The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(84)

I weave through the people in my way, nodding and smiling as best I can to everyone who greets me. “Okay, ma’am?” Damon asks from close behind, tailing me.

“I don’t know.” My eyes are on my feet now, my painted smile fading. I don’t have the strength or inclination to force it back into place. I peek up to gauge the distance to the tent.

And collide with someone.

I’m caught from behind by Damon, and in front by Josh.

“Hey, are you avoiding me?” Josh asks, looking genuinely perplexed.

I have no words for him, only a blank stare. “Ma’am?” Damon asks, still holding on to me, as is Josh in front of me. I’m sandwiched between both of them, relying on them to hold me up.

I quickly engage the muscles in my legs and wriggle my way free from between them. “Excuse me,” I murmur, scuttling away while scanning the vicinity for anyone who might have caught that awkward moment.

“Whoa, wait a minute there,” Josh says on a laugh. It’s nervous and laced with confusion. He catches my wrist and pulls me to a stop, and I swing around, finding Damon within touching distance. “What’s going on?” Josh asks him, keeping a firm hold of me.

Rather than answering Josh, Damon looks to me, his thumb hovering in no man’s land.

“Thumb down,” I grate.

“No,” Josh seethes. “You do not get to give me a fuckin’ thumbs down, woman. Not without me knowing why.” He turns back toward Damon. “Thumbs up. Turn the goddam thumb up.”

“Down,” I counter, barely able to talk through my panic.

Josh looks on the verge of explosion. “Up!”

Damon glares at us like he wants to tear our heads off, then motions around us, as if to remind us that we’re in full public view. “Move it somewhere private, perhaps, ma’am?” He levels me with a serious stare. “If you want to talk.” He’s asking me, and I hate that he has to. Because he must see how conflicted I feel. He must see the hurt. And my lack of an answer gives him his.

I suppose that must be why he doesn’t stop Josh when he growls and yanks me across the way toward the portable toilets. Toilets? Okay, so they are the most unrivaled portable toilets in existence, the poshest out there, but still. It’s a toilet. And small.

“Nice night at the after-party?” I spit, being dragged along behind Josh.

“Yes, and I spoke to you, remember? What the fuck has changed since then?”

“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” I retort, trying to win my wrist back. I lose.

Josh drags me up the steps to the toilets, shoves me into one of the luxury cubicles, and slams the door. There is roughly two feet between our chests with our backs pressed to opposite sides of the box. Very cozy. If I was talking to him, which, of course, I am not.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he barks.

I divert my stare from his angry blue eyes, but with limited space comes limited options. I resort to focusing on his shiny tan shoes, a safe bet. Until they move, telling me he has taken the one and only step available to bring him closer.

I can’t breathe with him so near, can’t think. “Your wild party at The Dorchester. That’s what I am talking about. The women you entertained, the fact that the place was trashed.”

“What?”

His ignorance ramps up my anger, and I brave facing him. I immediately regret it. His handsome face is like a sucker punch to my gut, reminding me of one of the things I love about Josh Jameson. Just one. The attraction. And with the vision of the face that has scrambled my entire existence comes every other amazing thing about him, all things I love. His way with me, his lack of veneration for my title, his softness mixed with his hardness, his ability to take me to faraway places where only we exist. My eyes begin to burn with the onset of an emotion I have no idea how to deal with.

Josh must see the glaze wash over my eyes, because he frowns, withdrawing a little. “Talk to me, Adeline.”

“The head of communications at Kellington advised me of a story that is running in tomorrow’s paper.”

Josh’s body locks up, and he reverses his step, his back meeting the opposite wall. “What story?”

“The one of you getting drunk, entertaining women, plural, and trashing your hotel suite.”

His mouth drops open, and he looks to the door of the cubicle, his forehead a roadmap of creases. “I didn’t trash my hotel room.”

It’s hardly surprising I don’t focus on his denial, but only on his lack of reference to the women. So, he can say lovely things to me, build my hopes up, tell me it will all work out, but he has no qualms about fucking other women while he waits. I’m a fool. I’m done. Through. “I saw the pictures, Josh. And you may have forgotten, but I’ve been inside that suite so can verify the photographs’ authenticity. Do not treat me like I’m stupid.” I go to leave, getting nowhere, his hand like a vice on my forearm. I glare at him with all the disgust I feel. “I only have to shout and Damon will be in here within a second.”

“Then fuckin’ shout,” he snaps, goading me, shoving his spare hand in his pocket and pulling out his phone.

So I do. “Damon!” The door to the lavatory is open within a heartbeat, Damon brooding on the steps before me, taking in the scene. “Get me out of here, please,” I all but sob, yanking my arm free and rushing past my head of security.