Page 36 of One Bossy Disaster

I know what’s expected.

It’s not like I can’t handle being unable to read some people.

Hannah Cho taught me that no matter how often you see some folks, no matter how well you can predict their behavior, you can’t always read their minds.

Again, fine.

But Destiny Lancaster?

She’s a different scenario altogether.

For starters, I’m used to people sucking up. When you’re this rich and this connected, most people are interested in impressing you.

Not her.

That makes me sound like an arrogant asshole—and it might be a little true—but that’s what I expected. I thought the influencer we hired would be giddy about the opportunity.

Not pissed because I didn’t meetherexpectations.

Hannah assured me she was the one, and her platform and attitude seem right, but she’s not the gushing type. That’s such a surprise I don’t know what to do with it.

“The lobby looks nice,” she says before we exit it.

The lobby.The fucking lobby.

“I’m glad you approve,” I clip.

She glances at me but says nothing as I take her through Home Shepherd’s relevant floors. When my people see me coming, they pretend to be hard at work, averting their eyes, and she glances at me again.

I pretend not to notice.

From the incisive way she takes everything in, it’s clear she understands what she’s seeing. A well-oiled kingdom with a religion of efficiency and excellence in everything we do.

Of course, she never compliments me on any of that.

Fair, when I never compliment her elegance, her poise, her figure, her carefully controlled expressions and tone as she greets names I struggle to remember.

Everything she says is thought out.

I think she’s taking reams of mental notes with those light-blue eyes. Whenever she looks at me, her expression frosts over.

But sometimes, when she watches someone else, she reminds me of the sporty girl in the Instagram shots. The one I shouldn’t be so eager to see again.

Stop it, you fuck.

She’s not here to smile and look pretty and certainly not for your amusement.

But when she does?

Goddammit, I’m shredded.

She’s so bright and lovely I can’t look away.

If Destiny Lancaster’s superpower is blinding the world with her sweetness, she’s already given my miserable eyes third-degree burns.

Even if I wonder how much is real and how much is just her being diplomatic.

Every face she wears is for profit. For effect. To sell herself to the company.

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