As does everyone else.
The glass in my hand is forgotten as the swarming swirls of warmth simmer through me like the champagne decided to transform itself into breadths of tangible somethings.
Dean stands with one of his hands tightened around the microphone and the other unearthly stiff beside him.
“Oh god,” Azar mutters under his breath before drowning the remaining liquid in his drink. It’s nice knowing only one of us needs alcohol to survive (me, of course).
“Welcome everyone!” Azar’s boisterous voice bounces off the skyline and back onto the roof. I think the ground vibrated. “We are excited to have you join us for Vuk Securities' fifth anniversary.”
He continues on about how amazing it is to have all of these people here to celebrate, but I can’t drag my eyes away from Dean who seemsto have the same idea as I do.
There’s a vicious moment that has me locking my toes into the ground so I can’t move. Those willow eyes bolt into me and I can’t look away.
Everyone’s looking at Azar now, they’re smiling because he’s easy to talk to and he knows how to work a crowd.
But something tells me if Dean was given the chance, he could too.
The hand holding the microphone follows suit with his other one and now both are to his side. There’s a tick in his jaw, I think. I can’t really tell standing from here.
I swallow hard, then look away when everyone starts clapping.
It’s like resurfacing and all the sound whooshes back into my ears.
“Congratulations,” a man says to Azar and shakes his hand.
Others do the same.
Do these people not know the person whose hand they should be shaking is standing mere feet away from them?
Don’t count me as someone who knows the history of Vuk Securities, but I’m pretty damn sure that this company may have been founded by Callahan and Azar, it was Dean who took care of all the dirty work behind the scenes.
“Where are you going?” Sunny asks when I give her my glass.
I don’t know.
My feet are dragging me and apparently Dean’s gaze is the yellow brick road to Emerald city.
I’m hypnotized and berating myself as the minute passes, but I’ve been raised to be a smart, educated young woman who can take care of herself. I will, that is, take care of myself if I can somehow stop moving in the direction of the one man who seems to intimidate the living crap out of me.
Oh, too late.
He’s in front of me.
Or well I’m in front of him.
He didn’t even move a muscle and here I am.
Chokehold, anyone?
“Congratulations, Mr. Vuk.” I extend my hand out to him.
He stares down at me.
At me. Not the hand.
Which is starting to feel vulnerable.
“Thank you,” he grumbles.
