Drew leaned forward, brow furrowing. “Does pregnancy brain affect Dads, too? Because that doesn’t sound like him at all.”
“It’s not,” I said.
Dean cocked his head. “Well, what’s the deal you’re trying to close? Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re going to get it done.”
“Jameson gave me the file. I don’t even know if he told Sterling I’m working on it, but I went to a meeting anyway. I walked in on some newly-broke trust fund baby ready to hand over his family’s entire portfolio for scraps to another acquisitions manager.”
Drew chuckled. “Whoever they were, they can’t have been happy when you walked in.”
“You should’ve seen her face.” I smirked. “If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash.”
They roared with laughter, clinking their glasses against mine. We all drank to my survival, nearly draining our glasses.
Dean was still chuckling as he slid his arm over the back of the booth and cocked his head at me. “So what happens now?”
I shrugged. “Now, I wait for the call. Broke trust fund baby will come crawling. They always do.”
As I reached for our pitcher to refill my glass, I realized it was almost empty and I stood to grab another round. “The next one’s on me.”
I made my way through the crowd toward the bar. And then—bam. There she was.
Aurelia Van Alen, looking even more dangerous under the amber lights than she had in that restaurant. Yeah, I knew Aurelia—knew of her, at least. Old money. Yale. Richard Van Alen’s little princess.
Our families circled the same parties, the same galas, though I couldn’t remember ever talking to her before this week. My mother made a bit of sport of keeping the Van Alen clan out of our inner circle and CC’s social rules were carved in stone.
For some reason, she’d decided that the Van Alen’s were out, which meant I’d never even met them.
My father hadn’t quite gotten the memo, though. Richard was one of his oldest colleagues, a banker who’d weathered three recessions and two market crashes with his reputation intact. Dad respected the hell out of him. I’d never really figured out what my mother’s problem was, but I didn’t really care.
Aurelia? She was stunning. Exactly my type, unfortunately.
A living, breathing barbie doll with curves in all the right places, poured into a tight red dress like she was daring every man in the room to stare until he lost his goddamn mind. Her skin had that golden-bronze glow money couldn’t buy, and her hair was this natural dark blonde.
I’d bet my inheritance that it wasn’t dyed that color. She wore it too proudly, like she already knew she was perfect and didn’t need anyone to manipulate that. Shewasperfect though, drop-dead gorgeous in that old, Hollywood kind of way.
When I reached the bar, I placed our order and pretended to be more interested in the bartender pouring our bourbon than I was in her, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her, flanked by two girlfriends as they moved through the crowd like hot knives through butter.
Just my luck, they moved straight toward a group of guys by the bar. Finance bros, if I had to guess. Their loafers were too shiny and they were all laughing too loudly, like they were compensating for whatever they were lacking.
My eyes followed her like a hunter tracking prey, but she was here for them. Not for me. As the bartender slid our drinks across the counter, I picked them up and deliberately turned my back on Aurelia and her friends.
Right now, I couldn’t afford to have my brain short-circuited the way it had been threatening to since she’d stormed right up to me. I’d managed to keep my composure then, even if going toe to toe with her had been a borderline erotic experience.
Instead, I slid back into the booth with my guys, tossing my drink down like it was juice. “Hey, Drew. Your girlfriend’s family made their money in tech, right?”
Drew blinked, mid-swallow of his drink. “Yeah?”
“She wouldn’t happen to know Aurelia Van Alen, would she? Maybe she’s mentioned her?”
“Aurelia? I mean, I’ve heard the name. She’s kind of popular online. Like, Instagram-popular. My girl said she’s always getting invited to those charity galas for young professionals, but other than that, nothing.”
I smirked, filing the information away in case I needed to use it later.Instagram popular. Figures. No wonder she strutted through the bar like it’s her own, personal runway.
Still, it was enough to go on. If she was chasing the same client I was, she had to be working under her father. No other reason a Van Alen would be sniffing around an acquisition deal.
The guys and I finally moved on from me and my big first week, swapping stories and drinking one too many rounds. I laughed until my throat was sore, but through it all, I snuck glances at her, finding it more and more difficult to look away after every shot I tossed back.
Eventually, we all peeled off in our own directions and I decided to walk again. Strings of Christmas lights were twinkling outside shop fronts and I’d genuinely enjoyed the walk over. With the heat of alcohol now in my veins, I was betting the walk home would be even better.
