cort, wheeling and dealing, bringing Manhattan to its knees. No, I’m the reserved plant lover who’d rather be at home reading a good book.
If only my moods would sync up with my social schedule.
I pull my phone from my glittering wristlet purse and see a notification from my longtime pen pal turned college roommate and bestie.
LaShonda: Wish I was there to bet on you.
Warmth suffuses my chest. That’s exactly the kind of energy I need right now. She knows how much I hate this sort of attention.
Katherine: I wish you were too.
Although, I hate to tell her she probably couldn’t compete with this crowd on her law student income. But I’d give her the money, and then we could take ourselves out and have an amazing girls’ night.
LaShonda: with any luck, you’ll meet a guy who checks off all the items on your list.
I inwardly groan at that. Not that I hate her knowing about the list. I just hate that stupid list. Almost as much as I hate how picky I am.
I miss her. We haven’t seen nearly enough of each other this last year. And that’s my fault. I have the resources. I should plan a trip and make it happen.
Flashing blue lights draw my attention to the window, the thick glass muffling the sounds from the street.
Katherine: any plans for memorial day?
Three dots appear beneath my text.
