Page 133 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“Maybe.” I smiled.

When he’d drifted away, I turned to my date, whose gaze had iced over. He handed me a glass of champagne while taking a sip of his own drink and looking casually into the room.

His voice was calm, but a sharp edge came through. “He has less than a grand to his name. Wouldn’t add him to your husband list quite yet.”

His words hit me like a blow to the chest, and I sucked in a breath.

“I appreciate the insight, Officer,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Here I was, just about to pencil him in.”

Tension rolled through him, his presence becoming nearly unapproachable.

Well, this was going splendidly.

As the guests at our table trickled in and took their seats, I might as well have not even been sitting beside him for as much as he acknowledged me.

If there was anything that showed how different and incompatible we were, it was him responding to a question about a new development in biocoenosis—whatever the hell that was—while the deepest thought in my head at that moment was which level of toner I wanted my stylist to use on my hair this week.

I sipped my champagne, smiling above it on cue, while growing more and more resentful of this situation with each second that passed. I was stuck in a room full of feds, I was out of my element, and my date wouldn’t even look at me.

The walls seemed to be closing in.

My chest felt tight.

I grabbed my clutch and excused myself, feeling the heat of Christian’s gaze on my back until I disappeared around the corner. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, my hand shook slightly as I turned on the faucet. I should have stood my ground and said no to this date from the beginning. Because that bubble I’d been content in for the last couple weeks was close to bursting. I could feel it in my chest, inflating to the seams with each breath.

It was going to pop.

And until now, I hadn’t realized how badly it was going to hurt.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I breathed slowly. I really hoped I wasn’t getting sick. That was the last thing I needed right now.

I turned the corner in the hall, coming to a stop when my eyes landed on our table. A woman sat in my seat, facing Christian. Her name was Portia. I knew that because she’d dated him years ago. She leaned into him, coyly running a finger down the stem of my champagne glass. He gave her one of those rare half-smiles, responding to something she’d said. They seemed familiar, intimate, and I knew why. He’d fucked her three times.

“Beautiful couple, aren’t they?” A woman close to retirement age stopped beside me, wearing a modest red sheath dress and a gold flower brooch. I knew she was the company gossip by one look at her. “Over half the office had a bet going that they’d get engaged, you know.” She sighed, murmuring, “Some hussy probably came along and ruined it for everyone. Not sure when men will ever learn—those women might be good for one thing, but they’re worthless in the long run.” She trailed her fingers over the pearls on her neck. “Anyway, who are you with, dear? I didn’t see you come in.”

They’re worthless in the long run.

Worthless.

Unlovable.

Whore.

Pop.

The pain radiated throughout my chest, wrapping around my lungs and squeezing.

The Christian-induced haze I’d been stuck in cleared. I couldn’t be—my gaze landed on Portia—that. I couldn’t be the classy, composed woman on his arm. And I couldn’t be the woman still obviously pining for him after he’d moved on.

This was just sex—he’d said it himself.

It was supposed to be easy and uncomplicated. But I’d never known uncomplicated to twist one’s heart into a knot and pull.

He’d already won.

My only choice was to forfeit before I lost everything.

“Dear? Are you all right?”