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He can be with anyone he wants. But for some reason, I want to know if he has a girl in his life.
And if he does, is she going to be here tonight to mock me?
I feel ill at the thought.
There is not one part of me that wants to read a book report to the gorgeous model he’s probably dating. It occurs to me that I know nothing of this man. Never had the chance to pry into his life.
I don’t even know if he’s seeing someone.
Ugh.
This is going to be awful.
Well, if she is going to be here, then I’m going to make myself look hot, too.
It’s such a petty, shallow thought. I hate myself for thinking it. I hate myself for acting on it, too.
I walk over to my closet, throw off the sweats I have on, and put on a tight-fitted skirt and blouse.
Then I fluff my hair with a brush and put on a light dusting of makeup. Squaring my shoulders, I head out into the hallway.
There is a gathering in the living room.
Most of the faces I know.
And I’m happy to see there is no sexy woman.
God, what is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t be happy.
I shouldn’t care.
Get your hormones in check, girl.
The man is a major asshole.
Just because he is hot and makes you feel tingly inside when his blue eyes find you doesn’t mean you have to act like a complete idiot.
“Payton,” he drawls, lifting a glass to his lips.
It’s full of mahogany liquid. He’s drinking, and I’m his entertainment. Got it.
He sets his glass down, gesturing to a space set aside for me. There’s a little box there. The type kids stand on to reach the sink to brush their teeth. And he is exactly the petty type of asshole to send his staff out to buy something like this for tonight.
Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to do it.
He continues, “Tell us something you have learned this month and how it is relevant to this household. Impart some learned wisdom . . .”
Shit.
His question is open-ended, and it means I need to use my own interpretation to reference him and the other unfamiliar people around. So . . . mainly me.
This isn’t good.
I studied Jung.
But having to pull from my brain something relevant to Trent . . .
