Scandalized(59)
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Without question, Billy will be reading this on his phone and mulling it over most of the night, and I will be at his side, trying to very slowly sip my wine and find the best moment to casually mention that I’ve slept with my source. But at least I’ll also get a chance to people-watch and covertly spy on Alec being hot in his element.
Once we park, we bypass the red-carpet photograph area and sign in. The party itself is as sparkling and upscale as one would expect a gala held at the Beverly Hilton to be. Pulsing, upbeat music that doesn’t drown out conversation. A cash bar with proceeds going to Human Rights Watch. Clusters of seating dot the perimeter of the room. Billy and I grab drinks and then he points us to a side of the room that gives us a good view of the entrance and the bar, where most people will congregate early on. I approve of his choice, too, because the lighting is great. Imaginary Eden high-fives me.
He sips his drink and pulls his phone out just as I expected.
“I knew it.”
Billy doesn’t look up. “Knew what?”
“That you wouldn’t be able to resist reading it as soon as we were situated inside.”
“You wouldn’t have, either.” He scans the words and lets out a low whistle. “Unreal. Unreal.” He pauses, taking a sip of his beer. “Who wrote the part about the tech guy—Sano?”
“Me.”
He nods, gesturing to me with his bottle. “It’s great. Sharp breakdown of his timeline. These guys are fucked.”
I open my mouth to reply, to thank my boss for this rare praise, but my gaze trips over Alec walking in with Yael at his side. For the duration it takes to inspect him head to toe, I stop breathing. He must have bought a new tux today. This one is modern—slim lines, jet-black. His shirt is black, too, and open just at the collar, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. No tie. Long, lean legs. Hair combed off his forehead. He looks like he was designed by scientists to make females spontaneously ovulate.
“What’re you—?” Billy pauses and follows my attention. Alec moves deeper into the room, and heads turn. “Oh.” I feel my boss look back at me—I register that I’m being weird levels of quiet—and struggle to get my face back under conscious control.
I point out the obvious: “Mr. Kim is here.”
Billy gives a low mm-hmm in his throat, adding, “I see that.”
Why didn’t I tell Billy in the car? It’s a blatant omission now, an intentional one.
A board member for the AP approaches Alec, whose smile is bright, but I recognize the formality at the edges, the way he keeps his physical distance, shakes hands, doesn’t hug. My brain pulls an image forward, pointing to it with gloating urgency: Alec bringing me into his arms in our suite. Telling me I’m a tease. Kissing me in a loud, playful smooch.
I drag my eyes away.
“Is there a conflict of interest happening in that brain of yours?” Billy asks, and the question injects a bolus of adrenaline into my bloodstream, immediately cooling my lust.
I feel the hot flush of anxiety crawl down my arms. It’s not like I haven’t thought about that exact issue every time the subject of Alexander Kim comes up between Billy and me, but until today we weren’t using Alec’s information in the story.
And if Alec and I do make a go of this, Billy will eventually find out. He wouldn’t fire me over it, but sleeping with a source on a story this big—especially since I’m withholding it now—could change the dynamic between us, could affect the stories he’s willing to let me tackle from now on.
I swallow heavily, deciding it’s now or never. “Billy,” I begin, but he lightly punches my arm, laughing.
“Come on, George. I’m teasing you.”
“No, but actually—”
“You’re not the only person in here with a crush on him.” With an exasperated eye roll, Billy reminds me that we do not do personal backstory. “Lighten up, kid.”
The opportunity is slammed closed. I blink back over to Alec as my heart stutters with nerves and realize Billy’s not wrong: there are at least five different people standing near Alec, waiting for that opening to approach, pretending to be absorbed in something nearby but really watching him like a hawk. An unfamiliar brand of adrenaline swarms my blood, a jealous one. I want to crash through the crowd like a possessive Kool-Aid man and drape his long arm around my shoulders. Isn’t he gorgeous? He likes me. We have sex.
As if he can sense the weight of my gaze on him, Alec looks up, and our eyes meet across the room. I can’t help my smile from cracking open; in response, he fights his. I watch him take in my dress, see his eyes do the full circuit of my body before his attention slowly passes to my right, to where Billy stands just a little too close. Close so I can hear him over the cacophonous, bustling room, but still. Too close.
At that moment, my boss grips my shoulder and playfully turns me so that my back is to the room—teasingly suggesting that I need help redirecting my focus. It means that I’ll never know if I imagined the bright flare of heat that passed over Alec’s face.
Billy immediately breaks into storyteller mode, and when a few of our colleagues join us, I am soon laughing so hard that I let myself forget that Alec is across the room, being plied with drinks, being flirted with.
But then a cool hand comes around my arm, gently turning me.