Page 10 of Power Play
She glides in from the edge of the room as though she’s floating on stilettos. Blonde, glossy and legs that go on for days. She’s dressed like she’s auditioning forLove Island: Charity Edition. And she’s draped all over him before I can process it.
“Been looking for you all night,” she purrs, fingers curled into his lapel.
Murphy stiffens beside me. “Chloe. Didn’t know you were invited.”
“I came with Finn’s lot.” She giggles and leans closer. “We still need that catch-up drink, remember?”
I step back instinctively. She feels like cold water running down my spine. My brain plays catch-up a few seconds behind my stomach.
She’s not just a tabloid girl. She’sthattabloid girl. The one Murphy was linked with last year. The one who said they were “casually seeing where things went” in an interview withHeatmagazine.
Murphy untangles himself gently. “Not really the time, Chloe.”
She pouts, glancing at me. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realise you were… busy.”
She says it like it’s a joke. Like I’m a joke.
I laugh softly, but it’s brittle. “Don’t worry. I was just leaving.”
“Sophie,” Murphy starts, but I’m already halfway to the back of the room.
I don’t stop until I reach the terrace and cold air slaps at my skin. I grip the railing, forcing in a breath. The sound of clinking glasses and polite laughter floats out behind me.
Of course she showed up. Of course he has atype. Glossy. Easy. Non-threatening. What the hell was I thinking?
The door opens behind me a minute later. I don’t turn. “I didn’t know she’d be here,” Murphy says quietly.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
I press my lips together. “She’s your business.”
He steps closer. I can feel the heat of him behind me, the tension crackling off him in waves. “You think I want her?” he asks. “That I’d be out here chasing after you if I had even the faintest interest in anyone else?”
I flinch at the wordchasing. “I think you’re charming, Murphy. That’s your thing. I’m not built for flings.”
He exhales sharply. “Neither am I.” I turn to look at him. His jaw’s tight, and his hands are fists at his sides. He looks furious at himself. “I ruined it,” he mutters. “I always do.”
Something twists in my chest. “It was just one night,” I say, even though it wasn’t.
He looks at me as though I’ve hit him. “No. It wasn’t.”
I open my mouth and then close it again. Because if I let myself believe that, believe him, I don’t know how I’ll come back from it.
The door swings open again. A couple walks out laughing, their hands entwined and obviously on a promise.
Murphy glances toward them, his jaw clenching. I swear to God, he’s trying to will them away with some kind of superpower.
“I should go,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.
“Sophie,”
“Goodnight, Murph.”
I walk away before he can answer.
CHAPTER SIX
