With no further preamble, I grabbed my bag and pushed to my feet...only to tilt with drunken imbalance and fall straight back into a pair of waiting arms.
Correction: now Nick’s too close.
For a second, the two of us just froze. Half-inclined on the sofa. His arms around my waist, me lying back in his arms. My hair spilling across his shoulders.
Then reality came crashing back.
/>
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, struggling and failing to get to my feet. The whiskey bottle smirked knowingly on the table behind us. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Please—don’t apologize, not for that.” He lifted me gently to my feet and stood up as well, the English accent coming out as strong as ever. “Are you alright?”
It was a bad sign that even he had started to slur. It meant I was in for a rough night.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, trying to extract myself from his arms. “Just need some water.”
He refused to let me go. If anything, he only held on tighter.
“Let me get you some.”
“Nick, it’s not—”
“Is there a bell we’re supposed to ring for service, or—”
“I’m really okay, just let—”
“You’d think there would be a bell—”
“Just let go!”
It came out a lot sharper than I’d intended. Heavy with accusation. Scalding the air in the little room, before echoing out into a stiff, ringing silence.
The hands disappeared at once. A sudden chill sprang up between us. And all our banter, and laughter, and games faded permanently into the past. Leaving nothing but the question.
“Why did you pick Ella?” he asked again.
Cold, this time. Unyielding.
I turned slowly to face him, still shaky on my feet. I didn’t know why, exactly, but the question made me strangely upset. Almost angry. An echo of his abrupt departure from the park bench the other day.
“With the option you chose, you’re not supposed to build attachments,” I answered shortly. “Ella’s the antithesis of your type. I thought she would be the perfect solution.”
“That’s bullshit, Abby.” Nick’s eyes flashed, then cooled to a low simmer. The way they did when I knew he wasn’t going to let something go. “There were a dozen other girls you could have picked. Girls you knew I wouldn’t attach to, but they also wouldn’t drive us both mad.”
I didn’t miss a beat.
“Those girls take time to find. We needed someone quickly.”
“Oh—come on,” he snapped. “You’re really going to—”
“You saw her resume!” I interrupted heatedly. “It’s exactly what we—”
“Stop trying to spin this!” he yelled, finally pushed past the limit. “I’m not just a fucking client, Abby—don’t talk to me that way! Why did you pick her?”
I glared up at him. Overly-confident with the booze. Overly-willing to speak my mind.
An idiot, through and through.