I suspect this meeting is going to be painful.
???
The event crew scatter like ants.
Black shirts and hushed voices.
Tables are assembled in neat rows.
Decor and food samples spread across them.
Planning boards lean against the wall.
The room holds a quiet, purposeful energy.
They’ve been waiting for me. Damn.
I avoid Vonnie's glare.
But her death stare is nothing compared to Marco's.
My heart gives a small, traitorous kick.
That's right, look at me like I'm in trouble,I concede.
Because apparently I am.
Oh no.
That complicates things.
Mr Event Planner and his fuck me eyes.
Inconveniently ravishing.
Impeccably dressed.
This bossy diva is very much my brand of catnip.
Marco is roughly six foot two, a little shorter than me.
His body is sculpted in a way that suggests discipline and stamina.
Golden brown locks catch the sunlight as he steps into the centre of the room.
It’s abundantly clear that he’s the conductor of this orchestra.
When he swishes his finger one inch to the left, two men move a stack of chairs toward the wall. With a subtle tilt of his head, a woman carrying a tray of decadent hors d'oeuvres sets it down gently on the table.
I do my best to appear nonchalant.
Raising my cup for one final sip, I take a moment to regroup.
Okay, fine. Marco is stunning.
That doesn’t mean that my original assumption was wrong.
He’s probably still a snob.
