I SCRAMBLED ONTO the bar as again and again and again, Noah brought his fist down onto Jacques. Each crack made me flinch, and I had to look away to stomach the sight of all that blood.

Jacques friends seemed paralysed for a moment before they stepped forward, ready to come to his defence. However, as they took in Noah's ruthless state and the primal glint in his eyes, they raised their hands in surrender. With a quick look at their beaten friend, they hightailed it out of there.

Jamie was the first to react. He jumped over the bar with ease and was helped by Archer to haul Noah up and away from his punching bag. He struggled in their hold, shouting obscenities at the bruised and broken boy.

I watched in disgust as he was helped to his feet.

"What on earth happened?" Autumn asked as she squeezed her way through the crowd watching the scene.

"He said some unsavoury things about you." I couldn't bring myself to tell her the entire truth. That he'd, bile burned my throat just thinking about it, joked about taking advantage of you.

Her lip curled in disgust. She turned on her heel before I could stop her.

Jacques turned when she tapped him on the shoulder.

I almost gasped at the state of him.

'Bruised and broken' wasn't the half of it; his eye was almost completely swollen shut and his lip was fat and bleeding. Autumn didn't seem deterred as she grabbed the nearest drink and threw its contents at him. She paused, for only a moment, before bringing her knee up, hard.

She returned to my side. "Waste of a perfectly good drink, to be honest with you."

***

The next day, all of us decided that maybe going out after all that had happened probably wasn't the best idea.

Noah— with his fists still bruised and a small purplish spot forming on the left side of his jaw, where Jacques had got one punch in— really was in no fit state to be seen. And I think we'd all had enough excitement the previous night to last us the rest of the holiday.

So when Autumn said, "Don't worry, it'll only be a few people," I couldn't help but look at her a little sceptically.

"Autumn," I said, picking up a plate from the sink and drying it with a tea towel. "Is a party really the best idea right now?"

"Probably not," she admitted, taking the now dry plate from my hands and slotting it back in the cupboard. She turned to me. "But I just really need to take my mind off what happened. Just something before we go back. Please?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's your house."

She took whatever she could get and so, squealed and tackled me in a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jolie!"

"Yeah, yeah," I murmured. "Just a few though, right?"

"Of course."

***

Just a few, I thought with a scoff as I looked around at the seemingly hundreds of people milling about in the living room.

Noah had decided to stay in his room and sleep off the previous night. I didn't blame him. If I had recently fought some guy whilst almost entirely intoxicated, one of the last things I would want to do is get involved in another party.

I pretended not to notice Autumn slip away and head towards his room. Maybe they wouldn't reconcile immediately, but the lack of shouting and glass smashing, I'd say was a positive? Perhaps.

Every time there was a chance of being alone or too close to Archer, I hurriedly made an excuse and walked away. Or left out the excuse and just practically sprinted away. Each time, he was becoming more and more aware of what tactics I would use and was becoming closer and closer to finally entrapping me.

Until he stopped completely.

Acted like he didn't notice me enter the kitchen.

It really shouldn't have hurt. Hell, it shouldn't have made me feel anything. But try telling your body not to feel something like that. Easier said than done.

I squeezed my way out through the people I didn't recognise and made me way onto the balcony. I leant against it, watching even more people arriving, and lifted my glass to my lips.

"Hello, stranger," I said half-heartedly as a figure joined me. I'd heard the door open, letting the noise from inside leak more into the night, before closing it again, effectively smothering it— even if only ever so slightly.

They stayed silent but I could feel them take their eyes from the impenetrable night and look at me. My skin prickled as they did, eyes dark and analysing. I couldn't suppress the goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"You've been ignoring me." It wasn't a question.

I went to turn away but Archer gripped my wrist, firm enough to stop me but not enough to hurt. The skin on skin contact was enough to send my heart spiralling. Stop, it's wrong.

He stared down at me.

My voice was far firmer than I'd expected when I said, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Tell me why," he said, eyes so intense that I found it difficult to not let my own waver as I stared into him. Instead of letting him see me crumble when he analysed me like he always did, I didn't look at him at all. "I'd rather you be brutally honest than a coward."

"I am not a coward."

"Seems an awful lot like it," he ground out. He released his hold on me and turned back to the balcony, back to me.

"You can't talk," I told him, wanting to forcibly turn him around, but settled for just clenching my fists. God, he was infuriating. "You got me to be your pretend girlfriend for what? So you didn't have to face the media? Or your mother?"

His entire back tensed.

"Too cowardly to answer me, Archer?" I chided, both hurt that he'd called me a coward and ashamed... because he wasn't completely wrong.

He turned to me, quicker than I'd expected, and strode in front of me before I could move away. "Remember who you're talking to, Jolie."

"Oh, trust me, I do," I bit back, anger fuelling my will power to be able to glare at him head on. "You're Archer Redwood: the entitled, spoilt rich boy, who's probably never heard the word 'no' in his life. He thinks he can buy his way out of problems, which is why you 'hired' me. But you know what? I don't want your money anymore."

"It's not about wanting it," he said, eyes likely just as fierce as my own as they flickered with emotions I was too preoccupied to decipher. "You need my money. Don't pretend like you don't."

My mother flashed in my mind. Frail, sickly, and defeated. But she's getting better, I reminded myself, conjuring the image of her fuller and with a bit more colour and happy. One day, it'd all be back to the way it was.

Yes, I needed his money. Well, not necessarily his but money in general. But I wasn't about to admit that.

"I'm not pretending," I told him. "I've never been pretending. Except to make people believe you were a decent human being with morals."

He scoffed, blue eyes rolling. "Pretending?" He asked, but it wasn't really a question. He stepped closer, and my breathing picked up a notch. "Pretending?" He repeated, leaning down to my level. I swallowed a gasp as his lips touched my neck, feather light and soft. "Wrong answer, try again."

I pulled away. "You're spoilt, snobbish, pretentious, stuck-up—"

"And you're whiney, immature, conceited—"

"Conceited?" I almost shrieked. "You're an arrogant, careless, dickhead—"

"You wound me," he said, stepping closer until my raggedly heaving chest was pressed against his. I could feel his own pounding heart, beating tirelessly like my own.

More encounters like this would surely not be good for my blood pressure.

I stared up at him, willing him to admit defeat. "That had been my intention."

"You confuse me, Jolie Dubois," he said, suddenly serious. My resolve wavered. But I forced myself to not retreat so easily. That's what he'd been intending, after all. To catch me off my guard, so he could worm his way into my head. It was a game tactic. There was no other explanation.

"Confuse you how?"

We were so close. Almost nose to nose. If I tilted my head just a little, we would be kissing and exploring each other in exactly the intimate way I didn't even realise I'd been craving.

"Confused like—" his breath was on my face, minty and a stark contrast to the frosty air. "— I'm constantly torn between throwing you off this balcony and kissing you."

I should have walked away.

I should have realised there was nothing romantic about wanting to throw someone off a balcony. But I was tipsy and he was so pretty, and the stars seemed to shine only for him, and I couldn't look away.

I don't know what possessed me to say it. Maybe it was the three quarters of the wine I'd drunk. Hardly. But the idea of this whole thing being alcohol-induced eased my whirling brain, not really.

"Then do it," I said. "The latter, I mean."

His lips pulled into a smirk. "Correct answer."