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“He’ll come.” Blake downs her third, or maybe fourth, shot of the night. The sequins on her short red designer dress catch the light as she sways to the music. “Stop looking like someone killed your puppy.”
Brandon kind of is my puppy. Is that weird? “I’m not?—”
She cuts me off with a look. “Your anxiety is makingmeanxious.”
My fingers trace the rim of my untouched glass. The ice has melted, watering down whatever expensive liquor she poured for me. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
“The only mistake is that dress.” She tugs at the hem of my black cocktail dress. “We should’ve gone with the red one.”
“B.”
“What? The red one showed more?—”
“Not helping.” My stomach churns as another group of people emerges from the elevator. Not him.
Her expression softens, a rare crack in her queen bitch armor. “When’s the last time you ate?”
I take a deliberate sip of my drink, grimacing at the watered-down taste. “I was too nervous.”
“I knew it.” She plucks the glass from my hand, replacing it with water. “No more alcohol for you, young lady.”
“Young—” My whole body freezes as I spot a tall figure with light brown hair. But it’s the wrong shade. Wrong person. “What if he doesn’t show?”
“Then we’ll know exactly where we stand.” Blake’s voice hardens. “And I’ll personally ensure his pretty face meets my pretty fist.”
“B!”
“Repeatedly.”
The elevator doors slide open, and my heart stops.
Brandon.
He steps out, flanked by Connor and Sebastian, clad in a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. But there’s something different about him. Something harder in the set of his jaw, in the way he carries himself.
My feet shift toward the exit.
“Don’t you dare run.” Blake’s fingers dig into my arm.
Brandon’s gaze sweeps the room. When his eyes meet mine, there’s nothing. No flash of recognition, no hint of the man whoheld me through panic attacks and taught me to make pancakes. The same Brandon who’s seen me at my absolute worst and didn’t run screaming. The same Brandon who looked at me like I hung the fucking moon, even when I was falling apart.
Sebastian spots us next, his lips curling into that cocky smile Brandon usually puts on, and instead of walking over to us, they make their way to the bar.
Shocker. I know.
So, this is bad. He doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore. Did I fuck up that much?
My fingers clench around my glass. “What am I doing here?”
“Living.” Blake straightens my dress. “For once in your life, you’re actually living instead of hiding.”
“Is that what this is?” My voice sounds strangled. “Because it feels like dying.”
“Don’t hate me for this.”
“For wha?—”
She whips around, weaving through the crowd toward the DJ booth