His gaze travels from me to Luke, standing closer than he should. There’s none of the professional civility of the last couple of days. Despite the distance, I can read his face perfectly. He’s burning, he’s angry, and he’s not as indifferent as he pretends. My hand trembles as I put my wineglass down. Tristan turns, parting the mingling crowd like the Red Sea as he strides toward the elevators. I force my gaze away. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Luke and Toby. If they reply, I don’t catch it, hurrying through the packed crowd. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t
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