Pris returned the goblet to the table, unabashed. “Shame,” she said. “Guess you’d better go home and get to cleaning where you belong.”
Humiliation pulsed in her skull. She managed to blink away the liquid enough to peer at the surrounding guests. Some were dancing, but others gaped at her and Pris as if wondering whether or not they should intervene.
Pris folded her arms, standing back with complete satisfaction. “Clock is ticking, Ella. You wouldn’t want to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
All sense flew, making way for the sheer humiliation coursing through her. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t even think. Tears welled in her eyes, rendering whatever was left of her makeup nonexistent. She captured Hawk’s glance before whirling and dashing from the ballroom.
***
Ella didn’t stop running until she reached the elevator. She pushed the button over and over again, uncertain where she was going, just that she needed to get as far away as she could.
A voice stilled her.
“You really want to climb in that thing again?”
Hawk. She knew he’d witnessed the humiliating event, but she never thought he’d follow her. Why? Why couldn’t he have just stayed in the ballroom? She wanted to go home, to wash the sticky punch from her skin, get out of her dress, and ugly cry where no one could see.
She plunged her face into her hands. Tears streamed along her cheeks. Undoubtedly, she had mascara and who knew what else running down her face.
“You remember what happened last time,” he said. He was still behind her, still talking. She got the feeling he was giving her time to wipe her cheeks, and so she did. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of white. A handkerchief. Hawk was offering a handkerchief to her. Who even carried one of those anymore?
“Thanks,” she said, cleaning up her face. The fabric smelled musky and darkly rich, like Hawk. Her fingers trembled, and black smudges and smears of lipstick and wine-red liquid colored the cloth. “And yes, I’m sure I want to get out of that ballroom.”
“Where are you going?”
The elevator. It’d been habit she supposed, to head for the lower level of the building in order to leave. It didn’t occur to her to return to the coatroom, swap out her heels for the boots she’d worn on her trek here, and head home. She’d only thought to escape somewhere in the building where no one could see what a mess she was.
His gaze was palpable, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet it. “I have to work.”
He slumped his tuxedoed, beautiful self against the wall. “That’s right, you said as much. I still don’t know which department would have you working right now. The building is shut down.”
“It’s not here,” she said with a sniff. She still couldn’t bear to face him. Weariness and defeat settled in. Her skin was sticky where the juice had spilled. “I really should go.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t even know your name.”
After a sniffle, she finally lifted her eyes to meet his crystal, snow-blue ones. They were filled with sympathy. With admiration and invitation.
How could they be? Did he not see what happened? The state of her dress, her messy face? Even so, his attention wasn’t on the spilled liquid. His gaze connected with hers.
“It’s Ella,” she said.
“No last name?”
“Nope.” She couldn’t figure out why, but she didn’t want to tell him. It wasn’t as though he would associate her with anyone if he knew it. She just wasn’t ready for him to know.
After a fleeting glance down her body, she took in the extent of the damage. Red had splotched the pink fabric. Never mind what it had taken for her grandma to get it. This stain was normal for her. She was ruined, blemished, a measly custodian who got pushed around by her family. Not good enough for anyone, least of all him.
The elevator opened, gaping, waiting.
“Ella,” Hawk said, peering toward the enclosed space before them. “I never thanked you properly for your help the last time we were in this thing.”
She shook her head. “It was nothing. I know what it’s like to feel like the walls are closing in.” Emotion lingered too near the surface. Her throat clamped, and she cursed herself for being so transparent.
He folded his arms, resting against the open door. “Now we’re talking about something else. Is everything okay? What happened in there? Who was that woman that did this to you?”
All she could do was stare. He was clean-cut and elegant in his white tux jacket and black shirt, tie and slacks, and she was stained and spoiled. What was he doing?
She couldn’t give him an answer. Go into her whole pathetic family dynamic? Not a chance.
The elevator made a screeching noise of protest. Hawk stepped forward, allowing it to close. Ella folded her arms and then remembering her dress, thought better of it.
Hawk frowned, sizing her up as if seeking for a solution. “I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but I have something you could change into. If you wanted.”
Ella wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “You’re offering me clothes?”
He gave off an embarrassed laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
She well knew where they were kept. In his office. On the top floor.
In what was essentially a bedroom.
Temptation tingled in every one of her pores. She shouldn’t agree. She should thank him for the invitation, bid him goodnight, and get home to where her own clothes awaited. But possibility capered through, pricking her like an appendage that had fallen asleep and was just receiving blood flow once more.
Why not? She didn’t want to go home, not really. She refused to return to that ballroom. And after the way Pris treated her, after
