“Mila?” A deep voice rumbles from behind me, and I turn.
But suddenly I can’t speak, because it’s fucking Grant Carey. He’s even bigger in real life, but he isn’t looking at me—he’s zeroed in on Mila, his expression unreadable.
“Grant.” Mila turns to greet him, but he’s frozen, his face pale, like he’s seen a ghost.
Odd.
“What are you doing here?” His tone is icy, and you don’t have to be a genius to work out he isn’t happy to see her here.
She smiles. “It’s a fitness conference, isn’t it?”
I don’t miss the way his face pales before she introduces me.
“This is Devon. Devon, meet Grant.”
I reach out my hand, praying he doesn’t notice how damp it is. “I’m a big fan,” I say, falling over my words. “I listen to your podcasts every week without fail?—”
Grant mutters something that sounds like, “Be careful, man,” but I can't be sure I heard him correctly. If I did, though…
What does he mean?
“You’re so funny, Grant!” Mila laughs, clinging to me.
Grant glances at me before stepping back into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as he’d come.
What the hell was that? It’s like he couldn’t wait to get away.
“Do you know him?” I question, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.
“We dated, I ended it, and he didn’t take it well.” Mila shrugs. “Between us, he was too full on.”
Strange, he couldn't get away from us fast enough.
“Wow,” I breathe, my brows crashing together. “That guy is the whole reason I’m here!”
Mila’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, exhaling heavily.
And I barely got to speak to him.
I feel miserable, but I can’t let it get me down. There are plenty of other speakers here.
Mila steps closer. “Do you want to get a stronger drink? I know I could use one.”
I hesitate, but she’s already heading to the bar, leaving me alone.
To be fair, I could use a whiskey or something. I’m pissedoff. That was a golden opportunity to speak to Grant.
I follow Mila to the bar, just as she turns to me with a wide smile. “What are you having?”
“Uh, just whiskey.”
“On ice?” the bartender asks as she grabs a crystal glass.
“Yeah, please.”
Mila turns to me and winces. “I’m sorry about Grant. He’s a bit…” She pauses, pursing her lips together as she searches for the right word. “Strange…” Her voice trails off.
