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That man was a menace.
A delicious, uncontrolled menace.MY PHONE HADN’T STOPPED ringing.
Slate had sent me five messages since I’d been home demanding to know what was taking so long. He expected me at the party as soon as I left work. Of course, he would. Typical man.
Granted, I was last to leave the building, but before I made any sort of appearance, I needed a hot shower to resist the ever so tempting urge to crawl into bed.
Staring with a sudden distaste to the beautiful yet currently offensive dress on the bed, I was about to pick up my phone and call in my absence when I heard a knock at the front door, followed by someone yelling my name.
I froze, hoping if I remained still, they’d go away and leave me in peace.
No such luck.
Again, there was a thump at the door, and this time I could make out the voice yelling my name.
Damn you, Slate!
He knew my game.
Sighing heavily, I pulled on my dressing gown and walked down the hall.
Goodbye bed.
Goodbye soft pillows.
See you later dreams.
Walking to the door, I pulled it open to a very smiling Slate.
“I’ve come to drive you.”
Could I flip him the bird and slam the door in his face? Probably not, so I turned, walking back to my room.
“Five minutes, Britta, we’re already late as it is.”
Closing the door, I dropped the gown and slipped my little dress on then fixed my hair before walking back out to Slate who was looking down at his phone.
“Is it a small one?” I asked, referring to the party. He lifted his face up, his eyebrow raising, then a smirk appeared on his lips.
“Do we do anything small?”
I should have known the answer to my question.
“I’m not staying long, I’ll Uber it home.”
He shook his head as we walked out.
“Crash in the spare room,” he replied.
I ignored him, wanting to walk back to my bed already before we’d even left.Chapter 4HawkThe same crowd was here. A group of men who’d grown up together through college and partied hard as fraternity brothers. Now they were all working various jobs, as hotshot lawyers, businessmen, or thinking of ways to revolutionize their family business.
And among them were an equal number of women, some from the same Sorority house, others newly acquired through business relationships. The party was in full swing, and Britta was nowhere to be seen. In fact, neither was Slate.
The host was Jarod Thickle, a former frat brother, who still lived the bachelor life, but in his loft overlooking the better half of New York. Jarod worked at his father’s law firm, yet his partying lifestyle would always prevent him from making partner or being equal share in the family business. He took his father’s disappointment and vented through partying, too stupid to realize the vicious cycle.
Stupid or not, he put on a good party.
“Hawk Carnage?” came an unfamiliar voice. “Is that you?”
I turned away from the city view off the balcony and faced a woman who stood to stare wide-eyed at me. She was tall and leggy but a good head shorter than me. With her curves and red hair, she reminded me of the Jessica Rabbit sort. Sultry and fully flirtatious. The good-time girl who’d been every man’s fantasy, but certainly not marriage material. She had high cheekbones and Angelina Jolie lips, and as she talked she knew men would be thinking about them. She was the type of woman I’d both like to bed and avoid. She also seemed slightly excited to stumble upon me.
“Yes,” I confirmed. Before I had the chance to ask her name, although it seemed I should have remembered, the strange woman continued, “I haven’t seen you in forever, stranger.”
“I know, it’s been a while,” I replied, still drawing a blank.
Her sultry eyes cast a languid glance down the length of my body before meeting my gaze once more. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, taking a step closer, a well-manicured hand resting on my arm. “And I see you’ve been working out.”
“Always.”
“I’ve just bought a new apartment a few blocks away. Perhaps I can show it to you later?”
As her hand slid over my chest, I saw a flash of color that belonged to someone else. I moved to look past a group of people in the way, mystery woman following my gaze.
“Or...” she continued hoping to gain my attention, “... we could find a quiet spot here.”
And there it was again, the flash of color before her face came into view.
There, inside the loft, having just arrived and looking unimpressed, was Britta Valentino.
We locked eyes, and she bit her lip.
Damn her.
“Excuse me,” I said, gently removing the woman’s hand.
Her perfect pout widened in shock at the abrupt dismissal.
Crossing the patio, I walked inside, fielding off those wanting conversation. I was only ten steps away when Jarod Thickle approached Britta from behind, startling her. She looked at me, then back at him, his arm wrapping around her waist before pulling her into the dense crowd.
