Page 3 of Game Changer

I was in disbelief when I heard it for the first time two days ago, but that is indeed the woman’s legal name.

Miss Petal and her crew have taken up residence in the middle of the ballroom.

They’re shaking their asses and flipping their hair in a desperate attempt to garner the attention of one of the many millionaires haunting this place tonight.

Present company excluded, of course.

My financial holdings land me squarely in the millionaire’s club, but I’m only in attendance to do right by one of my clients.

His sights are set on Miss Petal. I’m here for research purposes only.

Rose fastens her baby blues on me as I approach.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” she singsongs as her three friends turn to look at me.

The brunette in the group gives me a quick once-over before she turns away.

Ouch.

The redhead in the tight green dress standing next to Rose licks her bottom lip. That’s a sure signal that she likes what she sees. The wide grin on her face tells me she’d be willing to head up to a hotel room with me, but again, I’m not here for pleasure. Tonight, I’m all business.

The blonde standing next to Rose could be her twin, save for the fact that she’s got a few years on Miss Petal.

There’s a good chance I’m looking at Mrs. Petal. I resist the urge to ask for her first name.

“You’re the best-looking fella in here,” the older version of Rose chimes in. “Are you about to ask my daughter for a dance?”

Since there’s no music, that’s a hard no.

I smile at the woman. “No band tonight, I’m afraid.”

“This party is boring.” Rose sighs. “We can leave anytime, Mom.”

Her mother shoos that idea away with a swat of her hand in the air. “We’re staying. I want you to meet someone.”

Since thesomeonewho hired me isn’t in attendance, I need to keep Rose out of every other man’s arms until he makes his move.

“You’re not mother and daughter, are you?”

Compliments should always be grounded in truth, and if you twist them into a question, you’ll get an extra point for creativity.

Rose and her mother both smile.

“We are,” they say in unison.

I step back, dart my hand to my chin, and study them. They’re pretty women. Each took their time getting ready tonight. I can tell by the sharp precision of their eyeliner and the diamonds threaded on gold chains around their necks.

They really do look more like sisters with a wide age gap than mother and daughter.

I play around with that sentiment in my mind before I decide not to share it.

The redhead standing next to them has now thrown her attention to one of the servers.

He’s young enough to appreciate beauty but not yet old enough to realize you don’t fuck the guests when you’re working for the best catering company in Manhattan.

I toss him a warning look, but he’s too smitten to look at anyone other than the woman who is now winking at him as she glides the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

That’s enough to cause the tray in his hand to sway and his hardening dick to cause a noticeable bulge in his pants.

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