Jessica tried to focus on the conversation, on the pulsating music, on the cheap thrill of feeling the bass shake the floor beneath her heels. She ignored the vertical view—ignored the fact that Alex was in the same building, just one exclusive tier above her. She laughed too loud at Damien's jokes and clinked glasses with Joan, trying to melt the three years of disciplined avoidance with alcohol.
The rule had been one drink. But the anxiety of seeing him, combined with the lingering ache in her heart, demanded more. The first drink was a shield, the second a denial. By the time she finished her fourth, the sharp edges of her control were blurring. Soon, the glasses became a reckless blur, four, five, six, until she lost count entirely.
She felt deliciously loosened. The cold, empty spac
