Martin Riley helped Hazel Morgan onto the couch. Just as he was about to stand up, Hazel grabbed the hem of his suit jacket.
"My head is spinning, Martin. Can you stay with me, please?"
Martin frowned with impatience. "You've had too much to drink. I'll get someone to take you home."
Ever since the incident with Sylvia Byrne, he had developed a bit of an aversion to drunk women.
He instinctively pulled his jacket free from Hazel's grip and looked down at her, his gaze probing. He remembered Hazel could usually hold her liquor well and shouldn't be drunk so quickly.
"I want some water."
Feeling guilty under Martin's scrutiny, Hazel placed a hand on her forehead, her eyes half-closed, mumbling softly, avoiding Martin's eyes.
Martin stood there for a moment before going to find a waiter. Hazel watched his retreating figure, inexplicably relieved, though her expression was somewhat bitter.
Some things couldn't be rushed; they had to be taken slowly.
