I waited for her to get seated, then took my seat. My mother wanted a perfect gentleman at these meetings, representing our company? I could be a gentleman.
I could also be a lot of other things.
“Devi,” I said, romancing the name on my tongue. “What a lovely name.”
“Isn’t it?” Janelle said.
“What was your last name again?”
“Sereda.” The annoyance flashed again. But hey, she started it. She wanted to pretend she’d never met me before? Two could play that game.
“Devi Sereda. Sounds familiar. Have we met?”
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes glowed at me like two hot coals, telling me two things. One, she definitely remembered me. And two, she really hadn’t changed much from that girl I knew in senior year of high school. The girl who hated me.
“You sure?” I mused, like I was trying to place her.
“I think I’d remember,” she said tightly.
“You work for Superior?”
“Yes. I work for Janelle.”
Actually, you work for me.“How interesting,” I said. “You’re a model?”
I knew she wasn’t a model. Gorgeous as she was, she didn’t have that look. Not tall enough. Not young enough. Etcetera.
But sometimes it was just fun to be a dick.
“I’m an agent,” she said.
“We have a number of wonderful agents,” Janelle put in. “You’re welcome to meet them all. Come by the office. Whatever works.”
Of course I was welcome to meet them all. They were, technically, my employees.
But I just said, “Sure. Whatever works,” while gazing at Devi like I was still trying to place her.
The waiter brought her a glass of water and a drink menu. “I’ll stick with water, thanks,” she told him.
Janelle ordered up a bottle of wine.
As he departed, I was still eying Devi. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked her. “You look a little… off-put. Bad lunch?”
Janelle looked at her. “My goodness. You do.”
“I’m fine.” Devi sipped her water, shooting a look at me over the rim of the glass, like she was considering whether or not throwing it in my face might shut me up.
Probably not.
“Maybe it’s the dress,” I offered. Much like in high school, she seemed to have a thing for blindingly bright fabrics. It was astonishing how good they looked on her.
Most people would probably look like a carnival clown threw up on them.
“Yellow isn’t her color,” Janelle concurred.
Devi glared at me, hiding it with a quick, fake smile when I met her eyes again. She looked stunning in yellow. And turquoise. But she was definitely looking a little unwell. Stress? Nerves? Overwhelming loathing?
Weirdly, my day seemed to be looking up.
