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“Right in the middle, actually. Ana, let this wanker know that I played a vital part.”
“Daniel was a good sport.” She laughs, her expression lightening, and I get that queasy shit in my stomach that happens when I’m about to throw up.
This is why I don’t like blondes. They always, without a sliver of fucking doubt, look like her in my mind’s screwed-up eye.
“You’re misunderstanding something, beautiful. Daniel is anything but a good sport.”
“Your jealousy is flooding the floor, Van Doren. Every individual on planet Earth knows I’m more charming than you’ll ever be.”
“Is that why you yelled at two people this week?”
“Three, and they were being idiots. Being charming is not a synonym for pushover, and I’m allergic to stupidity.”
“But Knox is right. Gwen said you’re different,” Anastasia supplies needlessly. Gwen, Nate’s wife, is her bestie, and apparently, they’ve taken up gossip as a side hobby, because she says, “Ever since you got a new assistant. Blonde, too. I always thought you hated us.”
“I do. No offense.”
“Taken.”
Knox levels me with a glare. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry you were born with a disgusting hair color, Anastasia. I liked you better when you dyed your hair black.”
“Are you sure that’s an apology?” She shakes her head.
“The only version you’ll get.” I smile, showing my dimples since they evidently make people drop their guards or drop to their knees. Except for one fucking person, obviously. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a few clients to greet.”
The round of socializing is equal to liking random posts on social media and commenting that people look good when they’re actually potatoes in the form of humans.
I might be on the extrovert spectrum, but over-interaction with people makes me feel…empty.
Maybe even lonely.
But my nonexistent therapist doesn’t need to know about that.
“Danny!” A shock of gold throws itself in my arms like a hooker in a strip club.
“Katerina.” I kiss her cheek as my cue to pull away, and she subtly rubs her stomach against my dick.
No sign of life.
Bloody perfect, Junior. We’re going to the ER in a bit.
Katerina has a rich daddy that helped her get on her feet, but she’s a hard worker, too. Which is what I respected about her the first time we met during our university years.
She’s wearing a golden dress that could compete with a drag queen’s clothes. She’s tall with generous curves and a fuckable arse and…well, that’s all I remember about her.
And the fact that my stomach tolerates one-tenth of her food.
“It’s been a minute, stranger.” She drags her red nails over my bowtie.
“I’ve been kind of busy.” Trying to shag my assistant on my terms and failing miserably. Not that anyone needs those depressing details.
“Then it must be fate that we met here.”
“We run in the same circle, Kat. Fate is the last thing you should be giving credit to.”
“Oh, don't be a bore.”
