I understand completely. “Who’s throwing this party for Colin?”
“Raquel Meyers.”
“Who is she?” I probe; it’s unusual for Molly not to offer up the information voluntarily.
She shrugs, trying to maintain a nonchalant attitude. “Some super-rich socialite who likes to spend her daddy’s money. Her family made a fortune in public storage and she’s made a career out of spending it.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you like her very much.”
“I don’t know her; I only know of her, and what I’ve heard is similar to all the other rich bitches who believe they’re better than everyone else.”
“And how does she know Colin?” She pauses and looks at me oddly. “What?”
“They were together for a while.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t go into more detail and I don’t ask, pretending to people-watch, but in reality I’m trying to work through the sudden onslaught of jealousy I so don’t want to feel.
After a moment, curiosity wins out. “So, are they back together?”
“Not that I know of. I heard Raquel wasn’t pleased when he broke it off with her last year and she’s been trying to get him back ever since, hence the over-the-top party to celebrate his candidacy.”
“Sounds a lot like Ella.”
“Maybe once you have him you can’t get him out of your system. Like an addiction.”
Hmm, sounds about right. I haven’t had him, but I can’t get him out of my system and that’s a problem.
“How about we head to the bar and get something a little stronger than this shit?” Molly tips her head back to finish her drink.
“Agree. Then let’s go find you a husband.” I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiastic expression.
~
There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to prepare me for this, Colin and Raquel Meyers. Her arm is draped across his back guiding him through the room, close to where Molly is bantering with a group of men. She’s an expert at flirtation and the four men surrounding her are lapping up every sound of her voice, every coy tilt of her head and every sexy flip of her hair. All of the traits I’m seriously lacking, and each of them I wish to possess right now.
Colin is stunning in a black suit, the lines hugging his tight, muscled frame, the white crisp of his shirt highlighted by a slim, simple black tie held in place by a silver tie-clip. He is devastatingly handsome, as each woman staring at him could testify to, including myself. Damn it. I wish wholeheartedly he didn’t have an effect on me, but he does. The rapid beat of my heart and hitch in my breath the moment I see him is a testament to that fact. Damn him, and damn my traitorous heart.
It takes a monumental effort on my part to drag my eyes away. I side step behind one of the large men in our quartet to hide, but it’s only a moment before I’m peeking out from behind him to watch Colin and his date. Raquel is beautiful—striking, actually. Tall and slim—as in, supermodel skinny—her red silk dress falls delicately around her hips, the neckline dipping sharply. Her dark hair is sleek and straight, shining past her shoulders. With eyes as dark as her hair she exudes sensuality, and an unparalleled provocative elegance wraps around her like a snake. Oozing confidence, she laughs elegantly. Raquel Meyers is perfect.
An illogical surge of jealousy rips through my abdomen at the sight of them together, piercing in its sudden onslaught, to the point where I draw in a quick breath. I know it’s ridiculous, yet it’s real and unwanted. There's no comparison between Raquel and myself; I’m simple and uncomplicated, far from the stunning creation gracing his arm.
Thankfully Molly hasn’t seen Colin and isn’t aware of the change in my demeanor, or what I’m sure was not a casual perusal of Raquel. Determined not to torture myself, I nod to Molly that I’m heading to the bar, when in actuality I’m planning to seek refuge as far away from them as possible.
With one last glance at Colin I slip into the crowd, swallowed by the monotony of three hundred people. An urgent need to escape clamps down and I need space, I need to be anywhere but here.
During my flight I bump into Evan, knocking him hard enough that he lunges forward.
“I’m so sorry, Evan.” I stumble, clutching his arm to ensure we’re both steady.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, absolutely, I’m just headed outside to clear my head from the champagne.”
“Do you need me to hold your hair for you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No thanks. I can manage.”
“Okay, let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to assist.”
I choose not to go outside into the cold February air, instead heading to the far side of the building, opposite to the party, where a long hallway opens into another much smaller room showcasing the remaining machinery parts on the walls. There are black-and-white photographs of the factory during its prime, along with the people who worked here. It’s a beautiful art gallery of true history and it’s calming: exactly what I need. My stride has slowed as I take in the many worn faces standing alongside the actual machines they worked at for decades, the pictures suspended on floating white walls scattered perfectly throughout the space.
Without the swarm of people, the air chills my bare arms, and I rub my hands over them for warmth. Molly’s dress leaves little coverage and I long for the jacket she also lent me.
The only indication I’m not alone is the acute and intense surge of electricity that reverberates through me. I tense; there's only one person who has ever driven this reaction from my body and I was hoping to avoid him all night. The warmth of his suit coat drapes over my shoulders and heat radiates from the soft material, warming me all over.
“In the early 1900s these buildings were built to make equipment farmers used throughout the entire country. We’re standing in what used to be the main offices; behind us is a portion of the manufacturing plant.”
Colin isn’t touching me, but he’s standing close enough that his breath moves through the loose curls framing my face. His proximity causes my heart to stop; literally, it stumbles and begins to beat again with a loud, thunderous thump. I try to steady my breathing, the volatile pulse of it a sure give-away of the effect he has on me.
“Most of the out buildings were demolished in the eighties to allow room for new growth, but many of the materials used in the factory hang on the walls around us in honor of the men and women who worked here over the course of a century.”
“You’re a history buff?” I ask, relieved my voice holds a tenor of calm I don’t necessarily feel.
The subtle shrug of his shoulders moves the outline of his shadow, which is molded into mine from the casting light behind us. In shadow we are united perfectly, an enticing allusion, and I have to look away. But the real thing is just as tempting. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?
“History is important; it’s what led us to the present and will see us through to the future. I’ve studied the past, believing it will guide me to the right decisions.” After a short pause he shifts toward me. “I endeavor to know everything about the subject at hand. It’s important for me to understand every nuance to ensure an appropriate outcome.”
Our eyes lock as the electricity thrums, confirmation I didn’t imagine the strange current between us.
“How’s your hand?”
I had almost forgotten; it happened so long ago. Lifting it palm up, I show him the puckered pink wound. “It’s fine. You did a great job with the butterfly bandages.”
I’m shocked when he runs a finger along the scar, warming the skin below it. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He looks deep into my eyes and I don’t know if he’s referring to the injury or his dismissal.
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m used to it anyway.”
“You’re used to it?” His brow furrows as he asks the question.
I shrug and laugh at his expression. “I’ve grown to expect the unusual. I run into things, trip, drop stuff on my toes, embarrass myself somehow . . . typically, the events don’t involve blood.”