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MIA
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From the back of theroom, I watch the tall, handsome billionaire speaking on stage. Mack stands several feet away from me, and Connor is holding every single person in the room hostage with his timbre, deep voice, and power.
Then again, who isn’t intrigued by a billionaire?
As if the act of listening to them could make you richer or gain even a small percent of the power and success they have.
Pfft.
Not me. I’ve seen what power does to a man.
Still, as much as I’m trying to resist, Connor Barrett is drawing me in. I just can’t look away.
In the flesh, he’s so much more. Gorgeous? Yes. But people can be beautiful and not make an impact. There’s an energy about this man unlike anyone I’ve met before.
Everybody has a unique energy signature. I learned that from my uncle. He said that’s how you can tell the truth of a man. How dangerous they are. He said it’s not the darkness of their eyes or how they hold themselves, or even their tattoos and piercings.
All of that is manufactured.
The essence of a man, my uncle Antonio said, could only be felt. And should be heeded.
“Use your heart, Mia,” he would say, “not your head.”
Power and control radiate from Connor Barrett—that’s for sure—but when I close my eyes and listen to him speak, I begin to feel his truth.
And his lies.
He does care about this cause, but he doesn’t want to be here.
In a wet tuxedo? I don’t blame him.
The crowd breaks into loud applause, and I open my eyes. People stand to greet him and shake his hand as he steps down off the stage and networks the room. His eyes reach me through the crowd, and I’m filled with that same searing heat.
Why is he singling me out?
Is heasattracted to me as I am him, or does he just want to ensure his dry cleaning gets done?
I nearly snort.
He will have employees to do that.
I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a chemistry between us, but I’m surprised he’s acting on it. Even the simple glances across the room.
He’s a powerful man and could have anyone he wants. Not a clumsy events coordinator.
In truth, I know I’m pretty. I have long dark hair, long eyelashes—thank you, Italian genes—and plump lips. But I’m five foot five, small-boned, and my hair is currently up in a messy bun. Along with my Bloom Events Management T-shirt, I’m wearing a boring black business skirt, which ends at my knees.
I don’t even have lip gloss on, which is rare as I am usually pedantic about it. Pulling it out of the fanny pack tied around my waist, I slide some on. Vanilla. I have about a dozen different flavors, but this is my favorite.
