The colours mix together and are instantly yellow, brown-ish green, and purple-ish red. It’s even on my shoes.
For a second, I close my eyes. Needles gently stab my eyelids. Worst night ever.
“Oh, you spilt your drink,” Tamara says insincerely. “Bad luck. What took you so long, anyway?”
“She’s been texting her boyfriend,” the man says.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!” Julie says, mock scandalised. “Naughty!”
“Mm.” Nodding, I dump the now-empty shot glasses onto the bar. I would try to indicate to Julie that I’m lying to keep this guy away because she and the other two left me alone and disappeared off to dance, but I think she’d enjoy outing and humiliating me.
“When did that happen?” Julie asks.
“Quite recently.” I look around for some napkins or something to repair the damage to my dress. Or maybe just wipe my sticky hands on, but there’s nothing. “You know, when I’ve not been home.”
“I thought you were working. I’m sure Polly said your boss was making you work late.”
“No.” I turn to my tormentors, giving up on all dignity. Being covered in multi-coloured vodka does that. “Not weekends and evenings. Obviously.” I laugh as though that’s absurd, but it’s not.
And now I told Mr Blackwood he’s a bad boss, and I’m going to die of either how much I love him or a simple assassination for calling him a bad boss, we’ll see which happens sooner.
“What’s he like?” Julie asks in a gossipy, faux-friendly way that makes me want to barf.
“Italian.” And I could bite my tongue off. “But his accent is subtle.”
“Italian.” Tamara draws out the word, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
“He’s tall.” My hands are sticky, and my palms are sweating. I want out of here. “Bright blue eyes.”
I am describing my boss. I tried, I really did, but he’s the only man I want.
“Actually tall, or like, taller than you?” Julia’s lip curls.
“Six-foot-three. Dark-brown hair. He’s a bit older than me and has a high-powered job.” Those first two things are facts, the third and fourth are massive understatements.
“Pics or it didn’t happen.” She winks and puts her hand on her hip.
“I don’t have any photos of him.” Wow, I am just as pathetic as I feel in my stained dress. “He doesn’t like having his photo taken.”
“He doesn’t like having his photo taken.” Polly and Tamara glance at each other and smirk.
I lower my gaze. I can’t even lie to their faces. I swallow down my humiliation just as there are raised voices at the entrance to the bar. A group of well-dressed men have come in, and I spot him instantly, as though he’s permanently highlighted in blue.
Mr Blackwood.
He’s with another man who looks just like him—one of his brothers presumably—looking around the bar, searching. I still.
He’s here.
And that’s the moment he spots me.
“Is this him?” Julie looks Mr Blackwood up and down as though he’s a tree she’d like to climb. Possessive jealousy curdles in my stomach along with the alcohol. Mr Blackwood is my crush. He’s my grumpy boss, and I don’t wantanyone elsehaving him. Or even looking at him.
Our gazes lock and without taking his eyes off me, he strides through the room, the crowd parting like he’s a god.
He might as well be. He’s tall, gorgeous, in absolute control. Everyone else melts away.
“Cass…” He seems to catch himself from saying my first name. “Miss Meadows.” Mr Blackwood takes in my stained dress with a scowl.
