While I sat in the penthouse going over paperwork. You know, behaving myself.
It pissed me the fuck off.
“How about you, the billionaire bachelor?” she inquired, like she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes. “How’s your weekend so far? Any yacht parties? Private lap dances at the gentlemen’s club? Backroom meetings of a sacred order where you drink the blood of virgins and swap endangered animal hunting stories?”
“Not yet. Last night I reviewed paperwork. Details of recent acquisitions for Valhalla. Checked on my investments. Sent notes to my broker.”
She almost laughed. “Why?”
“Because that’s what I do at night.”
She blinked at me. “That’s what you do before you go to bed?”
“Yes.”
“God. No wonder Tina-the-hot-CEO left you.”
Before I could even respond to that she looked away, made a happy gasp, and snatched hold of the arm of a passing man. An incredibly good-looking black man in an impeccable tux. “Trey!” she said.
When he saw Devi, a smile spread across the man’s face, complete with deep dimples… taking him from “unusually good-looking executive” to “underwear model hot.”
Who the fuck wasthisguy?
“Devi Sereda,” he marveled, somehow drawing out the end of her name, which had not one M in it, with a longmmmmmnoise.
They hugged, and as they drew apart and started chatting, my teeth clenched. We were in the middle of a conversation, and now her hand was firmly planted on this guy’s bicep.
I coughed casually and they both looked at me.
“Oh. Trey. This is Dane,” Devi said, sounding bored. “I’m surprised you don’t know each other. Both being such titans of industry and all.”
Fuck, I was gonna regret the day I threw that term in her face.
“Trey Jones.” He offered me his hand. “Brick House Records and Jones and Associates.”
“Dane Davenport.” I shook his hand. “Valhalla Media Group.”
“No shit,” he said, impressed.
“You’re in music?” I asked him.
“And commercial real estate. Among other things.”
“I’ll have to get your card. In case I need a property on the west coast.”
I glanced at Devi just to see the fucking appalled look I knew I’d find on her face. I wasn’t buying shit-all on the west coast. Nice to see her so horrified, though.
“Absolutely,” Trey said, smoothly extracting a business card from a gold holder. He handed it to me. “I’d be happy to show you around. We represent some incredible prime properties.”
“Fantastic.” I took the card and tucked it carefully in the pocket of my tux while Devi sipped her drink and fought back the urge to vomit. Or so it appeared.
I got chatting with Trey about real estate, and she quickly realized she was outmatched here. Or maybe just bored. She made a point of interrupting us to kiss Trey goodbye. On the dimpled cheek. Then she drifted away into the crowd, and I watched her go.
I tried to keep up the conversation. This guy had contacts in Toronto, too. I already had a lot of connections in real estate, but a connection was a connection. I wasn’t adverse to new relationships even if they burned bridges with the old. However, I was too distracted by Devi hugging her way through the room to really absorb Trey Jones’ sales pitch.
I finished up with him and wandered through the room, kind of avoiding getting into other conversations. Just watching her.
What was my preoccupation with this woman?
