Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓

26 | Unhinged

WHETHER I WAS GOING to say anything more— object or otherwise— I don't know, for it was at this exact moment that I realised my hand was still within his. I retracted it, hastily. He didn't say anything else as we walked side by side back the way we'd come.

I didn't realise how far I'd actually managed to drag him in my fit of rage, but as it turns out, quite far. It took longer, therefore, to get back, both of us making not attempt to rid ourselves of the awkward silence settling around us on the excruciatingly long walk back. Even so, everybody still seemed completely absorbed in the whole magazine thing.

People who would never have usually talked to one another seemed to be conversing profusely with each other. It was completely strange, obviously, but in a weird way, endearing. Maybe I was just a bit psychotic, though. I guess that was what spending too much time with Archer did to someone.

Heads, several at a time, began swivelling towards us, until there were a good hundred pairs of eyes just staring directly at us.

It was beyond awkward: us standing under the far from subtle gawking and, to make matters worse, in dead silence.

I started toward where I had been sitting prior to mine and Archer's little dispute, but a hand ever so gently grasped my wrist and this time, it was Archer who was leading me. I turned back to look at Miles and the girls, only to see him grinning like a complete idiot and gesturing me to hurry up.

My heart seemed to be the only discernible sound in the room, and I couldn't quite tell if those around me could hear it, too. Legs like lead, I followed him further still, feeling dread creeping up with each step, until we reached his table. The table. As in the Elite Table, the one with royalty seated ever so comfortably around it and I, now being guided to the seat beside the billionaire boy, close to the head of it.

"Jolie, darling, how are you feeling?" Autumn asked, hands grasping my own and eyes filled with nothing but concern and an undertone of something more that I could quite put my finger on. "You still look a tad pale."

"She's likely just hungry, Autumn," Archer said, scrolling though the emails on his phone. "Don't fuss."

She sat back, letting go of my hands, but threw me a questioning look all the same. I nodded that I was alright, not quite feeling up to saying anything more.

Noah and Archer seemed to fall into conversation easily, almost as if they weren't aware of the prying, interested eyes of those around them. Perhaps they weren't. I, however, was and found it a little difficult to engage in any way semi-decent conversation feeling holes be burned into my back.

It had been no more than ten minutes, but my leg was shaking and when I tried to settle it, my hands would shake, so I tried to settle my hands, and my lip would twitch. It was a never ending battle of where the anxiety would manifest.

I placed my hands on the table and stood before anyone could say otherwise. "I've got to go?"

"Do you want me to come with?" Archer asked, hand placed on my own to fit the ideal of the 'doting boyfriend.'

I shrugged, "I'm alright, thank you."

***

Back in my room, I still didn't feel entirely at ease but at least my four walls provided shelter from the relentless eyes and people leaning in to overhear conversation, grasping at anything to fill in the answers to their unorthodox questions.