“So, what can you tell me about Graham that you are holding back? And don’t give me that look, I know you know more.” I snort as Claire chokes a bit on her daiquiri. “I still cannot believe that you’ve worked for the agency all these months and never told me.”
“I wanted to tell you, trust me, I did. Keeping secrets from you is the last thing I ever wanted to do. But I signed the NDA. Plus, I knew you would never join when you were perfectly content working at Sugar Butter. Just think, all that time, you really just needed a Sugar Daddy.”
“Pretty sure that is false.”
“Well, dating that sack of potatoes, Russell, didn’t help.”
I give her an awkward giggle. “Yeah. He was definitely a mistake.”
“That’s putting it mildly. The spud was an idiot for letting someone as amazing as you slip away. At least you didn’t take things to the next level.” Claire pauses and leans in closer to me over the table. “You didn’t do the sex, did you?”
“No. Not like we were even together much for that to happen.” I sigh. I don’t want to talk about my ex. “What else do you know about Graham?”
She grabs a napkin and wipes her mouth. “Is he bothering you, Angie?”
I shake my head and respond, “No, well, not really.”
“Getting under your skin, ah?”
I shove another messy wing into my mouth to avoid talking.
Claire sighs and leans her back into her chair. “There’s really nothing to tell. It’s just that at the agency, you get to make friends with some of the women. You know, through mixer events and such. It’s actually quite a small world, and we girls stick together. You know, we talk amongst ourselves.”
“Go on,” I encourage, not sure where she is going with her train of thought.
“You don’t fit his typical preferences at all.”
What’s his type then? I stare back out the window, trying to snuff out the rising feeling of inadequacy. “How so?”
“It seems he has a preference for hiring blonde girls. Whether they are natural ones or wannabes.”
Well, I am neither of those. “Well, he paid me for last night—twice—but he didn’t actually hire me. The date was supposed to be with Dominic.”
“Which is another surprising thing.”
I stop eating midbite and prompt Claire to spill.
“I ran into a couple of coworkers on campus this morning, and I didn’t mention your name, but I hinted at a date with Dominic. Well, the girls were shocked. Because Dominic never reserves any of the girls or takes out new members. It’s not protocol at all. I think he went through a nasty breakup recently and is staying low-key when it comes to public functions. And dating his employees would not be best for business from a financial standpoint. You would have been his first if it had actually worked out.”
“But why would he break his pattern?”
“I have no idea. Maybe he likes you.”
My attention moves back to the golden-haired couple on their luxury boat. The woman appears to have dumped a little wine on her cashmere sweater set, frowning deeply as her husband runs to get her a towel. Rich people problems.
I take a sip of my melting drink, bending my elbow and resting my chin in my hand. “Not smart to send gorgeous Graham as a placeholder.”
Claire raises her drink to clink with mine in response. “He’s nauseatingly hot, and I hate the arrogant bastard for it.”
“Same,” I mumble under my breath. Seriously, what is wrong with brown hair?
“Well, apparently Graham at one time hired a girl regularly to attend functions with him. Her name is Sophia.” Claire pauses as if to contemplate whether or not she should continue with her story. I raise an eyebrow and give her the look that means I want full disclosure. “She was getting pretty wrapped up in his life. I am sure that he either convinced her or bought her for overnight dates. Well, one day out of nowhere he just stopped. Cut off all ties. At least that’s how it appeared.”
“You two were friends?”
“Nah, Sophia is the snooty high-class type of person who is only going to be more than just-friendly-in-passing to climb the social ladder faster. I had an ex-friend in high school who reminded me of her. Those types of people stomp on those around them to get to where they need to go. Anyway, because I’m not famous or the next Victoria’s Secret dream angel or on the cover of Vogue, I barely existed to her. The only thing I like to climb is the StairMaster. Or onto some guy’s—”
“Got it!” I announce, holding up my hands in surrender, knowing full well that I am blushing twenty shades of red.