By Friday night, I’d convinced myself this date with Alex was the beginning of a new chapter. Lucy came over to help me get ready, tossing clothes onto my bed like a hurricane.
“Black jumpsuit,” she declared, holding it up like a trophy. “Sexy but not trying too hard. Perfect.”
“Totally,” I lied, staring at my reflection. “I’ll just pretend I’m here by accident.”
Lucy waved a mascara wand at me like a weapon. “Remember, you’re a catch. Don’t let him think this is a big deal.”
When Alex showed up at my door, his reaction was… underwhelming.
“Not bad,” he said, giving me a once-over. “Hollis, you clean up well.”
Not bad? Clean up well? I forced a smile as I climbed into his car. Truly, men were the worst.
It got worse when we arrived. I’d been expecting a cozy dinner at some trendy restaurant. Instead, we pulled up to a gala. A fancy gala, complete with chandeliers, champagne, and women swanning about in floor-length gowns like extras in Downton Abbey.
I glanced down at my jumpsuit and wanted to die. “A little overdressed for pizza, aren’t we?” I muttered as Alex led me inside.
He grinned, completely missing my sarcasm. “Don’t worry. You look fine.”
Fine. Fantastic. Just what every girl dreams of hearing.
Inside, Alex went full showman, parading me around the room like I was some kind of personal achievement.
“This is Sophie Hollis,” he announced to a group of important-looking executives, his grin wide and just smug enough to make me want to elbow him in the ribs. “She’s got the Princess Anna interview locked in. Flirted her arse off to get it too. She’s good, isn’t she?”
I choked on my champagne. Excuse me?
But Alex wasn’t done. Oh no, he was thriving.
“Honestly,” he continued, slinging an arm around my shoulders like I was his protégé instead of an actual human being with dignity, “she’s got this way of getting people to spill. It’s impressive. You’d think someone like Darcy—walking block of ice that he is—would never budge, but even he gave her an in. Maybe he’s not completely dead inside after all.”
Laughter rippled through the group, and I tried to smile, though my cheeks burned.
Alex leaned in conspiratorially. “Though, let’s be honest, the man’s probably starving for attention. Do you think he even knows how to hold a normal conversation that doesn’t involve legal jargon? Poor bloke probably has his personality dry-cleaned along with those overpriced suits.”
The laughter grew, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Bet he has an entire wardrobe of identical navy blazers,” Alex went on, smirking. “That or he sleeps in a coffin and rises only to lecture people about ‘ethics’ and ‘confidentiality.’”
I forced out a laugh, but my fingers clenched around the stem of my glass.
And then, over Alex’s shoulder, I saw him.
Darcy. Standing by the bar, his drink untouched, expression thunderous.
Oh, bloody hell.
My cheeks burned as I realized he’d probably heard the whole exchange. Fantastic. Now Darcy thought I was Alex’s pet project.
And then he glanced up—his eyes locking onto mine.
For a split second, the noise of the gala faded into the background. The chatter, the clinking of champagne glasses, Alex’s smug voice somewhere behind me—it all disappeared.
Darcy’s expression was unreadable, but something burned behind those dark eyes. Annoyance? Disappointment? Fury? Whatever it was, it hit me, sent something twisting uncomfortably in my stomach.
And then—without a word, without a change in that steely expression—he turned on his heel and strode out, the door swinging shut behind him.