1
HOLLY
Just get through the next hour.
You are a professional.
So your ex is over there with his hand on your boss’s ass.
So you worked your butt off to make this opening night of his exhibition a huge success while he’s over there pawing at the woman who signs your pay checks.
I swipe a glass of champagne off the passing waiter and down half of it, watching Julian's hand run up and down Vivian's Gucci-covered ass as they laugh with some art rich collectors near the ice sculpture. The sculpture is shaped like a Christmas tree, already melting under the gallery’s heat and dripping steadily into its silver basin. Exactly how I feel right now. Slowly coming undone in a room full of people celebrating the man I caught fucking my boss in her office yesterday.
A man who, for the last two months, seduced me into believing he was a nice guy as we worked together to bring his art exhibition to life.
A man who shrugged it off when I walked in on him balls deep in my boss.
I cringe at the memory and take another mouthful of champagne.
I’m not sure what hurts more. The fact that it only took him a mere two months to worm his way into my feelings. Or the fact that neither he nor Vivian seem the slightest bit remorseful.
I admit, it wasn’t love. To be honest, I’m not sure just how much I actually liked him.
But seeing their public displays of affection when he was my boyfriend a mere twenty-four hours ago still stings.
I drain my glass of champagne and dump it on the table of canapés behind me and wonder how much longer I have to keep watching this spectacle.
I just want to get back to my apartment, kick off my shoes, and dive headfirst into a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.
Christ, now his hand is drifting up and down her thigh.
"You look like you could use this," a deep voice says beside me.
I turn toward the voice, and my eyes collide with a pair of the most piercing blue eyes I have ever seen.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I shamelessly drag my gaze over the handsome stranger in a suit before realizing he is trying to hand me a glass of champagne.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, taking the glass from him and trying not to stare at a pair of lips that look like they’d kiss you right into nirvana. “Is it that obvious?”
“No, you’re doing a good job at hiding it. Very professional. I’m just very good at reading situations.”
I smile before lifting the glass of champagne to my lips and taking a big mouthful.
"What did he do?" the stranger asks, his voice smooth, with just a hint of an accent. Russian, maybe.
"Who?" I ask, turning back to look at him, and again feeling a jolt when I see that chiseled jaw line that would make Henry Cavill jealous.
"The man you've been murdering with your eyes for the last ten minutes."
A bitter little laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. "A giant mistake."
“I see. Looks like you dodged a bullet.”
“Yep.” I take another large mouthful of champagne. "I'm usually good at reading people. But somehow this loser managed to slip through."
“You’re good at reading people?”
