Page 2 of Fractured

As they run through the crowd, they catch the attention of just about everyone here. The chatter cuts out, and piano notes paired with a cello can be heard clearly once more. It allows us to hear Courtney’s screech as Tiffany yanks her hair back. They scuffle at the open entry to the penthouse interior before dashing for the front door, where Tiffany scathingly yells out, “You whore!”

The partygoers exchange glances before moving as one inside to get a better idea of what’s going on. Human nature never fails to give me exactly what I want. The desire to possess the most shocking gossip for the Monday morning coffee huddle has them straining their ears and poking heads through the doorway.

I turn on my heel and stride toward the bar with a smirk. My way is clear as my distraction ensures I’m not stopped again. A sway accompanies my gait, the closest I come to joy lifting my mood. Just as I approach the bar, the back of my neck prickles with the feeling of someone watching me. I ignore it while I scan the labels of what’s available and grab my go-to vodka. “Ma’am, please, allow me,” the bartender offers. I wave him off, preferring to do it myself instead of waiting on him.

Learning from my previous mistake, I fill my empty glass three-quarters of the way, leaving enough room for a splash of the cranberry juice. Then I grab a shot glass and pour a double before slamming it back.

There. That should help numb things quicker.

With my glass in hand once more, I turn around and lean against the bar. My gaze casually sweeps the outdoor area, but I’m making note of where everyone has their eyes. I don’t find anyone who seems to have their attention on me, causing the chilling tingle to continue traveling along my spine. There’s a hint of malice mixed in with the gaze.

Instead of causing fear, it has the exact opposite effect. My nipples harden and my pulse speeds up. A reaction I’m completely unfamiliar with. My fingers trail along my low-cut neckline as I flirt with whoever is staring at me. I continue my pursuit of searching for who it is as I play up to their attention. I even turn around to scan the windows of the buildings surrounding us. The gaze devouring me could be coming from anywhere…

The distraction of the catfight has died down by the sound of conversations picking back up. Negotiations resume, along with fake laughter and real flirtations. A group of guys snag my attention. In the middle of them is Grayson, the son of one of our biggest business partners. His family owns the company where we buy most of our manufacturing materials. My father hinted at having a big discussion about a partnership with them before the accident happened. And by partnership, I know he’s going to suggest an arranged marriage.

I study Grayson as he holds the attention of those around him. His hands move, emphasizing his conversation, and his flashing green eyes crinkle at the corners, hinting that his charming smile is genuine. His light brown hair gets lighter toward the tips, giving him a wholesome boy-next-door vibe. Not too bad to look at. I’m distracted again when a couple approaches from my side.

The mid-twenties man strikes up a conversation with me that I only half pay attention to. His father is the Senator of Virginia, and he has hopes of following in his father’s footsteps. The woman on his arm has been his girlfriend since freshman year at Harvard and they’ve been engaged for the past year. So far, they seem to be on the up and up. But you never know with politicians.

I give them a forced smile. One that shows appreciation for their words, but this time, I don’t put any effort into making it reach my eyes. To them, it will look like I’m too depressed to give a true smile. I make my voice sound thick and choked up when I respond. “Thank you. Will we see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. The whole family will be there,” he answers for the both of them, while his fiancée places her hand on my shoulder. She rubs up and down in a soothing gesture. I must really be pulling off my depressed persona, fitting with the topic.

Their conversation inspires more of the same from other partiers, turning something which should have been fun to most people, into something more than exhausting. I check my watch with a sigh of irritation. It’s been hours and I still haven’t spotted whoever has been watching me all night.

I’ve been here long enough to have fulfilled my obligation. Accepted well wishes and made polite conversation with some key players. I've performed my role with grace and ease, having been trained my whole life to take over for my father someday. I know I have to prove myself before he hands over the world’s leading weapons manufacturing and research conglomerate. Thankfully, I don’t find our company boring. Weapons are infinitely useful and they’ll forever be in high demand. Wars can’t be won without them, countries can’t protect themselves without threatening they have the biggest and best.

Halston Solutions has taken over the industry, beating out every other company for government contracts. My father works ruthlessly to win every bid to make sure his weapons are in every soldier’s hands. This is why we rub elbows with each politician who even glances at a seat in Congress, the Senate, or the Presidency. My father has always taught me to be careful about showing any political sway between parties. If you want to keep winning contracts with the government, you don’t want to play favorites and piss off a party when it’s their turn to hold the seat of power.

It’s a delicate game to play, but that’s always been my life. Nothing but a game.

two

I push my way through the crowd, offering polite nods and small cordial waves of goodbye. All things I loathe, but are expected of me, to blend in with the personality of the masses.

The crowd breaks before me, and I spot the door leading out to the elevator. A few more feet and I can breathe. I’ll be able to drop my mask, and allow the smile to melt from my face. To stop pretending I am someone I’m not. Just moments away from taking a break from the constant buzzing of my mind, having to take everything in and make sure I don’t let my real self be exposed. So close to shedding my outer shell, even if it’s just for the short amount of time it takes to travel from this penthouse to the lobby.

It’s so close I can taste it, yet I sense the loss of it before my path is even blocked. My mask must remain firmly in place for now. As tedious as I find it, it keeps me safe and helps me blend in.

A grinning Scott Turner steps in front of me, two glasses held securely in his hands. The liquid sloshes up the sides but remains in the glass by mere millimeters. My irritation flairs for a split second, before a new plan replaces it. He’ll serve as the perfect distraction for the rest of the night.

The mayor’s son tilts his head down, causing a lock of shimmering blond hair to fall across his forehead. A smirk graces his full lips, the rest of his features more than appealing enough to gain my attention. He peers up through his eyelashes in a practiced move of seduction. “You aren’t leaving yet, are you, Remington? We haven’t had a chance to catch up. I was hoping you would have a drink with me.”

The young boy I went to high school with has grown into a smug man while we were away at college. He’s much more attractive now than he was in his teens. I couldn’t spare him a second look back then. He was too busy living off the fame of his father’s footsteps. Now he’s grown into himself more; you can just tell he’s self-assured and more in control. There’s a commanding presence to him. And that’s something I just can’t turn down.

The soft pink of his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and I trace the movement with my gaze. I have something he can lick later…

“I suppose I can stay for one more drink,” I reply while reaching out to take the glass he offers. I bite my bottom lip and take another step closer to him, switching gears from the game of prestige to the much more enjoyable game of seduction.

His smile grows as he flashes his pearly white teeth and holds up his glass. “Well, cheers! To reconnecting with an old friend.”

Our glasses clink together, and I take a sip. I’m barely able to keep the disgust from marring my features. Gin. The bastard stepchild to whisky. A depraved twist on drinking straight up tree sap. Fucking gross.

I take it all back. As much as orgasms sound like a fun evening, it’s not worth the price of drinking gin.

Scott tells me about his frat years, and I gradually edge toward the indoor tree along the wall just a few feet away. Right when I get close enough to take advantage of the wide pot at the base of the plant, Scott brings attention to my drink. “Don’t tell me you're such a lightweight you can’t handle one more drink, Remi.”

My eye twitches, but I bring the drink to my lips and take another sip. A gentleman in the group behind Scott takes a step back and bumps into him. I don’t waste a moment of his distraction and quickly dump the offending alcohol into the base of the tree and step in front of it to hide the evidence.

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