Page 73 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
He still doesn’t come inside. It’s like he can’t trust himself to. And it makes me even more self-conscious. He’s coy.
Distant.
Different.
This isn't the Lance I've become used to, the one who until recently told me he wanted to get together, he wanted a second chance. He’s being careful. Restrained almost.
Or maybe he's moved on.
I'm sure he has many pretty students batting their eyelashes at him.
We make small talk as we drive to where the event is taking place. I tell him about the people he will soon meet, about my boss, Remy Brannock, and the others in my department we’re probably going to end up sharing a table with.
Lance is quiet, to the point that I ask him if he’s bored already. No, he answers. Then I ask him if he’s worried about his daughter, or something? Again, he answers no.
I question whether it was a good idea to bring him, but then I catch sight of Preston mingling with a few of the secretaries, and I am glad Lance is with me.
We walk into the upscale fancy hotel where this event is always held. There’s a room swimming with servers and beautifully dressed guests. Sparkling chandeliers hang like jewels from the high ceilings and servers stand at the doors with thin long champagne flutes on their trays.
I know the place well and this time, it feels so good to be here with Lance, of all people. I take a champagne flute, but Lance opts for a non-alcoholic drink. I tell him he can have a few drinks; he won't be driving us back until after midnight which is when this thing ends, but he shakes his head, and takes a pastel colored fruit drink.
My co-workers are standing around in their little cliques and I steer us towards them. My boss stands with his back to us, in a group which comprises Preston and a few other managers. “We’ll have to say ‘hi’ and talk for a bit,” I mutter under my breath.
Lance looks in their direction. “Let’s get it over and done with.”
Most of the people in my department are here but they look different, all dressed up, slick, smooth, shiny and new. A couple of the girls from the admin team catch sight of Lance and I see the admiration and awe on their faces. Their gazes shift to me then Lance, then back to me again.
“Can I hold your hand?” he asks, whispering against my ear. His fingers brush mine. In answer, I slip my hand into his. It's warm and firm. He wraps his fingers around my hand like a glove.
I've never attended any of these company events with a date before, which is why Preston and I usually have ended up hanging around together. Laughing at other people. I flinch in embarrassment. Was I really so cruel and judgmental, making comments about other people's partners and their relationships just because I didn’t have anything long lasting of mine?
Not good.
As we approach my group, I feel as if I’m with a celebrity because, even though the shooting is no longer 'news', people know Lance's face because it was plastered all over the papers.
Linda, one of the receptionists, smiles at me, and the girls beside her can’t seem to take their eyes off Lance. As we join the group, I make introductions, but it’s not warranted because people know Lance, and they seemed dazed by his appearance at this of all places.
With me, of all women.
Murmurs of ‘You didn’t' tell us you were dating,’ greet me as my colleagues start talking to him. Lance is gracious and charming. I watch him in action. I'm embarrassed for one of the women when she whips out her phone and asks him for a selfie.
He obliges, oozing charm like James Bond.
Then Linda asks the same, and soon, other women come over and want pictures taken with him. I stand and watch. It pinches, seeing him with other women. I wonder if this is what Vivian feels and why she doesn’t want to let him go.
He rubs his hand over his hair, mussing it up, looking even sexier than ever. He's eye candy, and every woman he comes across, is eating him up greedily.
Other people join our group, I smile and make small talk, but I am not friends with these people, and only know them by face.
They're here not for me, but for Lance. They ask him about the shooting, and smile and preen and flick their hair, even those shameless women who have come with their partners. They desire him, but he takes it in his stride, as if he’s used to the attention.
“Here you are.” Preston slides over to me with a drink in his hand and a cocky smile on his face. He turns to face us, his eyes shifting to Lance at my side again now that the photo shoot is over. Lance’s grip tightens around my hand and I instinctively move closer to him, my body brushing against his. Then he slips his hand out of mine and slides his arm protectively around my waist, his fingers stroking the silky fabric of my dress. Sparks scamper up my back and legs.
“You remember Lance, don't you Preston?” I say, cheekily.
“Yeah, I do.” Lance turns to acknowledge him only briefly, before turning his attention back to his captive audience of groupies.
“This is my date,” I whisper to Preston. A muscle in his jaw flexes. We make idle chitchat before my boss comes over to me.
