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“Congratulations on your win,” I snap, fixing my dress before getting off the stool.
“I’d say thank you if I ever doubted it,” he retorts, not even bothering to look at me.
I take a deep breath and place a fine-line smile on my face.
“Well, if the GM position doesn’t work out, then you can always lean into those skills. I’m sure there are plenty of lonely women out there that would pay handsomely for such a giftedacquaintance.”
When I’m met with nothing but silence, my anger increases tenfold.
But since I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself for one night, the smart thing to do would be to leave before I do the unthinkable—like pour his whiskey all over his head, blinding him long enough for me to kick him in the shins until he’s the one on his hands and knees.
I’d like to see how he’d like to be the one being called kitten, then.
“Nichols,” I say in parting farewell. “Always a pleasure.”
“Lee.” He nods, still not lifting his head off his glass to look at me.
Asshole.
I strut out of there like a bat out of hell, clipping Ethan Flynn’s shoulder along the way.
I’ve had enough assholes for one night.
It’s time I went home and put this disastrous night behind me.
When I reach the lobby outside, I’m still blinded with rage, mumbling every curse word there is under my breath. Thankfully, by the time my Uber arrives, I’ve cooled down enough not to look like a crazy person.
Unfortunately, this horrendous night doesn’t seem to want to end when my phone vibrates to life halfway home with an incoming text from my nemesis.
Ethan:Guess who just had a great chat with the Guardians’ General Manager?
Ethan:Apparently, he must be shortsighted when it comes to talent, too.
Ethan:Because he just agreed to meet with me tomorrow for lunch to talk about Henri.
Ethan:Guess five percent of nothing equals nothing.
Ethan:Sweet dreams.
“Motherfucker!” I shout, throwing my phone to the floor.
“Excuse me?” the Uber driver asks hurriedly. “Is everything alright, Miss?”
“Everything is far from alright,” I mumble to myself while bending down to pick up my phone.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Nothing. You’re fine. Everything is hunky-fucking-dory. Just take me home.”
I shove my phone back into my clutch and slouch onto the back seat, blankly staring at the city lights passing before me.
Great.
Just fucking great.
By the looks of it, Trent Nichols spent tonight trying to screw me in more ways than one.
Chapter 3
