Page 4 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
His mouth twitches. Just barely. “I’m aware of what I said.”
“I didn’t mean to—I was just?—”
“I imagine that wasn’t intentional.”
“No. I mean—yes. I mean, of course not—” I groan, burying my face in my hands for one full, mortified second. “Oh my God.”
When I peek through my fingers, he’s still there. Unbothered. Unsmiling. And somehow even more handsome. He’s dabbing at his clothes with a cloth he seems to have produced out of thin air.“It was a poor choice of phrasing.”
He glances at the stain spreading across his chest. Then back at me.
I want the floor to swallow me. I want to be buried in it. I want to pretend none of this ever happened.
“Let me try that again,” he says smoothly. “If I hire you, you’ll need to go downtothe islandwithme. Before the event. A walkthrough. Logistics. Client expectations.”
I nod like a bobblehead on a caffeine bender. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m available anytime. Whenever. Wherever.”
Stop talking. Just stop.
He hums again. That same low, infuriating sound.
I gather my things too fast, my laptop cord catching around the table leg. I bend to untangle it, and somehow,somehow, my foot snags on another cable and I trip forward, hands shooting out to catch myself?—
Right onto his very broad chest.
There’s a beat of pure, unfiltered silence. Then I shoot backward so fast I nearly fall again, my cheeks burning, my mouth opening and closing like a broken puppet.
“I—I didn’t mean to?—”
“I wouldhopenot,” he says dryly, adjusting his suit like I didn’t just make full-body contact with his very expensive groin.
I want to scream. Or cry. Or dissolve.
Instead, I mumble something unintelligible and practically bolt for the door.
As soon as I get out the door, I collide full speed withHeather Langley.
She takes one look at me—rumpled, pink-cheeked, visibly sweating—and arches a perfectly sculpted brow.
“Well,” she says, her voice syrupy and smug. “Someone looks flustered.”
Ofcourseshe’s here.
Heather Langley has been a thorn in my side since the day I entered this industry. She’s older, more established, and views me as some kind of threat—which would be flattering if she weren’t also the most insufferably condescending woman I’ve ever met. I try not to think of her as a rival, mostly because I don’t have the time or energy for a petty feud. But Heather? She lives for it.
I give her a polite, tight-lipped smile. “Always a pleasure, Heather.”
Her eyes gleam. “Is he still in there?”
I don’t answer. Let her think whatever she wants. I’ve already died of embarrassment once today. I march past her and pull out my phone like it’s a lifeline.
Evie picks up on the first ring. “How’d it go?”
“I died.”
There’s a pause. “Like...metaphorically?”
“I faceplanted into his chest, Evie. After showing him a half-naked photo of myself and then baptizing him in coffee. It’sover.”
