Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(67)

“It’s a correct one,” he tells me. “Most everyone loves Jonathan, and if we could repair his image, we all would. But it’s too late for that.”

The elevator suddenly pings. We’re here. The seventy-fifth floor.

When the doors slide open, we see four women, the rest men, holding champagne flutes, servers wandering around. They all turn and stare right at us. Their expressions are severe, no-nonsense, poised and confident. They size us up immediately.

Daniel watches our stunned reactions and says, “Welcome to Hale Co.”



* * *



Lunch begins, and I almost instantaneously lose my sister in this meet-and-greet. The high tables are lined with small sandwiches and tapas. I pinch the stem of a wine glass, filled with chilled water, and linger by a table in the corner, away from the limelight.

It’s safe here. I chew slowly, using food as an excuse not to talk too much. I just nod a lot. All four women have flocked me, and they ask me about baby things, which Hale Co. product I like the best. Easy stuff, but I suspect they’re mentally jotting notes about my “personable” skills.

“I like the rocking chairs,” I say between bites of cucumber sandwich. The women stare at me like a mouse has spoken. I take a large gulp of water. I secretly want to raise my hand and say, introvert in the building! But that’s not going to help me.

They want someone like Daisy.

The men seriously love her. She already learned the art of schmoozing from her modeling career. Seven middle-aged men surround my little sister across the spacious conference room, floor-length windows overlooking Philadelphia.

“If we have a press conference, how would you handle personal questions?” the oldest woman asks me, redirecting my attention. She wears a conservative blue dress, has short blonde hair and an intimidating scowl. Irene, she said her name was.

“I’d answer them to the best of my ability,” I say, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“Don’t do that,” Rachel tells me, a five-foot brunette woman. “The press will think you’re uncomfortable.”

I am uncomfortable.

“She is uncomfortable,” Irene points out.

Shit. “It’s just pregnancy stuff. I’m not one-hundred percent.” I almost want to touch my belly and thank Maximoff for the escape.

Irene doesn’t buy it. “So if I asked you how Loren is, what would you tell me?”

“He’s great,” I say, my cheeks heating.

“Do you always turn this red?” Rachel asks.

I nod, eating slowly. After a swallow, everyone still looks at me for an answer. “It’s uh, a thing.” Oh my God. I need someone to bail me out of this. I search the room, and I stop myself, realizing I’m looking for Lo.

“A thing?” another woman says. I can’t remember her name.

“Did you really graduate from Princeton?” Rachel questions.

I nod.

“Her GPA was appalling,” Irene mentions, “which is why no one should be that impressed.”

Jeez. Anger pumps out of my chest. I spent years busting by butt for that diploma. Sure, I had a lot of help, but I still worked for it. “I earned that degree,” I say. “I passed all of my classes and studied for every exam. I may not have been the smartest person in the room, but I at least tried and succeeded.”

Irene stares at me for a long moment, and I am about to shrink underneath her penetrating gray stare. And then her lips curve. In a smile. “We can work with that.”

I did kind of sound like Rose a little bit right there, sticking up for myself. I internally pat myself on the back. Good job, Lily.

Rachel asks me another question, but I’m distracted by the men’s laughter. Daisy gesticulates with her hands like she’s telling a hilarious story, and they’re all eating it up. One even places his palm on her shoulder. It falls to her back.

And then lower, sliding down to the spot above her ass.

No. No.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, on a new mission. Protect my little sister. I don’t hear anything that Irene, Rachel, or the other two women say. I march over to Daisy, my pulse racing. It doesn’t help that Maximoff decides now of all times to kick me in the ribs.

Great. Just great.

Daisy slyly tries to step out of the handsy guy’s space, but he shifts with her. She bobs her head at him and the others like she’s enthralled with the conversation. I notice that the handsy one has horn-rimmed glasses. After I binge-watched Heroes, I trust no one who wears those particular glasses. Paranoid. Yes.

But I’ve been an absent sister for most of my life. I plan on beating Rose and Poppy for the best older sister award, so I scoot closer to Daisy’s side and try to wedge my body between her and Horn-Rimmed.

His hand falls off her back. Success.

I inwardly give myself a second pat.

And then every single man stares down at me like I appeared out of thin air, and not only that, I see their minds churning. It’s like their eyeballs are imprinted with she’s a sex addict. I’m a unique specimen, I suppose, but it only heightens the awkward silence.

I have no idea how to alter it, no plan on what to say after I interrupted their conversation. I thought I could coyly sneak in, be all invisible, swat Horn-Rimmed’s hand away, and sneak out.

I f*cked up.