I should win an award for the acting job I’ve done here, she thought as he stroked one finger up her bare arm. “I knew this dress would suit you,” he said softly.
“I’m glad it pleases you.” As she met his gaze, she thought about turning around, grabbing his wrist, and snapping his fingers, one by one.
He studied her face. “Is something troubling you, Ella?”
Cocking her head, she held his gaze. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”
His flat blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. You just seem . . . never mind.”
One of those random flashes hit her. Too aware . . . That was the problem. She was too aware, and not the blissfully stupid, insipid twit he always saw when he looked at her. Too bad, she thought. She toned it back a little, but she’d be damned if she shoved herself back into that confining little box. It had been choking her . . . killing her.
Don’t let him take you away from me again . . .
She could do this without letting him destroy her.
Mentally squaring her shoulders, she smiled her sweet, docile little smile. “Shall we go, Patrick?”
* * *
“YOU’LL meet a number of business acquaintances here,” Patrick informed her a few moments later. The guests were starting to arrive . . . the party was set to begin at seven. It was 6:58. If she knew a thing about the man at her side, not many guests would even think about arriving before the set time. “Naturally, I’ll be with you much of the time, but occasionally, I won’t be. Please keep in mind who you are.”
What you are.
The flash she heard from him made her want to curl her lip, but Dru nodded soberly. “Of course, Patrick.”
There was music playing in the background, understated and low. Servers were ready with drinks and far too much food. Patrick gestured to one of the servers, and a few seconds later, she had a glass of champagne in her hand. Wonderful . . . just wonderful. She hated the stuff.
“Hmm.” She lifted it to her lips and took a sip. “Lovely, thank you.”
She was saved from having to listen to him say anything else by the arrival of their first guests.
Show time, she thought.
Judging by how tight her skin felt, the way adrenaline crashed inside her . . . how utterly hyper she felt . . .
Soon . . . soon.
Her heart knocked against her ribs. Hard, heavy beats that nearly stole her breath. Must get a grip on this, and soon, she thought, staring into the pale, bubbling liquid in the flute she held.
It wasn’t long before she was surrounded by people, too many of them. There were air kisses to be exchanged, hands to shake. One brave, half-drunk soul actually palmed her ass. Drunken idiot, but harmless. Hopefully Patrick hadn’t seen that.
Random flashes from many of them, but few of them held the blackness she was looking for. Not an innocent lot of people, but nothing she needed. Some of them were cheating on their husbands, their wives. One appeared to be cheating his boss, but that wouldn’t be her concern unless she was hired on for it and how likely was that?
Nearly an hour later, she had a horrid headache and pleaded the need to visit the ladies’ room just to escape.
She didn’t use the one made available to guests, though. She dashed upstairs, bypassing a few people who’d decided to venture up to the second floor—brave souls, those people. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere in this house she wasn’t given outright permission to. Actually, if she didn’t need to be here, she wouldn’t be.
Apparently Patrick was prepared for all eventualities and the other wings were guarded, including the one where her rooms were.
The ugly arse who stood in the middle of the hall was a man she was all too familiar with. His shoulders seemed big enough to blot out the sun, his dark eyes were set under a prominent brow ridge, and his nose looked like it had been broken a good four or five times.
“Hello, Mr. Morris,” she said brightly, smiling at him.
He didn’t smile back.
In fact, she thought he seemed pissed off. Guess he was still put off that she’d lost him on the run the other day. Well, he could get stuffed for all she cared. “I need to use the loo and I wanted a bit of