Hot Rival ( jenlisa ) ( Gip )

21

Jennie

I push open the doors of the Grand Windsor Hotel, swearing under my breath. How many more of these freaking events am I going to have to attend? And why in the hell had I agreed to this in the first place?

Kids with cancer, I remind myself. Right — that puts things in perspective. This is for a good cause. The rest of it doesn't matter.

I scan the room quickly, looking for her familiar shock of dark hair, and am both relieved and disappointed when I don't see her.

The first person I see is actually Tomas, who rushes over and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Jennie, I am so sorry about everything that's happened. Lisa called me about the photo and I had Kelsey take it down immediately but I'm afraid the damage had already been done."

His words spill out in a tumble and his expression is so pained that I actually smile.

"It's not your fault, Tomas. It's ours. It was just ... oh, you know, it just happened and ..." I throw my hands up but Tomas is nodding.

"Oh, trust me, I know. And for what it's worth, I can't say I blame you. It'd be hard to say no to a woman like Lisa." He grins and I laugh.

"It is," I admit. "It really, really is."

He squeezes my hand. "You'll survive this. What's a little gossip, right?"

"Right." I force another smile. "Do you ... know if she's here yet?"

"Not yet." He glances down at his watch. "She should be here soon though. We'll be doing photos later and she promised to be here for that. Why don't you get a drink? Steel your nerves — quite a few reporters here tonight so I apologize in advance if anyone harasses you about this whole thing. Come to me if they get in your face too much."

"Thanks, Tomas." I smile and, for the first time in what feels like days, I actually mean it.

Since Lisa isn't here yet, I let myself relax a fraction of an inch. I make my way over to the bar where I order a glass of wine — white, because knowing my luck, if I got red, I'd spill it all over my white blouse. I'd gotten so wrapped up in work that I hadn't made it home to change and now I stuck out like a sore thumb in my purple pencil skirt and tailored white shirt.

Just another reason to down this drink and make my exit as quickly as I can.

But I barely have time to enjoy more than a sip of my wine before it happens. She happens.

Lisa.

My heart leaps in my throat at the sight of her — breathtakingly handsome in a navy suit and light grey tie. Her dark hair is as wild and uncontrolled as ever, but her expression is serious as she scans the room. I wonder for a moment if she's looking for me.

I get my answer when her eyes meet mine. Our gaze locks from across the room and I grip my wine glass and remind myself to breathe. The rest of the room seems to fade away — I'm so laser focused on her and only her.

But almost as soon as our eyes meet, she looks away.

The loss of connection feels as real and abrupt as if she had pushed me off a bridge. I swallow down a hard lump in my throat as I watch her smile at an older balding man and then strike up a conversation with him. Her demeanor instantly brightens — she's smiling, laughing, clapping the man on the back.

As if she clearly doesn't care about any of this. As if I'm nothing but a thorn in her side. A cramp in her style.

I gulp down my wine and grab my purse as I stand. I had secretly been hoping she'd come over to talk to me, but she obviously has no intention of doing that. So I'm not going to hang out at the bar all night waiting for her.