He stood still as a statue, watching me. His expression was confusion, and then it shifted into a blank one. To someone else it might look empty, but I’d seen him preparing for mock closing statements. There was definitely a lot going on behind his eyes right now. Was he deciding on the best way to bail?
No, I convinced myself. He’d wanted to talk to me last time. It was doubtful my “fuck you” comment had made much of an impact to change his mind. I shifted my weight on my nervous legs. Should I stay here by the bar? Could I walk up to him without giving away I was falling apart inside?
Shit. Shit! I had a plan, but it ran screaming with terror from my brain as soon as Kyle took a step toward me. This was when I was most dangerous. When my thoughts turned off, my temper made itself home.
I spun on my heel and faced the bar. “Get it together!” I whisper yelled to myself.
The female bartender, who was mixing a drink, paused and looked at me.
I plastered on an apologetic smile. “Sorry, not you. You’re fine.” I pointed to the bottle of chardonnay on the counter. “Can I get a glass of that?”
I couldn’t hear his approach over the music, but I sensed it. A shiver ran down my spine when he spoke. “Ruby.”
“Kyle,” I responded, my voice flat and even, which was a small miracle. I refused to turn and look at him. Instead I watched as the bartender poured my drink, and I fumbled in my purse for a tip.
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting a drink.”
He had no response, and it left me without options. I took the glass from the woman, dropped my tip in the jar, and forced myself to look at the man who’d callously squashed my heart.
“You look beautiful.” He spoke almost like he was mad about it.
His compliment was the last thing I expected him to say, so it was suspect. When my plan abandoned me, I switched into emergency backup mode, which was all defense. “Fuck you.”
He wasn’t fazed and let the barb roll off him. “I believe you mentioned that already.”
“Yes, but I feel strongly, so it bears repeating.”
“All right. Noted.”
I struggled with what to say next as he took the final sip of his drink and plunked it down beside me on the bar. His hand lingered on the glass. He was close.
Too close.
“You wanted a word last time we saw each other.” My voice was tight. “So let’s hear it.”
“Did you come here for that?” He glanced around the room as if taking in the expensive decorations and setting for the first time. “You could have called me, or my office—”
I shook my head. “Don’t go thinking I spent any money. I crashed this.” Sneaking into the event had been easy. I’d shown up after dinner was over and pretended I was with a group of women returning from the restroom. Security was incredibly lax as we closed in on midnight. “And I borrowed this dress from a friend.”
“Okay, then.” Kyle’s gaze wandered appreciatively down my figure. “Please tell her thank you for me.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was sure to sprain them, but inside, his compliment created a flutter of warmth. Damn him. The truth was I felt like a million bucks in this dress. The skirt was layers of chiffon with a peekaboo slit halfway up my thigh, and the bodice had a plunging neckline. The dress gave excellent cleave, and Kyle sure hadn’t missed it.
Good. I wanted to show off what he’d walked away from. “You come by yourself?” I asked it as a jab, but really, for some insane reason I wanted to know.
“As did you, it seems. Did you leave the boyfriend home alone on New Year’s Eve?”
I clenched a hand into a fist. “No, there’s no boy— No.” Crap, I was better than this. “And you? Why come alone?”
His expression was devoid of emotion. “There wasn’t anyone I was interested in taking.”
When the conversation lapsed, his gaze dropped down to my breasts. I let him ogle me for another moment and then set my fist on my hip. “You wanted to talk. Well?”
He needed to get on with it. For years, I’d thought I didn’t need closure, but it was likely because I never thought I’d get it. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he would have said if I’d let him take me aside and talk to him. It plagued me every moment since, only quieting when I’d made the idiotic decision to seek him out at the fundraiser. At least here I had the element of surprise, and neutral ground.
Would an apology, if he offered one, do anything to lessen the damage he’d caused?