She needed Owen to have found a graceful way to exit the conversation. A simple, “It was a pleasure to meet you, we’re going to go look at the paintings now” would have sufficed. She and Owen could have continued mingling around the room, put on a good show, and gone home. Then said whatever they had to when they were alone, with no one else to overhear.
Of course, she needed him to have not humiliated her in the first place and put her on the spot in front of everyone. Christ, now what?
It was all well and good to spend hours rolling around in her bed, going from her apartment to Owen’s and back again. But it struck her now, with all those eyes watching her, waiting to see what she would do, that she’d been living in a fantasy world. She’d thought she could bring Owen here, into her real life. But she couldn’t.
“Rose?” Owen asked, pulling on her arm. Trying to get her on his side, to take a stand against the group of people crowding around them.
“Is everything okay?” Jim asked, his bushy eyebrows pinched together, probably in concern over how quiet she’d become. “You still enjoy being with us, right?”
She bit her lip. Everyone was watching, waiting to see what she’d do.
Owen, to see if she’d stand up for him.
Jason, to see if she’d lost all reason.
Jim, to see where she stood.
“I—” she started, but she faltered and closed her mouth. She’d just meant to give herself a moment, to inhale and try again.
But it was already too late. Her silence said more than words ever could.
“It’s okay, Rosie,” Jason said, using that nickname he had no right to say. As though they were all friends, close as could be, and this was any old conversation at any old time. As though the Harrises were the ones who were closest to her and Owen the one on the outside. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. No one holds it against you.”
She knew what he was saying. Her position at CUBE didn’t have to be in jeopardy just because she’d made a dumb decision and brought a date to the company gala who couldn’t comport himself the way he was supposed to. It was embarrassing but embarrassing like having too much to drink at one of the holiday parties. He’d forgive her and let her put it behind her. As long as she made the right choice from here on out.
“I’m doing fine,” she murmured, unable to look at him or Jim. Or Owen. Or anyone.
All she wanted was to hit on the one, perfect thing to say that would bring this all back under control and let her keep her job and her boyfriend and her happiness without anyone being mad or demanding too much.
But it was too late. Owen turned to her. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “You’re doing just fine.”
And then, before she could think or speak or beg for him to wait, he walked away, leaving her alone in that circle of vultures to fend for herself.
He strode across the gallery, heading for the exit. Even if Rose wanted to race out the door, her legs wouldn’t move. Her heart barely seemed to even beat.
She swallowed, struggling not to cry. Her untouched glass of champagne shook so much in her hand, she had to set it down.
Everyone was watching. If only she could take a second get a handle on what had fallen apart so quickly, pull Owen aside so they could talk just the two of them, and then come back and face the crowd together.
But this wasn’t a script to rewrite until she got it perfect. There was no re-shooting this scene. It was all over so fast. A beat of silence, and then the chatter started up again. Glasses clinked. Music played. Everything moved on.
Jim Harris popped another canapé into his mouth. He let her know how much he was looking forward to “working together more closely” and “putting the past behind them” in order to “make the best use of her talents.”
Rose nodded blankly, wondering what had just happened. What talents were Jim talking about, anyway?
Probably driving men off. Turned out she was really good at that.
Was Owen really not coming back to apologize? Was he just going to say those things…and then leave?
How had she wound up standing alone in her sparkling dress, on autopilot as the party went on?
She thought back to the spark of anger in his eyes. And something else in there. Betrayal.
She picked up her champagne glass. Her mouth smiled at Jim, but inside, a five-alarm siren was blaring.
What the hell have I done?
Chapter Twenty-One
Owen stood on the museum steps, getting his bearings. Across the street was Central Park, dark trees silhouetted against the night sky. To his left, along the avenue, the lights of skyscrapers twinkled like stars. That way was downtown, then. He turned on his heels and started to walk.
First things first, though. He yanked off his bow tie and unbuttoned the stifling buttons around his neck, letting the starched fabric of the ruffled shirt loosen. There, that was better. Fuck this goddamn penguin suit he’d put on. And fuck this whole charade.
But he was barely out of the courtyard before he heard a voice behind him.
“Owen—wait!”
He turned. Rose was running after him—or running as best she could in her high heels, her dress cinched up where she held the fabric against her leg to keep from tripping. Her hair was coming loose from where she’d pinned it and long strands flung across her face.
She was beautiful, flushed and panting with her hair undone. Not the perfect, put-together statue in the gallery but the real woman he’d thought he’d known so well.
Something hard and closed off split open inside him to see her running for him. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Hope. She was coming after him. She was still his.
Then she pulled up short and said his name again, sharp as knives, and the illusion was over. He remembered he was pissed as hell at her. And from the look on her face, the feeling was more than mutual.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
“Where does it look?” He stuffed the crumpled bowtie in his pocket. “Home. Wherever. The fuck away from here.”
She glanced behind her then took a step closer. But it wasn’t to be near him. It was only to tell him to keep his voice down. “Those are my colleagues in there. Please stop making a scene.”
That thing in his chest closed into a fist. Was she fucking kidding him?
“A scene?” He was so shocked he could barely get out the words. “Is that what you think this is?”
“You literally just called my boss a ‘sad excuse for a man’ to his face. In front of everyone. And then demanded, in public, that he apologize for things that are nobody’s business but mine. That, by the way, everyone I work with now knows, thanks to you. You think that’s on the list of appropriate forms of behaviors for black-tie company functions?”
“You didn’t hear what he was saying, Rose. You think I’m going to let him get away with talking like that about anyone—let alone about you?”
“You don’t understand. I’ll be surprised if my cubicle isn’t packed up in a box on Monday with orders from HR to march me straight out the door.”
Owen shook his head. “You’ll be fine. Seriously, you’re going to be running their PR in no time. You put on a great show in there.”
He knew he was taking his anger out on her. But didn’t she see what a puppet she turned into as soon as she got around those guys? All of a sudden, the smart, opinionated, passionate woman he’d known was all, “Yes, sir” and “Whatever you want.” Like she didn’t have a single thought of her own.
“That’s unfair and you know it,” she said. “You were supposed to come with me and be my date. Not go off on people and then leave me there.”
“Is it so wrong to stand up for you? To not let him get away with putting you down? Sometimes, you need to do something, Rose. It’s never going to change otherwise.”
�
��Maybe,” she sputtered. “But there’s a time and a place. That, in there? Not the time. And definitely not the place.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sit down. Shut up. Get your ass in line.
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t belong in a world where people treat each other like that and think it’s okay. But if that’s really what you want, then yeah. I guess you’d better forget about me and get back to your schmoozing.”
It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to leave with him right now, go do something actually fun with their night, and never look back.
But he couldn’t hold in the words. Because hell, if she’d rather go back inside, then she should go ahead and fucking do it already. At least then he’d know where he stood.
“How can you say that?” she asked. She’d stopped moving toward him, and now she just stood there, staring, like this was the first time she’d seen him before. Like they were back in Jason’s apartment what felt like a lifetime ago and he was just some stranger she’d happened to walk in on.
Only maybe this wasn’t so different. He was still where he wasn’t supposed to be. But this time, he should have known better. And maybe, he thought, she should have known better, too.
“You were desperate to get me out of there,” he said. “And now you’re mad at me for leaving. Which is it, Rose? Don’t tell me you want me to set foot in there again.”
“What I want,” she said, taking a shuddery breath, “is for you to stop acting like this night is all about you and just, I don’t know—” She threw up her hands.
He cocked his head at her. “Behave?”
“Yeah,” she said, not even embarrassed by how ridiculous that sounded. “Keep it together for a few short hours without cursing anyone out. Is it really that hard?”
“Did you forget that you hate those people in there? Or how they’ve treated you? You and I both know that world—” He gestured toward the museum, the dazzling lights, the tuxes and champagne and laughter and total fucking snobbery unfolding inside. “It isn’t who you are. It isn’t who you want to be.”
He waited for her to agree. She’d said it before—that she was bored, restless, unhappy. That she wanted more.
But her eyes flashed. “What happened to the guy who told me not to sit on the sidelines? Who encouraged me to come here tonight and go after that promotion?”
“There are other jobs,” he said, shaking his head. “This isn’t the only one.”
“Funny, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing Jason would say to you,” she snapped. “How do you like being told to suck it up and move on?”
“That’s completely different, and you know it!” He didn’t mean to shout so loudly, but Rose was pushing all his buttons. The tux, the fight, the champagne whose fizz had turned sloshy in his stomach—all of it was making him sweat, making the pressure inside him veer dangerously high.
“And we can talk about all that another time. The two of us. Alone. But right now—”
“Right now you want me to shut my mouth and be your arm candy. You’ve been plenty clear about that.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He snorted. Loudly. Yeah, right. “You couldn’t get me out of there fast enough.”
“Because I left you alone for two seconds, and look what happened. You knew Jason was going to be there tonight, but I still came back to you yelling at everyone and being totally inappropriate.”
“I’m sorry I said too much, Rose. Really, I am. But I’m not sorry for standing up for you.”
“I don’t need you to stand up for me,” she said sharply. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m here to take care of you, too.”
“Not by sabotaging my job and embarrassing me!”
His jaw tightened. Jason had the gall to publicly talk about Rose like she was some naive little thing, and he was the embarrassing problem?
“This job, your shitty ex—that’s really what you want to fight about? Who you want to defend?”
He waited for her to snap back at him. He was so keyed up and angry, he wanted it.
But she didn’t say anything. Like maybe she really did want that life more than the one he thought she’d been building with him.
“That’s not true,” she finally said. But it was hard to believe it.
“You tell me how you want more from your life than to stay at CUBE,” he said. “How you don’t want to be part of that world. But when push comes to shove, you close ranks and stand by them. What am I supposed to make of that? You’re either bullshitting them or bullshitting me. Or maybe you’re just bullshitting yourself.”
She took a step back. Her face was pale, eyes rimmed with red.
“Don’t you get it?” she said. “It’s one thing to talk on your rooftop about plans and what our dreams are. But this is the real world, Owen. I have to live in reality. You don’t think I’d love to give every last Harris a giant middle finger and move on? You don’t think I’d want to see things done differently if I were in charge? But I’m not in charge. I’m not anyone. I’m just the assistant desperately trying to prove myself so I can be something besides an assistant for the rest of my life.
“So I’m sorry, but I can’t go around telling my boss and my boss’s boss and the head of the whole company exactly what I think of them all the time. I can’t just—” She inhaled, stammering, and he could see the flush of deep red on her cheeks, the shine in her eyes like she was trying to hold back the tears. “I can’t just do whatever I want.”
It made his heart break to hear her say that. He wanted to go to her, hold her, kiss those tears away, and tell her she could do anything she dreamed.
But who was he kidding? No matter what she said, he did, actually, live in the real world. And in that world, he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d stand on the sidelines and refuse to defend her. He hadn’t meant to go quite so hard at Jason. But once he started, there was no backing down. He wasn’t going to apologize for caring.
“Look, Rose. I know I tainted the perfect, careful world you’ve made for yourself. But it’s not a bad thing to be honest and to make other people take responsibility when they’re wrong. Yeah, there are going to be consequences. But if you want someone who’s always going to play it safe, I’m not your guy.”
He stepped closer, begging her to understand. Everything he’d done tonight, he’d done for her.
But she only shook her head.
“Then I guess you’re right,” she said quietly. “You’re not my guy.”
The words slammed through him, making him stagger. He couldn’t believe what was happening.
Fucking ouch.
She’d stood in his woodworking studio, seen the most honest, the most vulnerable parts of him. She’d looked at his work and been happy. Even more than that. Proud.
Or he’d thought she was.
But maybe that was all an act. How would he know? He’d thought the real Rose was the one he saw and the one in the gala was the fraud.
But maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe the Rose in the glittering dress, with the perfect hair and smile and the little platitudes, was the real one, and the Rose who’d held him and kissed him and opened up to him was the imposter, saying what she thought she was supposed to. What she thought he wanted to hear.
Reality was a gut punch that left him without air.
But it was better to face it than spend his life hiding.
“I guess Jason really was right,” he said.
“About what?” she asked.
“You.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I’m just some guy you showed up with so you didn’t have to go alone. You got to have your fun slumming it with someone you’d never otherwise give the time of day. Have a good time, show up here to make your ex jealous. But at the end of t
he day, nothing changes. You’ll go on with your life. And I’ll—”
“And you’ll what?” she said when he faltered. Like she was daring him to say it. Go ahead, her eyes seemed to flash.
“And I’ll move on, too,” he said, his jaw clenched, his voice made of steel.
He waited to see if Rose would fight it. Stand up for what she wanted, what she believed in—if there was any chance that what she wanted was him. That she believed in the two of them, together.
But somehow, he wasn’t surprised when she just stood there, doing nothing.
There was nobody watching them now. No one to perform for or impress. She wasn’t a spokesperson putting on a show. It was just the two of them and the dark night closing in around them.
Even then, she was silent.
He clenched his fists, hard enough to feel his nails in the meat of his palm. Then he released them, blood flooding his fingers again. Fine, then. He wasn’t an idiot.
If Rose wanted to be a fraud, that was her problem. He’d be out there living his life.
“Forget it,” he said.
And because Rose didn’t stop him, didn’t protest, didn’t use her voice at all, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling the crush of the bowtie he’d shoved in there. Then he turned and walked into the night, leaving the museum and its glittering lights and all that champagne behind.
Leaving Rose standing in the courtyard to deal with her own fucking life the way she clearly wanted to. On her own.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rose stood on the museum steps, alone.
She stood there until Owen’s footsteps were an echo, then a memory, then completely gone.
She stood there until she was chilly, then cold, then shivering in the night.
She stood there until she was sure her eyes were dry and the tears wouldn’t fall—at least not right now.
And then, when she finally felt like she could move her limbs and use her voice without shaking, she walked inside. What choice did she have?
Wrong Bed, Right Man Page 14