Page 11 of Unapologetic Love Story

She snapped her attention back to her own party, a little startled by the directness of his gaze.

‘Pep,’ she whispered to her friend, dabbing her mouth with her napkin so that she could surreptitiously speak from behind it. ‘Who is he and why is he staring? He looks like he wants to kill me!’

Pepper cast a quick glance back at the man’s table and she visibly blanched when she realized who it was. ‘Okay, I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think it’s Tom Branimir.’

‘And he is . . .?’

‘He’s the King of Cancel Culture, babe.’

Raina snorted. ‘Is that a self-appointed title?’

‘Definitely not, but it’s a fitting one.’

‘Wait . . .’ Raina snapped her fingers, trying to jog a memory. ‘Did he write that piece on Caroline Gibbs?’

‘Yes!’

‘I read that,’ Raina said thoughtfully. ‘He really took her out. Clean kill.’

‘Well, that’s what she gets for peddling a nasty pyramid scheme, I guess,’ Pepper replied. ‘Sorry! A multi-level marketing scheme.’

‘She was a con,’ Raina said quietly. The piece had really stayed with her, and if the crimes Caroline Gibbs was accused of committing were true, then Raina would be prepared to call her a monster. ‘She told all of those parents her oils would cure their sick kids.’

‘I get it, it’s bad,’ Pepper admitted. ‘But when you actually think about it, her whole business is gone because of him. She’ll have to completely reinvent herself.’

Raina studied her friend for a moment. She knew why Pepper automatically sympathized with the rich, privileged young woman who’d lost her entire fortune. She only wished Pepper could see the evil bricks that built such an empire.

‘So he’s like the Robin Hood of print media.’

Pepper snorted. ‘I suppose. As long as you’re not his Sheriff of Nottingham.’

‘Prince John, you mean.’

‘Whatever.’

When the owner of a gossipy tabloid came over to ask after Pepper’s parents, Raina excused herself.

‘I’m getting something sweet,’ she whispered. Her friend nodded, waving her away. Raina rose and made for the bar, trying to ignore how overstimulating the room had become. She ordered an amaretto and was about to take her first sip when a figure appeared on her left. A little too close for comfort.

It wasn’t the writer who’d been studying her from across the room. It was a tipsy man in his fifties. She noticed that he wore a wedding band.

‘Had to come and introduce myself,’ he said. ‘Harry Sloane.’

‘You had to, did you?’ she replied wearily. As the man asked if she wanted a ‘real drink’, she noticed that Tom Branimir was watching the scene from his table. He stood without ceremony and walked nonchalantly towards the bar, taking up residence on the other side of her unwanted admirer.

‘Vodka neat, please,’ she heard him tell the bartender, his voice a smooth baritone.

He wasn’t looking at Raina. Fine. Challenge accepted. She turned back to the red-faced man in the expensive suit and smiled. ‘So what do you do, Harry?’

‘This and that,’ he said. ‘Right now, I’m thinking of investing in generative AI.’

Raina winced and Branimir made an almost inaudible noise of amusement. Raina glowered over at him, but he still wasn’t looking at either of them. His eyes were fixed upon his glass, though he wore a small smirk.

‘Oh, no,’ she said to Harry. ‘What kind?’

‘Creative kind, probably. Don’t tell me you’re a snob about it! People are paying for artists when they could—’

‘Oh, Harry,’ Raina said on a sigh, finishing her amaretto and giving him a look of pity. ‘Let’s not.’