“Thank you, but that’s probably because I’m not his girlfriend.”

His eyebrows rose. “No kidding? You’re . . . different than the other women he dates. Thought you’d be more serious, I guess.”

“Nope.” I laughed, like that would be ridiculous. The man didn’t even trust me with the basic details about him. “We’re not serious.”

I knew before I’d finished the last word my date had found the perfect moment to return. The temperature dropped ten degrees.

Asics’ gaze flicked to a spot behind me and above my head. “Allister.”

There was no response.

Asics cleared his throat. Looked back at me. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Gianna.”

“Maybe.” I smiled.

When he’d drifted away, I turned to my date, whose gaze had iced over. He handed me a glass of champagne while taking a sip of his own drink and looking casually into the room.

His voice was calm, but a sharp edge came through. “He has less than a grand to his name. Wouldn’t add him to your husband list quite yet.”

His words hit me like a blow to the chest, and I sucked in a breath.

“I appreciate the insight, Officer,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Here I was, just about to pencil him in.”

Tension rolled through him, his presence becoming nearly unapproachable.

Well, this was going splendidly.

As the guests at our table trickled in and took their seats, I might as well have not even been sitting beside him for as much as he acknowledged me.

If there was anything that showed how different and incompatible we were, it was him responding to a question about a new development in biocoenosis—whatever the hell that was—while the deepest thought in my head at that moment was which level of toner I wanted my stylist to use on my hair this week.

I sipped my champagne, smiling above it on cue, while growing more and more resentful of this situation with each second that passed. I was stuck in a room full of feds, I was out of my element, and my date wouldn’t even look at me.

The walls seemed to be closing in.

My chest felt tight.

I grabbed my clutch and excused myself, feeling the heat of Christian’s gaze on my back until I disappeared around the corner. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, my hand shook slightly as I turned on the faucet. I should have stood my ground and said no to this date from the beginning. Because that bubble I’d been content in for the last couple weeks was close to bursting. I could feel it in my chest, inflating to the seams with each breath.

It was going to pop.

And until now, I hadn’t realized how badly it was going to hurt.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I breathed slowly. I really hoped I wasn’t getting sick. That was the last thing I needed right now.

I turned the corner in the hall, coming to a stop when my eyes landed on our table. A woman sat in my seat, facing Christian. Her name was Portia. I knew that because she’d dated him years ago. She leaned into him, coyly running a finger down the stem of my champagne glass. He gave her one of those rare half-smiles, responding to something she’d said. They seemed familiar, intimate, and I knew why. He’d fucked her three times.

“Beautiful couple, aren’t they?” A woman close to retirement age stopped beside me, wearing a modest red sheath dress and a gold flower brooch. I knew she was the company gossip by one look at her. “Over half the office had a bet going that they’d get engaged, you know.” She sighed, murmuring, “Some hussy probably came along and ruined it for everyone. Not sure when men will ever learn—those women might be good for one thing, but they’re worthless in the long run.” She trailed her fingers over the pearls on her neck. “Anyway, who are you with, dear? I didn’t see you come in.”

They’re worthless in the long run.

Worthless.

Unlovable.

Whore.

Pop.

The pain radiated throughout my chest, wrapping around my lungs and squeezing.

The Christian-induced haze I’d been stuck in cleared. I couldn’t be—my gaze landed on Portia—that. I couldn’t be the classy, composed woman on his arm. And I couldn’t be the woman still obviously pining for him after he’d moved on.

This was just sex—he’d said it himself.

It was supposed to be easy and uncomplicated. But I’d never known uncomplicated to twist one’s heart into a knot and pull.

He’d already won.

My only choice was to forfeit before I lost everything.

“Dear? Are you all right?”

I ignored her and headed down the hall toward the exit, clipping shoulders with a guest on the way out. I mumbled an apology but didn’t slow my pace because the backs of my eyes burned and threatened to spill over.

“Gianna? My goodness, I thought that was you!” Samantha Delacorte’s heels clicked as she caught up to me. “I never thought I’d run into you here,” she said, walking at a fast clip beside me. Her voice lowered. “You know, considering your previous offenses . . .”

My chest hurt, my eyes burned, and I had zero energy to spar with her right now, so I remained silent.

“Anyway, I just wanted to catch up with you to share the big news!” She squealed and shoved a massive diamond under my nose. It looked incredibly similar to the one Vincent had offered me only three months ago, just as he’d claimed to love me. Sardonic amusement mixed with a dose of bitterness crept through my veins. If I never heard that stupid word love again, I’d be a happy woman.

I offered a half-hearted, “Congratulations,” as I walked out the front doors and into a light rain.

“Vincent and I are eloping in Barbados this winter.” Samantha halted at the edge of the overhang. “I’ll send you an invite!”

“Can’t wait,” I muttered.

I crossed my arms and headed down the sidewalk away from the hotel. The cold rain slid down my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. I should have worn a jacket tonight. Why couldn’t I do anything right? Self-loathing churned in my stomach.

I didn’t get far before someone grabbed my arm from behind, pulled me around a corner, and pressed my back against an alley wall. His hands flattened on the wall on either side of me, trapping me.

Straight lines. Broad shoulders. Blue, burning brightly.

But I saw other things now; other memories piled up on themselves in a fight to the surface.

“You won’t forget me.”

Moya zvezdochka.

They had built into something significant enough each one twisted my heart in a cruel grip.

Attachment?

Infatuation?

It couldn’t be love.

His jaw tightened. “You left.”

“Of course, I left. I knew this wouldn’t work out from the beginning, and tonight just confirmed it.”

“This?”

My throat felt tight. “Us.”

Tension gripped him tight. Rain collected on his eyelashes. Something torturous flickered through his gaze.

“What are you saying?” The words were accented, and somehow, it tore my chest down the middle.

“You know what I’m saying.” I swallowed. “We knew this would come to an end eventually.”

His teeth clenched. “This might come to an end for you, but it will never be over for me.”