Asshole.
The song finishes and they dance again, she’s laughing and chatting, looking up at him all adoringly. Her eyes are all love-heart shaped with a rose-colored blush on her face.
I know that look, I’ve seen it in the mirror many a time.
Have they slept together? Is she one of the nine and a half million women that he’s slept with?
Casanova fucking Miles.
Charles is still rattling on and I’ve filled my glass three times. Will you shut the hell up, Charles! I am not in the mood to hear your fucking crap. I’ve got enough of my own crap to deal with here.
The song finishes but, instead of coming back to the table, Elliot goes to the bar with Varuscka.
What?
My blood boils and the last of my sanity snaps.
That’s it . . . it’s go time.
You want a fight, fucker? You just got one.
He gets two drinks at the bar, one for Varuscka and one for him, and he stands facing me in among the crowd as they talk.
I glare at him and he glares right back, raises his glass of Scotch to me in a silent salute.
I throw my napkin on the table and push my seat out. Fuck this, I’m out.
How dare he?
“I’m going,” I say to the table.
“Oh, so soon,” Charles cries. “The night is young.”
“I have to work in the morning,” I lie with a fake smile.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Not necessary.” I smile through gritted teeth. “Nice to meet you all.” I grab my clutch and give the table a weak wave and walk toward the door.
“Nonsense,” I hear Charles call from behind me.
I burst through the doors and out into the lobby. Damn it, my coat is in the cloakroom. I don’t want to wait but the coat is my favorite, so I dig out my ticket and stand in line.
Charles runs as he catches up, puts his hands in his pockets as he waits beside me. I stare at him and, funnily enough, in any normal circumstances I would have thought this guy was gorgeous. I mean, he is.
He’s just not him.
Ugh, I’m infuriated. Why do I have such shit taste in men?
“Let’s go and get a drink somewhere,” Charles says. “I want to get out of here, too.”
“The only place you’ll be going is to the fucking morgue,” Elliot growls from behind us.
Charles turns. “Mr. Miles,” he stammers.
Elliot glares at him. “Get out of my fucking sight.”
Charles eyes widen as he looks at us in turn. “I mean—”
“Now!” Elliot barks. “And don’t you dare contact her again.”
Oh, hell.
“Next,” the coat girl calls. I step forward in a rush and hand over my ticket, so angry I can hardly see straight, and in my peripheral vision I see Charles practically run back into the ballroom.
Wimp.
I get my coat and march to the door, Elliot hot on my heels. “Go away,” I whisper angrily.
“Fuck off,” he snaps as he follows me.
My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. I barge through the doors and see the black Bentley parked and waiting for us.
“Get in,” Elliot barks.
“Go to hell.” I begin to march along the pavement.