Did I imagine what happened between Josh and me last week? Am I such a loser I can’t distinguish between someone being nice to me and someone flirting?
For the rest of the evening, I make damn sure I’m on the opposite side of Mitzy’s clan as I chat with other guests. No matter what I do, I always seem to find Nate at my side, so when he asks to dance, it feels appropriate. He might not realize it, but having him keep me company helps me save face in front of Josh. Not that Josh gives two shits what I do.
As Nate twirls me around unexpectedly, I laugh, and he smiles down at me. “You’re seriously so beautiful in that dress.”
“Thanks.”
Why couldn’t Nate have noticed me, oh, I don’t know, a few weeks ago? Had he showered me with this kind of attention then, I never would’ve given Josh a second thought beyond repping him. But now, Josh is all I can think about.
I steal a glance in his direction and am surprised to find his eyes are locked on me. And he looks pissed. That’s… odd.
His brother elbows him, hands him a tumbler, and Josh finally turns away.
Yes, I had the pleasure of being introduced to every single one of the Cartwright clan, including Tiffany, who looped her arm through Josh’s and beamed the sweetest smile at him. Of course, she’s perfect. A blonde size two with flawless tanned skin and blindingly white teeth.
I wasn’t sure if the rage coursing through me at that moment was because he’d omitted the very important detail he was engaged or because she’s obviously so head over heels for him when he’s probably hooking up with other girls.
Much to my heart’s utter annoyance, Gwen went on and on about how Josh and Tiffany have known each other since they were kids and everyone always knew they’d fall in love.
That’s when I opened my big mouth. I couldn’t help it. I said, “Isn’t it great when you go back so far with someone that you feel like you know everything there is about the other person? That has to be the best kind of relationship.”
Josh closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them, I almost cringed at the fire behind them. Except something about the flames in his eyes pissed me off more. Yeah, buddy, well, fuck you too.
Tiffany yammered on and on about how cute “Joshy” was when he finally asked her out in college, and how she was so nervous, the little princess couldn’t decide what to wear that night, Gucci or Prada or Versace. And even though I felt bad for her, even though I realized she’s probably the victim here, I still wanted to poke out her eye with a satay skewer.
So then, the evil bitch that I am, I held up my glass to toast the happy couple. “Congrats, Josh. Sounds like you found yourself the perfect woman. Here’s to having someone know the real you.”
Yes, I’m probably going to hell.
Everyone ate it up, gushing over Tiffany and Josh like they’d discovered the cure for cancer. I managed not to roll my eyes or say what I really wanted, feats unto themselves. Then some prick elbowed me out of the way so he could interview the clan.
Now, I’m twirling with Nate, a man I should be excited about. A man I’ve been pining over for months. Except all of the twirling and the rigorous way he dipped me a minute ago is making me nauseous.
Across the room, Angela, decked out in a gorgeous blood-red cocktail dress, saunters up to the Cartwrights on the other end of the ballroom, but I don’t think I can stomach watching her schmooze them.
The steady ache in my temple, which started when I saw Josh and Tiffany, only intensifies as the evening progresses. When the song ends, I excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. Locking myself in a stall, I close my eyes and try to relax, because the longer I’m at this party, the harder it is to breathe.
I lean against the stall and try to reset my attitude because I should take advantage of the gala. This is my first WGA party, and I want to make the most of it. Except my headache is getting so bad, I want to curl up on the floor at this point.
Why did I get my hopes up? Like Josh Cartwright would ever be interested in me.
I glance down at my expensive dress and designer shoes, clothes I’d never typically wear, clothes I’ll likely never wear again.
At least I won’t have to see Josh again after this event. He’s not a client, he’s not a friend, and he’ll certainly never be more than a friend. Now that I know he jogs in the mornings, I’ll stick to working out in the evenings.
Resolved to keep my shit together just a little longer, I exit the stall and wash my hands.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t see the dumb hope in my eyes that I’d had when I was getting ready with Kendall. But I also don’t see someone deluded by a sexy smile and nice abs.
Being a realist is good. This might suck now, but it’s better to see someone’s true colors before you really get hurt.
With a heavy sigh, I pull the door open only to come face to face with the asshole himself.
“I need to talk to you,” Josh says brusquely, stepping toward me.
With his close proximity, my brain short-circuits, and I blink, trying to get my bearings.
But all I can think is how much I had wanted to be the girl on his arm tonight. How much I had hoped our friendship had meant something to him like it did to me. How some small piece of me had thought last weekend might be the first of many times hanging out together.
He runs his hands through his thick, black hair, sending pieces of it everywhere—over his hazel eyes and askew in the most haphazard way that only makes him look sexier.
With a pained breath, I remind myself that he’s a liar and probably a cheater and that it doesn’t matter how good he looks in a tux, the man isn’t who I think he is.
“Congrats on your engagement,” I say flatly and turn to walk away. I know we weren’t together, that we hadn’t spent much time together, but he definitely flirted with me all week, so for him to show up with his fucking fiancée hurts.
He gently grabs my elbow and steers me back. My eyes narrow. I wish I could pretend like I’m not hurt, like I don’t care, but that’s not me. I care. I always care. Which means I’m always the one burned.
Letting go with a sigh, he pushes up his black-rimmed glasses. Damn it. Does he have to look so beautiful?
“I need to explain,” he says quietly. “This, tonight, Tiffany—it’s not what you think.”
Doesn’t every cheater say that?
With a huff, I whisper, “If you’re worried about me spilling your secrets to your betrothed, don’t. When I told you our meetings were confidential, I meant that. So if you’ll excuse me—”
“Evie, that’s not what—”
He pauses to look down the hall, and a moment later Nathan fills my peripheral vision.
I’m grateful for the reprieve because I really shouldn’t knee Josh in the balls at Gwen’s birthday gala.
And in the name of doing what’s right—for the sake of my career, Josh’s manhood, and this fine event—I take Nathan’s arm, muster a smile and try to keep my shit together.
“I have a terrible headache. I think I’m going to head out.”