Amantha smiles like a ray of sunshine, and I swear the room feels brighter. This is a perfect example of why I love my best friend.
While she reminds me so much of Liza, Amantha also has a darker side that I find hilarious. Some of the snarkiest comments I’ve had the pleasure of hearing come from her. Relatable enough to my devil-may-care ways while also keeping me in check.
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world!” Amantha says.
“Hey,” Val teases with a pout. “That was my award.”
I cut in. “No, yours was the Most Likely To Piss Everyone Off award.”
Amantha cackles, and I smirk.
Val rolls his eyes. “Fine. You be her favorite person, and I’ll be her irresistible husband.”
“Gross.” I stand and gather my things. “I’ll see you guys at the morning meeting in”—I check the time—“eleven minutes.”
“Kay,” Amantha says. “Russo, can you help me check on my Amsterdam pieces I need to transport for my exhibition? I was told not to get them shipped yet, but I’d like to make sure everything is in order before I get the go ahead.”
Val responds with a sneaky smile, and suddenly it feels like they’re talking in code about making out or something. I amnotgoing to stick around to see if I’m right.
I pry the door open, and it scrapes against the side of the chair. Slipping through the crack, I’m halfway down the hall before my feet turn to cement. The break room window is at the end of the hall, but it’s close enough for me to glimpse the haunting grin that insists on following me everywhere.
None other than Brandon Roberts rakes a hand through his chin-length black waves. The somewhat-hollowed, chiseled planes of his face are proof that natural selection exists and that perfect genetic bone structure clearly won’t be doled out to everybody. He shoves his hands into his pockets, unleashing his deep-set dimples on the new intern.
In some twisted cosmic joke, Val accidentally hired my college fling as his assistant six months ago.
Six months! I’ve seen Brandon five times a week for half a year and still haven’t buried his body on the Chicago riverbank.
I deserve a medal.
As I watch him, the familiar hollow pit I’ve grown accustomed to over the past six years fits perfectly back into my stomach. I’m not stupid enough to call it longing—that would be crazy. I ignore the ache and fortify my walls. After all, he was the one who screwed everything up between us, not me.
And why do unreliable men have to be so darn attractive?!
My gaze swings to the intern he’s talking to. Poor girl. She’s barely pushing twenty-one, maybe twenty-two.
She leans close and playfully swats at his shoulder. See? The helpless girl has had to resort to violence to get him to leave her alone.
Call it my savior complex, but I march down the hall and toss my hair over my shoulder as I sweep into the room.
“This is aworkplace, Brandon,” I say without sparing him a glance. “Not a fraternity house.”
The coffee pot is simmering with a fresh batch, so I pluck a cup off the stack and fill it.
I turn to the intern, whose bright blonde ponytail and false lashes freeze in place. Shifting sideways in her knock-off Jimmy Choos, she’s at a loss for words.
I give her an out.
“I’m so sorry he was bothering you,” I say. “Don’t let him waste any more of your time. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead!” I gesture to the door with a smile, then proceed to drain my coffee cup.
Her brown eyes flick between the two of us before she decides to slink out of the room.
Smart girl.
“Possessive, are we?” Brandon turns, leaning his sleek charcoal dress pants against the counter behind him. His crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, like the grown boy-man couldn’t be bothered to put on a tie. I ignore the thorny rose tattoo inching up the tanned skin of his neck and try to forget that I know it extends across his collarbone and down his shoulder.
He’s aged incredibly well in the way that only men do, and that thought turns sour in my mind. While he still oozes dangerous charm, it’s been refined somehow—like beer turned into top-shelf bourbon. The dark stubble he used to sport is now freshly shaved every day. I scowl. As if that square jaw of his needs any more attention.
“Don’t worry. Jealousy looks hot on you,” he says.
