Addicted (Ethan Frost 2)

“Thank you,” I tell him in a voice so husky I barely recognize it.

He doesn’t so much as nod an acknowledgment that he’s heard me.

I step back for real then, being more careful this time around in an effort to avoid any more close calls. I make it back to my table without any other mishaps and start setting up my own station.

Laptop, open and connected to Trifecta’s wireless, check.

Legal pad and pens at my fingertips for note taking, check.

The fifty-five page case reminder cheat sheet that I had put together at my boss’s request sitting next to me, check.

I’m as ready as I’m going to be for this meeting but instead of joining in the conversation of the other interns, I spend the few minutes before we’re called to order fiddling unnecessarily with my cell phone. Playing with my pens, making sure they’re all perfectly lined up. Reading over the cheat sheet with such concentration that no one would ever guess that I have the whole thing memorized.

By the t

ime the meeting finally starts, I’m as close to a basket case as I’ve been in quite some time. Though I promise myself I’m not going to do it, I keep stealing glances at Ethan out of the corner of my eye. I’m not the only one doing it—he’s a brilliant, charismatic guy and it’s impossible not to be drawn to him, especially as he helps hammer out the last of the important points of the merger.

Another CEO might not even be in this room right now, leaving these details to his lawyers to figure out. But they’re important details and he’s Ethan Frost and though I thought he was going to be in Paris, now that he’s here I can’t imagine him being anywhere else. This merger and what it brings—not just to Frost Industries but to the injured veterans Ethan has spent so much of his professional life trying to help—is too important for him to let anyone else handle these last, intricate details.

The meeting takes all day and most of it passes in a blur. I try to concentrate on the matters at hand, but every time Ethan opens his mouth to speak, I get lost in the sound of his voice. In the passion behind each question he asks and each answer he refuses to move on without.

There are a few times when we’re asked to find specific answers to the questions being discussed, but for the most part the other interns and I are just along for the ride. Which is normally a dream come true, because getting to watch, up close and personal, as the final points get hammered out in a merger of this magnitude is the best learning experience any of us could ask for. The other three interns in the room are relishing every second of it, but for me it’s more torture than adventure, more pain than pleasure.

Finally, after hours of verbal parrying and legal maneuvering, agreements are reached and the meeting draws to a close. After a brief—very brief—period of congratulatory-sounding small talk, the Trifecta people leave us to our own devices and Ethan takes a few minutes to thank everyone for their hard work. Though the job is far from finished—thousands of man hours are still necessary to ease the transition, this is it for major negotiations. The last of the big stuff has been handled and now it’s just the actual road map for the blending of the two companies that needs to be worked out.

I start gathering up my things, more than ready to call it a day. But before I can do much more than shove my laptop in my briefcase, Ethan announces, “I’ve got reservations for all of us and the Trifecta legal team at the Marine Room this evening in celebration of a job well done. I hope each of you can join me.”

The other interns—Robert and Jonah and Alyssa—start chattering excitedly, and even the lawyers seem pleased at the prospect of dinner at one of La Jolla’s best restaurants. I, of course, would rather head home to a bowl of canned soup and a night in front of the TV or—I don’t know, a root canal, but begging off at this point would look both churlish and unprofessional. Not to mention like I can’t handle being around Ethan.

Which I can’t—this morning proved it—but no need for the rest of the office to figure that out as well. My relationship with Ethan has pretty much been watercooler fodder from the very first day I started at Frost Industries. I see no need to make that any worse than it already is by deliberately snubbing an invitation that is both professional and impersonal in nature. Better to just put in an appearance and then slip out as soon as dinner is over. As long as I sit at the opposite end of the table from Ethan, everything should be fine.

Everything is not fine. It’s nowhere close to fine. Because while half of the Marine Room’s private dining room has tables set up for dinner, no one is currently sitting down. Instead, we’re all mingling and making small talk as white-coated waiters whisk by holding trays laden with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. The whole situation would be right up Tori’s alley, but it’s not something I enjoy at the best of times. And this is, very definitely, not the best of times.

To begin with, the other interns have all noticed how Ethan is treating me—or not treating me, to be more exact—and they’re taking full advantage of the fact that I have obviously lost his favor.

I’ve been fair game to them ever since I landed the Trifecta account—and Ethan—in the same week. Egged on by Rick, one of the senior interns who also happens to be here tonight since he did a bunch of preliminary work on the merger, I’ve been ostracized, ridiculed and even harassed by the intern pool on a fairly regular basis. I don’t exactly put up with it—if someone has something to say to my face, I definitely meet them barb for barb—but there’s only so much I can do when most of the crap they pull is more subtle, less confrontational. Unless I want to look like a total diva, I have to just ignore it.

Which I normally do. But tonight it’s hard to ignore when the group of them are huddled in a corner with the Trifecta interns, laughing and joking around. If Rick wasn’t here, I’d probably make an attempt to join them, but he is and the last thing I need is any more social humiliation courtesy of him. Besides, it’s not like I want to spend my evening hanging out with that bastard anyway.

At another party, I’d probably just go find someone else to talk to, but cocktail party or not, there is definitely a hierarchy at work here. Senior lawyers from Frost Industries are hanging with senior lawyers from Trifecta, junior lawyers are hanging with junior lawyers and the interns are definitely hanging with the other interns. Ethan and the heads of Trifecta are the only ones moving from group to group, spending a few minutes with everyone.

Well, everyone except for me, obviously. We’ve been here forty-five minutes and Ethan hasn’t so much as looked me in the eye. Oh, he sees me—I know that much because there is no way he could do such a good job of dancing around me if he didn’t. Anytime our proximity gets too close, anytime I so much as wander over to the same side of the room he’s on, he moves to another group.

I know what he’s doing, even understand and agree with it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stand here in this room and experience it. Especially when I can feel the eyes of every Frost Industries employee darting back and forth between us, trying to figure out what’s going on … and what it means.

It’s been going on all day, more than long enough for them to start formulating their own conclusions. And while I can handle the shade the other interns are aiming at me—I went through a lot worse with Brandon and his friends in high school—being the object of speculation from my boss and the other lawyers is making me physically ill.

Or maybe that’s just my reaction to being this close to Ethan without being able to touch him.

I know it’s my own fault, know that I’m the one who pushed him away and not the other way around. Just like I know it will never work between us, not when his brother is in the picture in any way. But it’s still hard to move on, hard to remember that I can’t love him anymore, when just being in the same room with him feels like he’s got an electric conduit straight to my heart. Straight to my soul.

“Another glass of champagne, ma’am?” One of the waiters pauses next to me, tray extended.

I start to refuse—I’ve already had two—but a glance at the others assures me that this dinner is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. And if that’s the case, I’ll take what I can get to help me make it through.

“Yes. Thank you.” I smile at him as I reach for a glass. “Have a great night.”

“You, too,” he answers, but he’s already lost my attention.