“No. They wouldn’t have bothered inviting me if that was the case. I mean…why did they invite me? Why did Archer make it a group chat when he could have just texted Freya separately? Heprobably is. I’m sure they have a separate chat where they talk about me.”
Meow.
My hair won’t sit right, no matter how much product I spray into it. There’s one strand that keeps straying from the pack, falling onto my forehead, and it’s taking everything in me to keep from punching this fucking mirror.
Closing my eyes, I slam my comb down on the table and take a deep breath. It’s just one dinner.Relax, Julian.
Opening the drawer, I set the comb inside and pull out the lint brush. Another orange bottle, just like the one in my office, stares up at me with expectation.
I am really in my head tonight. Maybe I should take one.
But I’ve been so good lately. Haven’t I? Things at the club have been going well. I’m actually going on a date. I hate to go back when I’m doing just fine without it.
My mind is made up when I slam the drawer shut.
With my mind racing, I meticulously run the lint brush over my sleeves and pants. When done, I take another look in the mirror, appreciating how this midnight-blue shirt pairs with my pale skin and azure eyes.
The look is flawless. If only the inside matched the outside. The trick is making people think it does.
My spine straightens, and my expression flattens.
Perfect.
Grabbing my keys, I don my coat and say goodbye to Onyx. When I reach the main floor of the building—after taking the stairs—I meet Lucien in front. He’s standing near the car door, ready to open it for me when I step outside and spot the tall figure to my right.
Pausing, I make eye contact with Archer. His face lights up when he sees me. He really is like a fucking dog, isn’t he?
“Oh hey,” he says, nodding toward me as I notice a new cut on his lip.
“You’re still alive,” I reply flatly.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” he says, the left side of his mouth lifting in a smirk that is too handsome to look at.
Averting my gaze, I glance over at Lucien, who has the door open, waiting for me.
“Is that your car?” Archer asks.
“Yeah,” I stammer. “Would you like to share a ride?”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment, his smirk turning coy. “Were you just going to take your own car to the restaurant and let me ride there alone?”
His bluntness grates on my nerves. The way he picks out my insecurities and never leaves anything for silent dissection.
“I’m offering now,” I say through clenched teeth.
Archer chuckles to himself. “Perfect. I didn’t want to call a cab.” Brushing past me with arrogance, he says a quick greeting to Lucien before climbing into the car. “See, I knew you were a nice guy, fancy pants.”
He’s fucking with me, and it if wasn’t so fucking adorable, I’d be pissed. Because he’s right, isn’t he?
Why didn’t I offer him a ride? It makes perfect sense that we ride together, but I was too committed to being an asshole that I didn’t send him the invitation.
With a huff, I climb in after him.
As I sit down next to Archer, I get a whiff of his cologne, and it instantly triggers my memory from the night in the elevator. It’s not a scent I recognize, which means it’s not a designer brand, reminding me that Archer really doesn’t care about luxury. It’s earthy and refined, with hints of sandalwood and leather. It’s the kind of scent that makes me want to lean in—a quiet, undeniable allure.
Refraining from running my nose along the length of his throat, I stiffen in my seat and stare out the window. We circle the Arc de Triomphe as I ask, “Don’t you have a hired car?”
“In Paris? No,” he responds with a haughty chuckle. “Myfather has one back in the States, but it’s not really my style. No offense.”
