Warren doesn’t flinch. “Leoni, meet Nancy. Nancy, this is Leoni, my secretary.”
I hold out my hand politely, and Nancy stares down at it like I’ve offered her a dead rat.“You let your secretary come to work dressed like that?” she sneers. “Are you fucking her?”
I almost choke with embarrassment, my eyes going to Warren, who simply smirks.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks.
I already dislike this woman, but I’m not about to start a scene, not with someone who clearly thrives on venom, so I pick up the drinks menu and pretend to scan it.
“There has to be some reason for you allowing her to come to The Mayfair dressed like a backing dancer to a rap music video.”
“Now, now. Play nice,” Warren says lightly, though the edge in his tone isn’t lost on me.
Nancy slides into her seat, crossing her long legs and turning her full attention to him. “I call, I text, and you’re alwaysso busy,” she purrs, running one manicured red nail down the back of his tattooed hand.
Warren doesn’t look like the typical businessman. Tattoos climb his throat, curling over the edge of his collar, up his face, and both hands are inked too—strong, broad hands that flex when he’s tense. He’s built solid, with wide shoulders and the kind of presence that fills a room without even trying.
I catch myself staring, imagining those hands gripping my waist, and snap my gaze away, cheeks heating.Jesus, Leoni, get a grip.
“I’ve been busy,” Warren replies evenly, his tone all cool restraint.
The waitress approaches with her notepad, and before she can speak, Nancy waves her off with a scowl. “You’ve seen I’ve just arrived. I haven’t even looked at the menu,” she snaps.
The poor girl shrinks instantly, murmuring an apology and scurrying away. My jaw tightens.I hate rudeness.
“My father said you’d been busy,” Nancy continues, her smile syrup-sweet. “He thought I should tell you about my new business venture.”
And off she goes—launching into some long speech about a strip bar and brand strategy, or something equally soul-numbing. My mind drifts almost immediately. Business talk makes my brain glaze over, but her voice still grates like nails on a chalkboard.
When Nancy finally pauses to breathe, the waitress reappears, and we order. My stomach’s growling, so I go for steak, and instantly regret it when Nancy daintily requests a leafy salad with a low-fat dressing on the side.
Of course.
As if sensing my discomfort, Warren closes the menu and says, “I’ll have the steak as well.”
That somehow makes it worse.
Nancy tilts her head, her smile cruel. “You never answered my question. Are you fucking this—” she begins, searching for a word that won’t quite come.
“That’s very direct of you,” Warren says coolly, cutting her off before she can find one.
“I like to know where I stand,” she replies smoothly. “She looks like the submissive type. I imagine you like that in a toy.”
My cheeks flare instantly. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and I curse my mother for passing down the damn blushing gene.
Warren’s voice drops, calm but edged with steel. “You know I don’t mix dating and business. There’s too much between your family and mine.”
“Bullshit,” Nancy purrs, leaning in. “Have your fun with girls like her. But we both know you’ll come to me in the end. I’m yourforever ending.” Her red lips curve into a confident smile before her eyes flick toward me with open disdain. “What do you even see in her, anyway?”
I freeze, fingers tightening around my water glass, the humiliation bubbling hot beneath my skin.
For a moment, I honestly think I’m invisible.
They talk over me, around me, like I’m some decorative object on the table, or worse, a servant waiting for orders. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the prickling behind my eyes, that horrible mix of anger and shame that makes it hard to breathe.
What do you even see in her anyway?
Nancy’s words slice through the noise of the restaurant, her voice dripping with confidence and cruelty. Warren doesn’t answer, just studies her with that unreadable look that drives me insane. But I don’t need him to defend me.
