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“Bolton,” I finger spell. “Cody Bolton.”
Henry makes an impressed face and signs, “You should ask him for an investment.”
“No.”
“You didn’t ask Sazuki—”
“And I won’t.”
He scowls at me.
I scowl back.
“Let’s make a deal.” I swipe a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sign with one hand, “I won’t push you at girls and you won’t pull out the business proposals.”
Henry studies me, weighing the cost. Finally, he nods and stalks across the room to the bar.
An instinctive urge to grab his bicep and steer him toward any willing female takes over, but I know I can’t bulldoze my way into a matter as sensitive as a breakup.
Poor thing.
Iwillfind him a girlfriend tonight.
As I’m about to drink the champagne, my stomach clenches in discomfort. I realize I haven’t eaten all day and set the glass down.
To attend this wedding, I caught a three-hour flight back to the city after a grueling photoshoot. There was no time to fuel up.
I better eat before I pass out.
Eyes roaming, I locate the snack table and head that way. I’m stuffing my face with the rich folk’s version of a cheese puff when the air around me shifts.
It’s a change in the temperature, a shadow that wasn’t there before, a smell of strong cologne, and the way the people around me start paying attention.
I look back. There’s a guy standing behind me. A hint of sheepishness adorns his gaze, and a tinge of annoyance curls his lips. He’s good at hiding it though. The irritation flashes in and out of his face before his smile transforms into a flirty, practiced grin.
His mouth is flapping fast. Nerves, maybe?
Goodness. He’s a chatterbox.
I’m really good at bluffing when a hearing person starts talking to me, but this…
It would be difficult even in a brightly lit room. Tonight, the beautiful crystal chandeliers are dim, tempting me to step closer.
But I don’t.
Poor guy is still chatting up a storm.
I guess he didn’t notice my hearing aid.
When I say nothing, he visibly reddens. From the veins bulging in his neck, he’s probably gone the route of talking louder.
I keep staring at his hand gestures, playing the guessing game. Hm… is he complaining about me not responding to him?
A hint of censure enters his gaze, confirming my guess.
He’s now standing way too close and throwing his hands around. This is a lecture.
I bristle.Who the hell does he think he is?
