Page 33 of Crash into me

I take the glass from the tray, thanking the man who brought it. My nerves will calm after I have some alcohol in me. I down the bubbly glass, letting the sparkly liquid absorb into my system.

This is why I haven’t eaten today.

“Slow down.” Warren side eyes me as I grab my second glass.

I find myself setting it down, bowing my head. And I hate that.

“Just thirsty.” I smile, attempting to make him laugh.

A few men walk over to the table, and he places a hand on the small of my back.

“Warren,” one of the men greets, extending his hand to shake.

I’m nothing, a fly on the wall to their conversation. He doesn’t introduce me, and they don’t notice me. That’s what I’m here for now, a dazzling, shiny new toy that’s here just for decoration.

I’m reminded of my night with the statues. I wonder if my parents noticed their absence.

“I heard you found an office in New York. Are you considering moving there?” the man asks him.

I look over to see they’ve already been replaced, and more concrete smiling faces dot the fountain, mocking me.

Warren responds with a cocky grin, “Yes, I was hoping to stay local, but I’m not opposed to outsourcing for a corner office in the city.”

His hand slides further down, resting on the exposed skin from the low back of the dress. He’s reminding me that I’ll be following him there. Maybe that will be better, being away from here. I love Miami, and in a different life, a different time, I could have lived a good life here.

But New York may be a big enough distraction. The men walk away, and he doesn’t acknowledge talking about New York or telling me anything about himself.

As he pulls me closer and tighter against him, I inhale the stench of whiskey radiating from his breath. I had a small, sweet moment thinking he may be better than the men here, but I was wrong.

I feel the tears welling in my eyes. I feel trapped by him and the rush of eyes that are on us.

Looking around for Brett, I frown when I can’t find him. I need my best friend.

I want to go find him.

I slip out of Warren’s grip as another group of people come to chat. All the women were quiet, listening to them talk. I wanted to scream at everyone.

I dance through the crowd, smiling and waving at familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. They know who I am, the daughter of the most influential accountant in Miami.

No sign of Brett, but there is a nice, quiet spot at the edge of the garden where I can think for a moment.

I pluck a red rose from its friends, feeling guilty that I took it away. I bring it to my nose, smelling the fresh dewy scent it provides. A moment of clarity, happiness.

“What are you doing?” Warren asks, a shadow in the night as he comes up to me to place his hand on my waist. I jerk back a little, and his eyes roam around the empty garden.

“Skyler,” he warns, a familiar dark gleam in his eyes. His hand grips around my arm, as if I’m about to be punished for walking away to take a breather. “You have to stay by my side.”

Something about the tone in his voice and the pressure of his grip makes something inside me switch. “Let go of my arm,” I sneer threateningly. But Warren is large, all muscle and power, and when he speaks, his teeth show like a lion.

“You have to listen to me.” He doesn’t ask this, he tells this.

Tears threaten to spill.

I rip my arm from his grip and run through the garden out the back. He doesn’t know this property better than I do.

I slip in through the door near the kitchen, luckily avoiding anyone’s wandering gazes.

The tears flow down my cheeks as I rush down the empty halls, like a princess who’s running away from her kingdom, but I’m running within, not away. I just need a moment, a second to breathe, and then I’ll return.