My chest tightens at all the memories that resurfaced last week. I shove them down. Dad’s emails and contracts andbold font thisandALL CAPS thathave literally sucked the air out of my lungs over and over. The last bit he sent,“Do think of your mother, Benedict.”
If I think on it too long I grow lightheaded, shaky…
“Shit,” I mutter absently when Janie reappears, snapping me back to the present. Her wavy dark brown hair is in a messy high ponytail that leaves little pieces falling around her face. Her eyes are massive, her nose is petite but wide at the same time and her smile, well…I wouldn’t know. She’s in a black one-piece suit thing that’s completely appropriate for work and yet still hugs her long, curvy figure like it might actuallynotbe appropriate for work.
I give her my most charming grin but she just glares back, which makes me smile wide.
This is going to be fun.
3
JANIE
This is going to be a long night.
I can’t believe he found me. I mean, with my recent luck, I can. But he wasn’t even supposed to be at this thing. Sure, I figured there was a small chance that a Clark would walk the floor, maybe his dad.
But Benedict? TheannoyingClark who doesn’t seem to contain a serious bone in his body? Who’s always joking, always smirking, always…at ease. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s a handsome, powerful billionaire.
Years ago he would have been exactly my type. A magnetic guy who is my opposite, happy to do all the talking and joking. Adventurous, funny, relaxed.
The flirt.
Though, Benedict takes flirting to another level. Alwaysdarlingthis andlovethat. Ol’ Benny Boy. Or, as the press started calling him, Bunny Boy. Because of his revolving door of playboy-bunny-esque-girls. He’s such a cliché.
I shouldn’t be so irritated. I don’t truly know him beyond observing him, overhearing him, overhearingabouthim and things I’ve read in random articles that have shown up in my news feed over the years.
He and I…we’re periphery people. We orbit around the others. The successful people who are thriving, changing, hitting milestones. Engagements, weddings, babies. That’s not us. Weare the people who cheer on everyone else from the outskirts. Separately. Benedict and I have never actually hung out.
“Right, let’s get pissed, shall we?” The man says as I reach him. I can see what the, uh,bunniessee in him on the surface. It’s a really, really handsome surface. Chestnut hair that’s long enough to curl over his forehead. Those insane eyes, sharp nose, cut jaw and, like, does he even have pores? Not fair.
“Sure, I’ll ditch workandget drunk in public,afterI have my boss’s boss pull rank on him and mess up his entire booth. Why not?”
But the billionaire just laughs, “That’s the spirit.”
“Seriously, does nothing matter to you? How do you know I’m not going to catch hell for this back at Mellman’s after the expo?”
“Since I could have Daddy dearest sell Mellman’s off and tank their stock prices with just a wee tap of an email on my phone, I think you’re safe.” I work my jaw, annoyed, so he adds, “But we could get drunk outside the expo if that’d make you feel better?”
“Yes, please,” I mutter, glancing around.
“Right. To the nearest pub we go.”
My brow furrows as I glance over. In my heels, I’m almost eye to eye with him. His profile is just as stunning as his face. Skye’s sister, Samantha, always gushes that her husband Emerson, the older brother, looks just like Henry Cavill and I can see it with Benedict too. He’s the classic younger brother though, a little softer, smoother…more charming and approachable.
And apparently a drinker.
“You always this eager to get drunk?”
He winces, “Been a bit of a shit week.”
I cock my head side to side, “I can relate.”
“I figured,” I glance over again, about to ask what he exactly means by that but he gestures to me and says, “What with the, you know, mayonnaise suit you were forced to wear?”
I almost chuckle, “Fair.”
We make it about two steps from the end of Mellman’s tradeshow exhibit booth before we’re stopped. Mauled, really.
