WAVE

Chapter 21

Tears of rage, of embarrassment spill from my eyelids as I turn, finding Tristan standing behind me. He's staring over me at my table, his mouth gaping in horror.

"And here he is—ladies and gentlemen—defending his side dish."

I hear scattered laughter throughout the room before I see a flash before me, along with a noisy clatter. Tristan has the man's tuxedo jacket between his fingers and he's pulling him closer to his enraged face.

I stare, wide-eyed, as does everyone else around us.

"I want you out of my sight. Get out before I throw you the fuck out."

The guy grins, squinting. "What are you going to do? Have me escorted out of here?"

"Who founded this night?" Tristan smiles with a look so full of loathing that the man nods, waiting for Tristan to let him go. "I won't ask again."

Tristan runs a hand through his hair as Tom and his wife leave hand in hand, shaking his head. "If anyone has anything else to say about this woman or my private affairs, I suggest you leave. This is a night to raise money for children. I will not let uneducated, arrogant people diminish what we are here for."

Tristan's dart to mine, expertly discreet. I immediately turn, heading for the exit.

***

I sit on my couch, staring at the lamp I broke earlier in my moment of rage. My body is still heaving, unsure what to do with all this anger.

I'm embarrassed. Belittled.

All I've ever done is care for this man. I don't deserve this.

I don't deserve this.

My phone rings for the third time and I ignore it, knowing it's probably Tristan. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to anyone. What happened in that room is probably on every news station— every article online. I'm a joke because I couldn't even defend myself.

The phone rings again and I groan, grabbing my cell from the clutch. My eyes widen when I see Alma's name on my screen. Shit.

I hesitantly swipe right, answering it. "Hi, Alma."

"Why the hell have you not answered your phone?"

"I didn't hear it," I whisper, closing my eyes. "Have you heard?"

"Yes! I damn well heard! I heard that you caused this whole scene in front of everyone and that Tom was thrown out! Tom Winkler! Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I didn't cause anything, Alma. I didn't do anything wrong. They came at me!"

"You were representing us! I've just received dozens of texts about this from some of the most prestigious people in our industry!"

"It is not my fault!" She's silent for a moment, and I surge to my feet, running my hand through my hair. "Listen, I'll—I'll find—"

"No. I'm sorry, Genevieve, but I have no other choice but to let you go."

My heart lodges in my throat. "What? No, Alma, please... I work hard for you. I work hard for my job."

"And you're good at it. The best, if I'm honest. But your personal life is causing too much of a mess for us. I can't have this affecting the museum anymore. I'm sorry. This—This is effective immediately. You can collect your things tomorrow."

She hangs up, and I stare at the wall as a tear speeds down my cheek.

My gaze is stuck on the stone wall.