I didn’t mean it as an insult. It was childish. But maybe I wasn’t wrong. Maybe she’d never had the chance to exchange something like this with friends before. Not while being groomed by daddy dearest.

She opened her mouth to say something, and I pulled away, jerking my head, motioning for her to go back to the bathroom and do her thing.

I have to leave. Now.

I turned to the exit.

“Clock’s ticking, Addi.”

18

ADDISON

I took the hand of the valet as I shakily stepped out of Warren’s car.

My stomach was in knots, and bile was threatening to rise to my mouth.

Warren was by my side in seconds, his tight-fitted suit and slightly open button-up making me even more nervous than the possibility of throwing up in front of all these people.

His brown hair threaded with gray was pushed back, and his beard had been neatly trimmed for the event. There was a new shiny watch on this wrist and even shinier black shoes. He even had a pocket square that matched the color of my dress.

He looks too fucking hot.

His hands were on my waist, holding me upright, something that might have looked like he actually cared to anyone else. But I knew differently, and his next stinging words were just a reminder of that.

“I didn’t know you had such a weak stomach,” he commented, his hand sneaking around my waist and sending bursts of heat through me. As much as his tone annoyed me, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting him.

Get your shit together.

I regretted ever giving him that blow job. Seeing him come undone created a Warren that wasn’t real. That was just in my head.

One that I wanted more than I hated.

“You didn’t tell me we would have to go up a remote mountain where the roads resembled cooked spaghetti,” I hissed and leaned on him for support. His body was hard and warm against me. It was all too easy to melt into him as my stomach flipped—and not just from the nerve-racking drive.

I couldn’t stand windy roads. Or roller coasters. Anything that made my stomach flip would almost always ensure I'd lose my lunch.

But what made it worse was that it took two fucking hours to get there. Two hours on the road with Warren. Alone. And then thirty minutes up a windy road leading up to some remote fucking place.

Swallowing the spit that pooled in my mouth, I tried desperately to appear like I was prepared for the evening. I forced a fake smile on my face and continued to lean into Warren like we were long-time lovers and not at all like I wanted his head on a platter for the death of my father.