Page 58 of The Alpha's Gamble
A long, heavy silence fell, and my stomach fell with it. He still didn’t want to talk about it. I’d reminded him of all the stupidity that’d word-vomited out of my mouth the night before. Shit.
The driver of a car next to us laid on the horn, loud and insistently, making me wince. Someone shouted. More honking broke out. The limo crept forward a couple of inches, stopped, and then the driver changed lanes and gained us half a block or so.
“Look, regarding the employee issue,” Declan said abruptly. “That’s not exactly what you are. But I’m not sure the current state of affairs is something I want to continue. I know you’re not happy with this, and it turns out neither am I.” He stopped talking, leaving me literally gripping the edge of my seat, breath held, heart pounding.
I’d known this was coming, but the reality hit so much harder than the sickening anticipation. Either Walter had convinced him to get rid of me, or he’d realized last night that I wasn’t what he wanted. But this evening he’d come in my mouth, he’d rubbed his come on me, he’d called me his. I didn’t understand.
No words came to my lips. I couldn’t even form them in my mind, let alone reply.
“Nothing to say?” he went on when I stayed silent for long enough that we’d gone another half block, probably, and the honking had finally stopped.
I shook my head.
“Jesus Christ, Blake—fuck!” He sounded so frustrated, so angry, that my fight or flight response, enhanced in an alpha, rushed to tighten my neck muscles and tingle in my fingers. I couldn’t move. I’d do something awful if I moved. “You didn’t ask me anything today. Are you going to?”
Ask him? Was I supposed to? “I don’t know, Declan, I don’t—”
“Blake, last night you—dammit to hell.” The limo pulled over and stopped, and then jounced as the driver opened his door and got out. “Look at me,” he said urgently, and it wasn’t a command I could resist. I turned and faced him, meeting his eyes, shocked by the blaze of gold there. “We’ll talk tonight. After this fucking miserable event. I shouldn’t have brought you, but we’re here and it’s too late for me to cancel now. There’s a lot of money involved, and—it doesn’t matter.”
In other words, he didn’t want to tell me anything about his business, because it was none of mine. I swallowed hard and nodded tightly. A whole seat separated us. Only a couple of feet, but it might as well have been a chasm. I could still feel the heat of his body against my chilled one, only not enough to warm me. Just enough to show me what I’d be missing forever when he kicked me to the curb later tonight.
“This won’t go on, okay? I promise,” he said, low and intent, eyes fixed on mine. “I should never have done this to you, any of it. Get through tonight, please, and we’ll sort it out when we get back. We’ll talk.”
I’d imagined Declan regretting the way he’d treated me. Imagined it often, if I were being honest. Apologies, making up for it. Groveling, even.
But my fantasies had never included him regrettingme, full stop. This was more like a nightmare, only I could usually wake up from those.
Anything I could’ve said or done—pleas to change his mind, throwing myself on him and tackling him into the seat, wild promises to be a better man and a better alpha and to be worth his time—became impossible when Declan’s door opened, the limo driver standing there to usher us out.
***
If I’d been in a good mood when we walked into the party, happy and confident, it still would’ve been so dull I’d have wanted to claw my own face off.
Coming out of the last thirty-six hours of anxiety and anger and drunkenness, ending with Declan telling me he didn’t want me anymore, it was pure torture—and made me want to claw everyone else’s faces off.
Hundreds of expensively dressed executive types milled around in a giant ballroom in one of the more upscale Strip casinos, overusing the open bar and nibbling on subpar appetizers. I’d lost my appetite, luckily, and if I hadn’t the dried-out shrimp would’ve taken care of the problem.
I couldn’t tell what music was playing. It sounded painfully generic, and the dinging of the sample slot machines against the walls drowned it out anyway. It all combined into a drone of background noise perfectly calculated to throb in my temples.
We circulated, weaving our way between moodily lit cocktail tables, Declan shaking hands and saying a few words to seemingly everyone. I nodded and smiled mechanically as Declan introduced me, but I didn’t retain a single name, the faces blurring into a kaleidoscope of teeth and eyes and hair. I ran a finger under my collar a few times, trying to get rid of the itchy, not-fitting-in-my-skin sensation that had been building ever since we walked in the door. It didn’t work, but I managed to keep it together, outwardly calm enough despite the sweat beading on my spine and under my arms.
At last we made our way to where the apparent host held court at a larger cocktail table that’d been draped in silver lame and lit with a pale-blue spotlight.
Gods. It was so tacky it distracted me from my panic and heartache for a full three seconds.
But then Declan stepped forward, a few other people moving tactfully aside, to greet a tall, smiling brown-haired guy in a flashy tux who looked to be presiding over the tacky table. The way they hugged made my vision go green with jealousy. Fuck, Declan’s body language. Natural, if not super affectionate.
This guy was his friend. They’d probably never had sex, and they might not even be all that close, but they shared something Declan and I never would: comfort and ease.
I vaguely heard, “Mark, nice to meet you, Blake,” over the buzzing in my ears, and automatically reached out a hand to shake. Mark turned to Declan and said, “I thought I saw Walter across the room a little earlier, and I assumed he’d come with you. Not as his date,” he said hurriedly, turning back to me with the slight grimace of a man tasting his own foot. “But Walter usually comes along with Declan because these shindigs are too boring to bring an actual date to.” He started laughing at the look on my face. “I know, it’s my own party, but it’s true. Not the liveliest. Just good for business.”
Did that make me not an actual date either? Gods, what did I say to that? But his remark about his party seemed to demand a polite answer, so I managed, “I’m sure everyone looks forward to it. Sometimes you want the time and space to actually talk at these things.”
Mark started laughing again as if I’d said something witty and engaging instead of bland. Ugh. Spare me from business networking. How did Brook stand doing this kind of thing constantly? There’d been a time when I thought I should’ve inherited Castelli Industries. When I’d believed that this kind of schmoozing wasn’t “work.”
If I ever talked to Brook again, I’d apologize, and I’d mean it. He deserved the money and the respect he got as CEO if this, and spreadsheets, were his fucking life.
“Declan, I like this guy, keep him around,” Mark said heartily. “It’s about time you found someone other than Walter to be your arm candy. Not that Walter isn’t great,” he turned again and leaned in, as if imparting a secret to me, “he and I were together for a couple of years. He was part of my decision to invest in Declan’s buyout of the Morrigan, and he was right! But it got too awkward working together after the break-up, and he went with Declan as an advisor. Worked out great for everyone. Right, Dec?”
