Page 33 of Breaking Point

“Good to see you again, Olivia.”

I’m supposed to remember his face- I know I am. Chocolate brown hair, gray eyes, and a clean-shaven face. Handsome in that condescending,I’m-rich-enough-to-buy-anythingkind of way. Then again, that’s more than half the men at this party.

His eyes narrow. “Chase.”

I blink.

The man who bought my date.

“Right. My father’s coworker.”

Whether he had any part in my father’s plan, I don’t know.

He nods, bringing a glass full of whiskey to his mouth. “This event is in honor of your late mother, right? I just wanted to say how sorry I am for her passing.”

My throat tightens, the memory of her filling me all over again, and I gently swipe my clammy palms on my dress. “That’s kind. Thank you.”

“It’s an honor to be invited.” He tucks a hand in the pocket of his suit, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “I hope I’m the first to tell you that you look incredible.”

My face floods with heat, and I want to curse myself when I gape as he draws back, watching my reaction. It’s been a long time since anyone has paid me any attention. I want to like him. Yet all I can think about is the burn ofhisgaze on my back.

Crew stands a few feet away, but his presence is unmistakable. I almost wish it were Taylor watching me because at least then I can concentrate.

“I-“ I drag my attention to Chase-to the man in front of me who is complimenting me. “Thank you. You look pretty fly yourself.”

He smiles, but it’s all arrogance. “About that date…”

Right.

“Maybe dinner sometime?”

“There’s this great place downtown. I know the owners. It’s quiet. Intimate. You seem like you could use the break.”

I’ve heard the words before- only not out of his mouth. But my father’s. My eyes find him across the room, and as soon as I catch him looking, he glances away, focusing on his own conversation.

God, he just doesn’t quit.

I smile again. “Look, Chase. I’d love that. Really, but-“ A phone rings, buzzing in the pocket of my dress.Saving me. “Can you give me just a moment?” I say, excusing myself and answering my phone automatically.

“Hello?”

“Liv?”

I freeze at the sound of her voice.

“You picked up.” Charlotte sounds surprised. Considering how many calls and texts I’ve ignored, I don’t blame her. “How are you? I-I’m calling because I know what today is. I wanted to check on you,” she rushes. It’s unlike her to be nervous. The Charlotte I remember wasnevernervous.

“How are you?” she continues.

Today’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. Five years ago, she was killed in a head-on drunk-driving collision. Yet here I am at a party commemorating her death. With booze and music and people who didn’t know her.

“I’m good. Just… At my dad’s, enjoying a party.” It sounds forced, and at her silence, I know we’re both aware of it.

“You don’t have to brave face with me. You know that.”

She can see right through me, as always. It was like this even before she left. Before she took off without so much as a goodbye. Hurt is heavy in my throat, all my emotions rushing to the surface, but I shove them away.

I have to smile, I have to be happy.

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