Page 67 of Hating the Boss

“Brad!” he said excitedly, slapping me on the back. “Haven’t been since Jersey, but I have been looking into bungee jumping.”

“Thank God you already signed the deal, because I’m adrenalined out.” I chuckled.

“I heard you might be securing an even bigger deal…” he said with a knowing smile.

I assumed he was talking about Music Now.

“Here’s hoping,” I said, tapping my glass of whiskey against his beer.

“He’s not making you skydive?”

He’s making me settle down, is what I wanted to say. Something that was much scarier, or at least it was, until I met Sarah.

“Not quite,” I said, shaking my head.

“Picture?” asked an event photographer who had approached with their camera raised.

Trent took a step closer and we smiled for the camera. Just as the flash went off, I felt an arm loop through mine. Once the photographer moved on to other guests, I looked to my side to see Angela standing next to me with a smile across her lips.

“What are you doing?” I muttered, pulling my arm from her grasp.

“You know I love a good photo op.” She giggled.

I guided her away from Trent, not wanting to subject him to Angela’s awfulness. Finding a dark corner of the ballroom, I turned to her and crossed my arms.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I don’t like it,” I said firmly.

“You used to,” she said suggestively, reaching for my arm again, but I pulled it away quickly.

“I don’t anymore. I think I made that very clear.”

“You don’t take that little spat between us that seriously, do you?” She rolled her eyes.

“You ran off with a sixty-year-old billionaire,” I said exasperatedly.

My patience was wearing thin.

“Because you called off our engagement.”

“Pardon me. But I don’t like to share my fiancée with someone else…”

She scoffed and threw her hands up dramatically.

“That’s what people like us do, darling,” she drawled. “I was just making sure to take care of my portfolio. He meant nothing.”

“You’re no longer together?” I raised a brow, glancing at the missing ring on her finger.

She shook her head and frowned, but I didn’t even know why I asked. I didn’t care. She wasn’t my problem anymore. She could find someone else to “take care of her portfolio.”

“Whatever,” I muttered. “I have to go.”

I turned on my heel and strode away from her, stopping in my tracks a few feet away when I spotted Sarah walk into the ballroom. I lifted my hand and placed it against my chest, feeling as though my heart had stopped in my chest.

She was here.

And she was beautiful.

She looked around the room in awe, taking it all in, not realizing that she put whatever this citrus grove was to shame. The gown I had bought for her hugged her like a beaded glove, cinching at her small waist and pouring around her like a rose blooming. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, curled tendrils falling around her face and framing it like a masterpiece in a museum. When her glittering brown eyes found mine, I thought my legs might give out from under me.