Page 19 of The Way You Hurt Me

Lucy’s actual superior looks like a mercurial drum player in a rock band, with dark long hair and a vaguely confused expression, like he’s not quite sure what he’s doing there. He seems nice enough, unlike Miranda, but I see why a boss like that doesn’t protect her from the likes of Miranda. He likely has no clue anything’s going on.

I’m on my seventh drink, starting to feel a pinch in my toes, when I decide I have to probably switch to water. The drinks are tiny, and I honestly don’t feel much of a buzz, but Imustbe asleep. And dreaming.

It’s not the first, and likely not the last time I close my eyes for a moment and imaginehim, thinking of his long, dark blond hair, those incredible muscles never quite concealed by his custom suits—off the rack could never fit those large shoulders. Not to mention, those thick thighs. No man who isn’t a professional athlete should have the right to look like that clearly.

And if I’m hallucinating Dimitri, drink number seven should definitely be my last one.

Dream Dimitri is chatting with the hot CEO at the hall’s entrance, a smile on his face.

And then his eyes fall on me. A shiver runs through my spine.

I watch him excuse himself, and then walk—or stalk—right to me, with the gait of a predator.

Until he’s right here.

In front of me.

It’s only when I smell him, inhaling that familiar mix of fresh apple, white musk, and ocean’s breath, that I realize I might not actually have made him up.

He’s here.

“Hello, petal.”

Fuck.

8

WILLOW

The last time I saw him in person was that summer two years ago. I needed an internship for my MBA, and I innocently asked Cam if he could think of anyone in the city who’d take me on. He in turn suggested Dimitri, and arranged the whole thing for me.

Dimitri did his best to keep his distance, staying in his office and away from the reception desk where I spent most of my time—though I bounced between departments, making coffee for everyone.

I was honestly a pest. Spoiled, pushy, completely inappropriate. I see that now.

I didn’t quite have the E-cup now tucked into my cocktail dress’s corset, but I was busty, and I dressed to make everyone notice it.

It’s been two and a half years, and I can still remember the way those green eyes would flash with something that made me shiver from head to toes, before refocusing anywhere but on me. A phone, files, a computer, a window.

But now they’re staring right at me.

“Drink, sir?” a passing waitress offers breathlessly.

“Thank you.” Dimitri smoothly takes my seventh empty glass out of my hand, puts it on her tray, and replaces it with an eighth, before helping himself to his own drink. “I’m surprised to see you here, Willow. I thought you worked up the street. Who are your friends?”

He’s talking to me. He’s given me a drink. And oh, I think he asked a question.

I clear my throat. “Err…”

Intimately familiar with crippling shyness, Lucy saves me. “Lucinda Ward.” She offers him his hand. “This is my colleague, Tom Hughes, and his fiancée, Natasha Powell.”

“Ah, yes, the roommate.” Dimitri shakes her hand, then the other two, as my brain tries to catch up with what’s going on.

How the hell does he know Lucy’s my roommate? I’ve certainly never mentioned it to him. I moved in with them three months ago, and we haven’t communicated intwo years.

Almost exactly two years since he announced his engagement.

He’s been married for eighteen months now. My eyes zero in on the hand holding his drink up, and I frown.

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