Adrian leaned casually against the wall, his eyes locked on Benita as her face fell. Her expression morphed from frustration to pure disappointment, and it was as if a small dagger had lodged itself in his chest.
Without a word, she huffed, spun on her heel, and made her way toward the bar.
"Classic," he muttered under his breath, trying to look anywhere but at her. Yet, his gaze was magnetically drawn to her.
Benita wasted no time grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter, downing it in one go. Then another. And another.
Adrian clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to step in. Not my business, he reminded himself. But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t last long just watching.
Minutes turned into what felt like hours as he observed her. The once-poised woman he’d come to know was now laughing hysterically at nothing in particular, her voice louder than the ambient music.
She swayed unsteadily, her glass nearly tipping over each time she gestured dramatically at the bartender.
“Benita…” Adrian muttered to himself, his brows furrowed. He shook his head.
Let her make a fool of herself if that’s what she wants.
But when she almost stumbled off her stool, he cursed under his breath and moved toward her.
“Alright, you’ve had enough,” he said firmly, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
She spun around, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “Oh, look! Mr. Perfect is here to judge me,” she slurred, a bitter edge to her voice.
Adrian folded his arms. “You think I’m judging you? I’m the one who should be angry, Benita.”
Her face twisted into a pout as she poked him in the chest. “You have no right to be angry! None! Zilch!”
“You sabotaged my pitch!” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You made me look like an idiot in front of that boardroom.”
She laughed—an almost hysterical sound that made him wince. “Oh, please, Mr. Big Shot. Your proposal had holes. I just pointed them out.” She swayed, leaning heavily on the bar counter.
Adrian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Benita, you’re drunk. Let me take you home before you make an even bigger scene.”
“No,” she snapped, crossing her arms like a defiant child. “I’m fine here.”
“You’re not fine,” he retorted, his tone softening as he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
Her bravado cracked, and before she could stop herself, tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why does everything have to be so hard?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Adrian’s expression softened as he stepped closer. “Benita…”
“I just wanted… I just wanted to be recognized,” she confessed, her voice breaking. “I gave everything to that proposal, and my boss… he just brushed me aside like I was nothing.”
Adrian hesitated, his anger melting into something else—something he couldn’t quite name. “I get it,” he said after a moment. “But drowning your sorrows in wine isn’t the answer.”
She looked up at him, her lips trembling. “Will you take me home?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
With surprising gentleness, Adrian wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the exit. She leaned heavily against him, her steps unsteady as they made their way to his car.
“Careful,” he murmured, helping her into the passenger seat.
Benita slumped against the window, mumbling incoherently as he started the car. Adrian glanced at her every now and then, the tension in his chest refusing to ease.
By the time they reached her apartment, Benita was half-asleep. Adrian parked the car and walked over to her side, opening the door. “Come on, you’re home.”
She groaned but didn’t move.
“Benita,” he said softly, crouching beside her.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a tired smile. “You’re nice,” she muttered.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Adrian helped her out of the car, her arm draped over his shoulders as he guided her toward the door. She fumbled with her keys, giggling as she dropped them twice before he took them from her and unlocked the door.
Her apartment was small but cozy, with mismatched furniture and a faint lavender scent. Adrian led her to the bedroom, easing her onto the bed.
“There you go,” he said, pulling the blanket over her.
As he turned to leave, her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t go,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
Adrian froze, his heart pounding. Her eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, were filled with vulnerability.
“Benita, you’re drunk,” he said gently. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He tried to move away again but she suddenly stood up and dragged him to her until they both fell on the bed in a heap.