Ask Him (Mess with Me 1.50)

© October 2018 M. Malone

Andre

There are times when I question my belief in a higher power. Too many bad people prosper while good ones suffer. But tonight, I found my belief in the principle of karma reaffirmed.

Because watching Milo Hamilton dance with Casey felt like it could only be a karmic punishment.

I glance over at her. Now that I’ve gotten her to myself, I should feel better but somehow having her alone still doesn’t calm this irrational jealousy I feel. Maybe because I‘m still seeing Milo’s hands all over her bare back. Where the hell did she get that dress? Clumsy Girl wears jeans and T-shirts not satin that hugs every curve and displays an alarming amount of glowing skin.

Or is that sweat? Is she sweating because it’s hot in here or because she liked dancing with Milo? Just the thought makes me crazy.

Luckily someone stops by to say hello, saving me from asking her about her dress, her sweat, or anything else that might earn me a glass of champagne to the face. The man shaking my hand vigorously is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company but I can’t remember his name. My mind is a complete blank.

Well, not a blank. My mind is occupied completely with the memory of how Casey looks sweaty and wearing nothing at all.

The woman in question snorts, drawing the CEO’s attention. He eyes her appreciatively and suddenly I couldn’t care any less what his name is. Casey is inching to the left slowly, like she’s hoping I won’t notice her moving away. Time to end this conversation. I say a pointed goodbye and then turn to Casey.

“Have you had anything to eat. Let me at least get you a drink.” I look around desperately for the food.

“Oh no, you don’t need to.”

Maybe she doesn’t need one, but I do. I grab two glasses from the tray of a passing waiter.

“So you’ve been at the Mirage Agency this entire time.” I shake my head at the irony. “And to think, I kept blowing off those meetings. If I’d known, I would have been at the agency everyday.”

“Why?” She takes a small sip of her champagne, avoiding my eyes.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you have come to the agency if you’d known that I was there?”

I scowl. “Because you ditched me!”

She laughs and even though it’s at my expense, I’m happy to see it. At least she’s talking to me now. And no longer smiling at other men.

“Don’t expect me to believe that you really care about that. I’m sure you’ve done the same many times. Besides, if I hadn’t left when I did, you would have just made up an excuse to get rid of me in the morning anyway.”

“No. I wouldn’t have done that. I was planning on sharing breakfast with you. Taking you home. Asking for your number.”

She looks skeptical and this probably isn’t the best place to discuss it anyway. Her concerns about being treated differently in a professional setting are valid. I know how people think and how the gossip mill runs. The last thing she needs is one of her coworkers overhearing this conversation.

“Come. Let’s get away from the crowd. I need some air.” I motion for her to follow me up the stairs to the second level. There’s a small table at the top of the stairs where we place our empty glasses.

Casey wanders over to the railing overlooking the floor below. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight. Aren’t you busy?”

“Of course. But I am learning to make time for what’s important to me.” I hold her gaze, wanting her to see and know the truth in my words. “Life is for living, right?”

This side of the building is in shadow, with only some muted illumination reflecting up from the main floor below. From this vantage point, we can observe all of the couples mingling and dancing below. Casey shivers and I immediately slip out of my jacket and hang it on her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She glances up at me, uncertainly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

She’s about to say something else when the sound of clanking footsteps has us both turning. A woman, obviously inebriated, is coming up the stairs. Once she reaches the top, she stares at us before giggling. “Whaaaaat? Andre Lavin is here? Can I get a picture?”

Internally, I curse her timing. While I’m always happy to take pictures with fans, Casey looked like she was about to say something. Now she’s retreated back into herself, her eyes shuttered.

It’s going to be a real challenge to get her to open up again. Especially when evidence of how different we are keeps getting thrown in her face.