Derision (The Broken Bonds 7)

“Are you sure? Let me buy you another.” The sour-smelling drink mats my dress to my skin, cold and uncomfortable. At least the room is too busy, too loud, for anyone to notice. “What are you drinking?”

“You want to buy me a drink?” His gaze drags over my body as he leans against the bar top.

I recognize him then. Ben from accounting. I’m always sending his spreadsheets back to be corrected.

I give him a tight smile. “You know what? How about I just put some money on your tab.” I look around, seeking the bartender lady, desperate to leave. I go to reach into my purse and notice it missing. Shit.

Glancing down, I spot it next to his cup. Relieved, I bend over and stuff my phone into the front flap, and that’s when I feel him. Pressing up against my backside. I freeze. A pinch of revulsion twists my stomach as deep chuckles carry above the music.

I snap upright and try to turn, but Ben’s hands find my thighs, keeping my body sealed against his. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, Alexis,” he says, trying his best to move my totally immobile body to the beat. “I know you’re dying to have a good time, right?”

The laughing, drunk faces of the men in accounting crowd closer. My breathing goes ragged as I try to smile through my distress. “Thanks,” I say, wriggling free of his hold. “But I’m good.”

Ben groans and reaches for my wrist. “Why are you always like this? Just loosen up for once. God, it’s a party.” He attempts to pull me closer, and real panic flares inside my chest.

I don’t like being touched by this guy. At all. The room is suddenly stifling. My equilibrium off balance. I’m so out of my element…

“I think Miss Wilde is trying to leave.”

The deep timber of his voice booms above the commotion.

My wrist is released, and Ben drunkenly wavers beside me. “I was only trying to show her a good time, Mister Larkin. Figured she could use—”

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Chase effectively silences Ben’s stammering. Straightening his back, owning his towering height of over six feet, Chase smooths a hand down the front of his black suit, which molds perfectly to his toned body. Those ice-blue eyes meet mine before he turns his shrewd gaze on Ben. “But I think you misread the situation. Miss Wilde isn’t interested. You should pay your tab and go.”

My face flames with heat. God, but I didn’t want this attention—I didn’t ask for it. Especially from him—Chase Larkin—the Lark in Lark and Gannet. My shameful fantasy that sets all women back fifty years.

I just wanted to escape this party and pretend I never overheard Chelsea and Sophie in the bathroom. Try to salvage some shred of my dignity.

“I’m fine – it’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. Hoping to douse the heavy testosterone funneling around me. “I should pay and go, too. Thank you,” I mutter lamely.

I turn to flag the bartender, but Chase holds up his hand. “It’s been taken care of, Miss Wilde.”

I keep my gaze on the granite countertop for as long as possible. I pick out the silver flecks, analyzing each swirl. I do this, because as soon as I look into his eyes, this moment becomes real. And I’m terrified of what I’ll see in his penetrating gaze.

I’m not ready.

“Thank you,” I say again, and when I finally embolden myself to look up, my boss has departed into the crowd.

The air in my lungs evacuates like I’m holding it hostage. Only when I breathe again, the lingering scent of his cologne threatens to steal it away.

I’ve never spoken to him. Not personally. In conference rooms, when in meetings, I’ve heard his voice many times—that deep baritone that vibrates against my skin. I’ve passed him in hallways and handed him reports, our fingers touching just once—but this is the first time since I began at this firm that his full attention was aimed on me.

And it was intimidating.

With a weak smile meant to diffuse the tension, I turn away from Ben and the others and find a path along the back wall toward the exit. A quick escape route. Once I’m in the empty hallway, the dull thud of bass at my back, I suck down a cool, cleansing breath.

I came here tonight to prove that I’m a team player. That I could put myself out there, that I could socialize…and what did I prove? That I’m as big of a freak as everyone says.

Tucking my shame close, I head toward the main hallway. Every step away from the party, I wilt a little more, my shoulders practically dragging the ground.

“You really shouldn’t go off alone.”

I flinch at the voice. My hand goes to my chest, the sticky remnants of Ben’s drink seeping past my dress. “God. Mister Wells, you startled me.”

He’s leaning against the wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. A hint of a smile hikes one side of his mouth—more imposing than disarming. “That wasn’t my intention, I assure you, Miss Wilde.”

An eerie feeling presses against my nerves. I smile through the unease, taking a backward step. “It’s fine. Well, have a nice night.”