Everything inside me goes very, very still. I know that face. That dimple. Those eyes.
My heart kicks against my ribs.
Oh, God.
It’s him.
“No,” I say. “That’s Nolan Rhodes. The fuckstick’s boss.”
Jeremy whistles low. “Well. If that’s corporate evil, sign me up forcorruption. He looks like a bad idea written in cursive. I’d let him emotionally devastate me and then thank him for the experience.”
“You need therapy,” Maya chuckles.
“I need five minutes and a closed door,” Jeremy says. “Preferably withhim.”
“Stop fanning yourself,” I scold Jeremy. “They’re the enemy. Remember?”
I glance back at Nolan. Same calculated intensity as the last time I saw him. He’s leaning over a high-top table. Expression unreadable.
My mind tumbles back to the day at Stanfield. Dropped phone. The flash of contact when our hands brushed. That tiny pause—the one I told myself meant nothing. Weird poetic line.
Crack’s mean change. They let the light bleed in.
Except in my case. It was darkness.
“Okay, well you didn’t tell me the enemy was so delicious. Mmm…mmm…mmm. I want to lick him up…and down.”
Maya sips her drink. “They’re heading this way.”
“No, thefuckstickis heading this way,” Jeremy corrects. “Oh god, the hot, broody one is doing that thing. The tall guy hover.”
“He’s probably calculating the ROI of ruining my night,” I say flatly.
Maya purses her lips. “Or staring at you like he wants to fill your?—”
“I swear to god, if you finish that sentence,” I cut in.
“What?” She smiles. “It’s obvious he’s checking you out.”
“Brace yourself,” Jeremy whispers. “The Smug One approaches.”
A few seconds later, Rishi hits our table with the confidence of a man who definitely didn’t lose an account today. Must be nice.
“Ladies,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Gentleman.” With narrowed eyes, points at me. “Rorie Adams, right?”
“Yeah.”
Rishi’s all swagger and good lighting. He waves to the bartender. “Another round,” he calls out.
And sidling up next to him?—
The hot, broody one.
“Thought I’d come over and say hi,” Rishi begins, flashing a grin ashe drapes one arm over the back of an empty barstool. “That Vanguard pitch was tight. You made us sweat.”
My smile is all bite. “Oh, you must run hot, Rishi. Didn’t see a drop of sweat when you slid in with a proposal that felt... familiar. I swear I’d seen someone else pitch it recently. Taylor and Blythe maybe. Or was it Halston, Inc.”
I’m lying. Rishi’s pitch was very much original. I just want to be a bitch. Although I wouldn’t put pitch theft past these Big Stream boys.
