He laughs. “Doubt it. He hates to get his hands dirty.”
I’m curious, but I don’t push for more. I’m not going to share my deepest and darkest secrets so I can’t expect him to.
Before anyone else can introduce themselves, a glass stem is placed between my fingers.
“Let’s toast,” Pierce suggests, holding up a glass of whiskey.
“To?”
“To new friendships.”
“To new friendships,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his. I swish the red liquid once, then lift it to my nose, inhaling. When I finally bring the glass to my lips, I tip it back just enough to get a tiny sip. It tastes of vibrant black cherries and plums, sliding easily down my throat.
I take a second sip, then a third. Pierce just watches as I finish off the last of it and signal for a second.
“Slow down, at least until we’ve eaten,” he breathes against my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s the wine. It’s the warmth. It’s the smell of a man wrapped in an expensive black tux.
“We’re going to have to do something to keep me busy then.” I lick my lower lip, bringing the full glass to my mouth. This stuff is dangerous—it’s what one-night stands and surprise babies are made of.
“Dance with me,” he says, squeezing my hip.
“Where?”
He nods toward the side of the ballroom opposite of where we came in. A band with classic instruments in hand plays the soft music I hear overhead.
I drain the rest of my wine and set the glass on the bar. If I think too much, I’ll never get the courage to forge ahead with this. Pierce understands my wordless answer, wrapping his fingers around mine to lead me out to the wooden floor. This time, if people are staring, I don’t notice. That’s the difference between being sober and slightly buzzed.
He faces me, wrapping one arm around my lower back and keeping his other hand entwined with mine at our side. Our bodies melt together until we’re chest to cheek. So close . . . so intimate.
“I’m so glad you came tonight,” he says, his lips brushing my hair.
“Me too.” I mean it. This pushed things with Blake to a boiling point, but it was going to go there at some point anyway. Maybe it’s better to have gotten it over with than attach myself to him even more—before I fell in love.
Besides, I’m enjoying my time with Pierce. Tonight hasn’t exactly been perfect, but he has been.
“After dinner, I’ll introduce you to some more people.”
I don’t reply. I don’t think he needs one. We sway back and forth, turning ever so slightly along the way. He leads us with expert rhythm.
“What’s your favorite type of music?” he asks out of the blue.
“Angsty rock. I reflect on life when I get lost in the music.”
He leans back, looking down into my eyes. “Good or bad?”
“What?” I ask.
“Your reflections.”
I shrug, thinking back to how normal and great everything was until a few months ago. “I think about the painful ones the most. They’re the ones I still need to let go of.”
He smiles sympathetically. “I think we all have a few of those we’re carrying around.”
“How do you know it’s okay?”
“When you can still live with it on your back.” He’s right, because if we can handle it, it’s not too much. The space between us closes again as we continue to move to the music. “What’s your favorite band?” he asks.
“That’s easy. Coldplay. Yours?”
“Chopin and Horowitz are more my speed.”
The song switches as I press my cheek to his chest. The wine and my lack of sleep have brought me to this state where all I want to do is pull on a pair of comfy sweats and crawl into my nice, warm bed. Being with Pierce, like this, is just as good.
“Do you know what my favorite part of tonight is going to be when it’s all over?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
He hesitates for just a second. “Being here . . . like this with you.”
“Why do you say that?”
He slides his hand up my back, then down again. “There’s just something about you. Something I’ve been thinking about since I sat next to you on the plane.”
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly,” I say, feeling the familiar nerves creep back up.
“It’s the only way I know how to be.”
“Did you offer me this job because I had the skills or because you wanted to be like this?” I close my eyes . . . waiting. I’ve been second-guessing myself since I started at Stanley Development, and I hate it.
His grip on my hand tightens. “A little of both. It takes ambition to risk a move to the big city, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my own selfish reasons. I kind of like you, Lila.”
My eyes widen as my heart bottoms out. I shouldn’t be here. As soon as he says those words, I think about paint, tequila, and kitchen counters. I think about my blond artist—the man I’ve never had, but yet lost tonight.
That’s what I’ll always think back on.
THE MUSIC STOPS AT JUST the right moment, when this doesn’t feel right anymore.
“Please take your seats. The first course will be served shortly,” a female voice sounds over the loud speaker. Inner panic momentarily paralyzes me.
Pierce loosens his grip enough for me to step away. When he looks at me, I think he knows my mood has shifted. The wine and the dance—they aren’t enough to banish the heartbreak from earlier. I’m not ready for this.
“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing hold of my elbow.
I shake my head, searching for the right words. A reason to escape from here. “Can you take me home? I’m not feeling well.”
His brow wrinkles. “Is it something I said?”
“No,” I answer quietly, wishing I could simply fold myself back in his arms . . . and everything would be okay.
“What’s going on?”
“I have a headache.” My voice is meek, lacking assurance.
Pierce is at a loss for words, looking down then away. This room is filled with hundreds of people, but it feels like it’s just us. Two people at a crossroads. He’s not convinced, but I’m not either. Trying to crawl back into Blake’s bed will more than likely end with me suffering from more than a bended heart. And Pierce continually crosses the professional line. What he’s trying to accomplish, what he sees in me . . . I have no idea.
I can’t stay.
Yet, I feel like I shouldn’t go.
Life is one big tangled mess after another.
“Let’s get you home then,” he finally concedes. He steers us away from the dance floor, through a side door, and out into a quiet hallway. He pulls out his cell phone and makes a quick call to have the car come pick us up.
After it’s tucked back into his pocket, he envelops my hand in his and leads us through a pair of swinging doors. A huge kitchen full of staff in black chefs’ coats appears, and without seeking permission, Pierce ushers me through it. The staff barely blink an eye, like this happens all the time.
“Where are we going?” I ask, walking faster to keep up. That’s not an easy feat in heels.
“Back door.”
There’s a metal door that leads to a dark alleyway. The black Escalade pulls up just in time to rescue us from the cold. Pierce pulls the door open, letting me climb in first. He follows.
“Can I at least take you for a quick bite? I’m not one to send a girl home hungry.”
“No, I just want to get home.”
Silence ensues. I count the minutes, trying to remember how long it took us to get here . . . how long it will take to get back home.
“How much do you know about him?” Pierces asks. Him doesn’t require any clarification. His sense of perception is really starting to get under my skin.
“Enough.”
“What if I told you to stay away from him?”
“I’d ask you to give me a good reason.”