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I haven’t felt this good in a long time. No way am I going to let this spoiled brat ruin my night.
“Hardly any of those people are my friends,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she’s cold.
This causes my gaze to drop, taking in her exposed legs. They’re long and thin and shiny with lotion. She has on those strappy silver stilettos, and her toenails are painted a pale pink that matches the dress.
Sexy. This girl is definitely sexy. Rich as fuck and smelling sweet. I’ve always had a secret thing for rich girls. They take care of themselves, and they’re usually not too clingy. More on the independent side.
At least the ones I’ve dealt with.
“For someone who’s having such a big party, you’re acting like you hate every single moment of it.” I take a step closer, invading her space, but not too much. “Though it looked like you were having fun at first. What changed?”
She drops her arms at her sides, her expression plaintive. Like she might burst into tears at any moment. “This night isn’t going like I planned at all. And your performance actually threw it completely off. And then Ian left when that was the last thing I wanted to happen, and now I want to leave too.”
Okay, this woman is confusing. “You can’t leave. This is your party. And who’s Ian?”
I glance around, my gaze snagging on a photographer lurking behind the massive flower heart, his camera poised in front of him. Like he’s sneaking photographs of us.
What the hell? Haven’t had to deal with the paparazzi in a long time, and it feels rather... foreign.
And kind of nice too, can’t lie.
Damn, I always was a massive attention whore.
“It doesn’t matter. I appreciate your performance, and I know my father paid you a ton of money, but your job is done.” She waves a hand. “You can go.”
I’m completely taken aback by the waving hand and the vaguely snotty tone. “Are youdismissingme?”
She tilts her head to the side, her eyes widening with emphasis. “Yes. Now please leave.”
I hear the shutter of a camera going off again and again, and I know whatever he’s getting, it looks bad. And the last thing I need is bad publicity.
I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.
Without thought I grab Scarlett by both of her arms, hauling her into me. I’m immediately surrounded by layers of pink tulle, her chest flush with mine, her scent filling my senses, heady and sweet.
Reminding me it’s been a while since I’ve had a beautiful woman this close.
“What are you doing?” she practically screeches.
Before she can say anything else or, worse, run, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Just go with it, okay?”
“Go with what?” Her voice is soft, her gaze lifting to mine, and I zero in on her plush mouth. It’s pink. Glossy.
Tempting.
“Follow my lead. Someone’s watching. A photographer.” I slip my arms around her slender waist, and she doesn’t protest.
More like she melts in my arms.
Hmm.
“So?” Her brows shoot up.
“So they’ll publish photos of us arguing and try to make us look bad.” I pause, watching the panic fill her gaze. “You don’t want that, do you?”
She’s quiet for a moment, contemplating me. She’s about to turn her head to check out the photographer, but I touch her cheek, keeping her in place.
Keeping her gaze on mine.
