Chapter 67 Applause
Hannah
Timothy appeared at my side barely a minute later, looking every bit like the composed, unflappable man the world expected him to be. The elevator doors slid shut behind us with a soft whisper, sealing us into a quiet, polished box of glass and steel.
He cleared his throat.
“As I was saying,” he continued smoothly, like nothing strange or charged had happened back in his office, “tonight’s event is fairly straightforward. Opening remarks, a few industry awards, networking during intermissions, then the main presentation.”
I blinked once.
Then twice.
And just like that, the moment, that moment was gone. Folded away, locked behind his calm tone and perfectly neutral expression.
“Oh joy,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the mirrored wall. “More names to remember.”
He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re doing fine so far.”
“I’ve already forgotten three people you mentioned.”
“I only mentioned two.”
“See?” I groaned. “Hopeless.”
He let out a quiet chuckle, low and brief, and the sound did something unsettling to my chest. I shifted my weight, folding my arms, focusing very hard on the steadily descending numbers above the elevator doors.
The ride ended too soon.
We stepped into the waiting car, the driver pulling away from the curb almost immediately. City lights streaked past the windows, blurring into gold and white ribbons as traffic thinned.
Timothy resumed his rundown the second we were moving.
“…and the woman in emerald is married to the man who controls half the distribution channels on the west coast. Don’t mention his ex-wife. Ever.”
“Duly noted,” I said dryly. “Anyone else I shouldn’t accidentally insult?”
“The group near the center aisle; they’re old money. Very sensitive.”
I made a face. “Aren’t they all?”
He laughed again, this time more openly. “Fair point.”
I sighed dramatically, sinking into the leather seat. “You owe me for this. I’m filing it under emotional labor.”
“I’ll add it to the ledger.”
“Good. With interest.”
We talked the rest of the way,light banter, a few sarcastic asides from me, the occasional amused correction from him. By the time the car slowed near the venue, my nerves had settled into something manageable.
The building itself was breathtaking, made of glass, steel, and soft lighting spilling outward like a beacon. We were ushered in swiftly, names recognized, paths cleared. Inside, the air hummed with conversation and anticipation.
Our assigned table was near the front.
As soon as I sat, I spotted them.
The women.
Loretta’s former cohorts.
Perfect hair, immaculate dresses, smiles sharpened into weapons.
I straightened my spine instinctively, chin lifting a fraction. I refused to let them see even a flicker of discomfort. Timothy took his seat beside me, posture relaxed but alert, one arm draped casually along the back of his chair.
The lights dimmed, and the event began.
I clapped when appropriate, smiled when cameras swept past, kept my expression composed. Still, I felt their eyes on me during the quieter moments, whispers exchanged behind manicured hands.
Eventually, one of them leaned closer, voice dripping with false sweetness.
“Well,” she said, eyes flicking over me. “You clean up nicely. Must be exhausting, keeping up.”
I smiled without showing teeth. “It’s amazing what rest and confidence can do.”
Her friend snorted softly.
Timothy didn’t even look at them as he spoke. “Some people mistake effortlessness for effort. It’s an easy error to make.”
The woman’s smile faltered.
I added calmly, “But thank you for noticing.”
They exchanged glances, murmured something under their breath, and shortly after excused themselves from the table entirely.
I let out a slow breath.
Timothy turned to me, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Well handled.”
“Team effort,” I murmured.
We shared a brief smile before our attention returned to the stage.
The awards continued, applause rising and falling in waves. Then came the final announcement—the room stilled, anticipation thick.
“And now,” the host announced, “for the evening’s highest honor…”
My heart kicked as Timothy’s name echoed through the hall.
The applause was thunderous.
I was on my feet instantly, clapping hard, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. Pride bloomed in my chest, warm and unexpected.
Timothy stood, nodded once to me, and made his way to the stage.
As he accepted the trophy, I noticed movement a few tables over.
Rowan.
He wasn’t clapping.
He was staring.
No….glaring. Why was he glaring at Timothy?
The intensity of his expression sent a chill down my spine. Something dark flickered there, something I didn’t recognize.
Then he felt my gaze.
His face transformed in an instant with bright smile, exaggerated grin. He jerked his head toward Timothy and rolled his eyes dramatically.
I snorted before I could stop myself.
Rowan grinned wider, mouthed ‘later’, and I nodded back, amusement replacing my unease. Maybe it was just my imagination.
Onstage, Timothy delivered his speech, short, sharp, confident. The applause that followed was even louder.
When he returned to his seat, I leaned in.
“I’m proud of you,” I said softly. “You deserved that.”
He froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then he looked at me, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he nodded. “Thanks, Hannah.”
I squeezed his hand instinctively, then realized what I was doing and started to pull away.
He didn’t let go.
His fingers tightened slightly, anchoring mine, eyes already fixed back on the stage as if nothing had happened.
I followed his gaze, pulse fluttering, lips twitching as I fought a smile.
And this time…
I didn’t pull away.