Page 34 of My Ruthless Opponent

There’s a possibility that Mr. Smith is the reason behind the attraction of such attention.

When I see a few of the familiar faces from the advertising industry in that group, my speculation is cemented into belief.

How am I going to get his attention? I have no clue but I have to try.

Squaring my shoulders, I rest the champagne flute on the nearby table and walk toward the group which is doubling in number.

I am almost there when a body bumps into me from the side. A man’s body. And he looks pretty drunk.

I stumble backward, my heels wobbling. His hand closes on my wrist, preventing me from falling.

I murmur a thank you before moving to the side to bypass him. He moves to the side in front of me.

“Don’t apologize, please. It was my fault.” Says the drunk man who appears in his late thirties.

I plaster a smile. “It’s okay.” I try to move past him and he stops me again.

“But I didn’t even apologize. Let me apologize to you in private.” The man looks down at me. The corner of his mouth kicks up when he takes in my exposed shoulders and the hint of cleavage.

I grind my teeth at his blatant perusal. “I said it was okay. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Come on, baby. Don’t play hard to get.” Anger surges through me when he grabs my wrist.

My other hand strikes out in lightning speed and squeezes his wrist, causing him to lose his grip on mine. I don’t stop there. I twist his hand in an odd angle that hurts like a bitch judging by his pathetic whine and shove him away.

He hugs his hand to his chest and that’s when I see a wedding band on his ring finger. Fucking bastard.

“Don’t fucking touch me again, asshole.”

Face red with anger, the man charges toward me. “You bi-”

“Enough, Hugh.” An authoritative voice interrupts.

I look up and find a crowd gathering around us, and… a tall man with salt and pepper hair is frowning at the drunk prick.Mr. Smith.

“Mr. Smith…sir, I was…”

“Leave the premises. Now.” Mr. Smith’s grim voice falls over us.

Fuck, Shit. He saw what went down, didn’t he? And when that bastard advanced toward me, he had to intervene.

So much for the first impression.

I fucked it up. Royally.

I not only disturbed his night but I created a scene.

While I am worried about ruining my chance of talking to Mr. Smith, I am so not sorry for what I did to that drunk asshole.

He had it coming.

Mr. Smith turns to face me. “Are you all right?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“He is as bad a person as an entrepreneur. Reckless and lack morals.” He frowns in the direction that sleazy drunk disappeared.

“I am sorry you had to see that.” I grimace, thinking how I might’ve looked twisting a grown man’s wrist.

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