Chapter 4

Graham's POV

Devon froze, the color draining from his face. "Graham, I know you hate me. But the client's innocent. You could at least keep this separate from work."

Natasha frowned at me. "Graham, I never thought you'd stoop this low."

I gave her a thin smile and stared right back at her. "That makes two of us."

Natasha blinked, clearly not expecting me to humiliate her in front of everyone.

She lowered her voice and leaned in. "Graham, now's not the time to be petty. Go apologize to the client."

Devon chimed in beside her, every word carefully clearing himself of blame. "Graham, the bride's still in the lounge. Just go talk to her."

They made it look like they were trying to help me, but every sentence was an admission of guilt on my behalf.

The groom had completely lost his composure. He pointed at us and snapped, "Is this how you people do your jobs? Falling over each other to take credit when things go right, and pointing fingers the second something goes wrong?"

The family members crowded in too, shoving and demanding answers. Devon cried out and stumbled backward, shielding Natasha as he went.

Almost at the same moment, someone's fist connected with my face and a shoulder slammed hard into mine.

My feet slipped out from under me, and I crashed to the floor, catching the edge of a table on the way down.

Natasha started toward me, and for a split second my body reacted faster than my brain.

Eight years together made me believe she was coming for me first.

But she brushed right past and rushed to Devon, pulling him up and checking him over.

Whatever lingering attachment I had died right then.

"Everybody stop!" the hotel security shouted.

The ambulance arrived not long after. Devon sat cradling his wrist, his face white with pain, and Natasha stayed right beside him. "Dev, I'll go to the hospital with you."

I braced myself against the floor and got to my feet, blood running from my forehead down my cheek.

A staff member held out a tissue. "Mr. Dawes, you should probably get that looked at."

I glanced at Natasha. She was bent over Devon, straightening his jacket, and didn't turn to look back at me.

…

In the emergency room hallway, Natasha sat beside Devon, talking to him in soft murmurs.

I sat on the other side of the hallway, letting the nurse clean the gash on my forehead.

The sting of the antiseptic on the wound made my fists clench so hard my knuckles went white. It wasn't until the nurse called my name that Natasha seemed to remember there was another person here.

"Graham?" She walked over, her brow furrowing when she saw the cut. She grabbed my hand. "How'd you get hurt this badly?"

I didn't answer.

"Look, tonight was a disaster. Don't overthink it. Go home, get some rest, and I'll be waiting for you to come get me for the wedding tomorrow morning."

I looked at her blankly and slowly pulled my hand free. "Okay."

She turned and left. And I walked in the other direction.

By the time the plane landed, my phone picked up signal again. Messages flooded my screen all at once.

All of the messages were from Natasha.

"Graham, where are you?"

"Why haven't you come to get me yet?"

"I went to your studio. You're not here."

"Graham, you're scaring me. Answer me."