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They were arriving.
They surrounded him like a crowd of flesh and satin, tugging him back into the hotel and the ballroom just behind. One raised a half-empty bottle of champagne in the air like a World Cup trophy.
Cici laughed, gesturing at the spectacle. I snapped my mouth shut. Just before he reached the entrance, he glanced back, and I swore those gray eyes met mine.
I hurried into the car, dragging a now gawking Cici after me.
“Do you know him? He looked right at you. It was kind of odd really.”
“No. I don’t know him.” Clearly one nice task, like saving my purse from oblivion, didn’t mean the man was worth my time. Or effort. He was clearly exactly the man I had pictured him as. I hated that I was disappointed by it. I should’ve known better.
Men like that don’t end up with copy-writing, business plan–writing marketing peons from another city.
“You ready, ladies?” nameless driver chanted back. “Who wants some music?”
Cici squealed, her head tipping back as she buckled her seat belt then tugged on mine. “It’s time.”
“For what?” I tucked in close. I met my aunt’s mischievous eyes, which were practically glowing in the dim car lighting.
“Burgers!” we yelled together. As the vehicle pulled away, I shoved the mysterious Liam Macklen to the recesses of my brain, filed between “Never Going to Happen” and “Lonely Saturday Night Plans.”
