Page 22 of Mexico Can Choke On It
I freeze. Because the real answer?
Involves bushes.
Security threats.
And a criminal-level tackle on Bryce’s ballsack.
“I escorted her in.”
I whip my head toward him so quickly, I pull a neck muscle.
Bryce Sterling covered for me. Why?
I don’t let my shock show—I’ve got enough street smarts to not blow up my ownlifeline.
The ballroom music dies mid-swell. There’s a beat of expectant silence followed by applause.
And then, like a blast from my high school traumatic past, an all-too-familiar voice wafts from the microphone, sending shivers down my spine.
“Thank you to the supremely talented artist Echo for his exclusive performance!” she says. “It was transformative, wasn’t it?”
Fucking Fiona Whitfield.
My brother’s fiancée.
My never-ending nightmare.
Imagine a life-size Barbie—glossy lips, sweet voice, perfect hair—possessed by a PR-friendly demon. And I’m the only one who sees the spinning head.
“And of course,” Fiona continues, “we must thank Mrs. Sterling-Holloway for hosting tonight’s spectacular silent auction for one of the most near and dear causes to my heart. Nip, Tuck & Woof—giving our pets the dignity to age gracefully with wrinkle-free doggy brows and lifted jowls!”
Another polite golf clap from the room. The groan that escapes me is so loud, it ricochets down the hallway. Gavin shoots me a warning glare.
“And now I have a huge surprise!” she trills. “Gavin, dearest, come on up. My perfect fiancé. Where are you, my little venture capitalist?”
A titter of laughter from the ballroom.
He points at me sharply. “Stay here.”
“Yeah, no. I’ve had enough of… whatever this is. I gotta get to work.”
“Stay,” he commands like I’m a disobedient bulldog.
I’m ready to argue, but he returns to the ballroom. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the hallway feels incredibly intimate.
Now it’s just me.
And Bryce.
Holy crap, he’s close.
So close I can feel his breath on my face. Last time we were this cozy was that night in my bedroom when…
Oh, hell no. Don’t even think about dusting off “Petra’s Most Mortifying Moments” playlist.He probably doesn’t remember. Billionaires like him have a built-in memory eraser for stuff like that—like blocking out a tax audit or the trauma of slumming it on someone else’s jet.
Or maybe he does remember. Maybe he’s thinking about it. What if he wants me to reach out and…Snap out of it, brain!In case you’ve forgotten, he has a girlfriend. A live-in, long-term, joint-bank-account kind of girlfriend. So, keep your fantasies at bay and your hands to yourself.
I’m about to spiral further when Bryce speaks. “Where do you work?”
