He hangs up.
It’s always about work and never about us.
I smirk. Like father, like son.
They say I am just like him. If I carry on this way, in a matter of time, I will be much worse.
52
KAT
Marlow knockson the door at seven on the dot.
“Come in!”
“Holy shit,” he whispers from behind.
I turn and meet his wide eyes roaming my figure.
He is dressed to impress—leather pants, dark-blue-and-gold silk dress shirt, unbuttoned down to his pectorals, pointy leather dress shoes.
We gape at each other for a moment.
“Jesus, Kat.” He whistles.
“Too much?”
“No…” He shakes his head, his eyes sliding up and down and up and down like he saw the second coming of Jesus. “No-no-no. You are freaking gorgeous!”
I grin. “Yeah? You think the bitches will be gawking?”
“As long as you don’t try so hard with that grin. It won’t blend in.”
“Fuck off,” I blurt, snatching my phone and shoving it into my black clutch.
“Damn, Kat,” he whispers, still staring as we walk out.
“Stop it.” I jokingly smack him with my clutch.
Bacaro restaurant is all decked out when we arrive. Lanterns are lit up on the giant patio overlooking the steep hill, dotted with villa roofs, and the ocean below. The sun is setting. The DJ is mixing lounge music. Champagne and cocktails are served by the waiters walking around with trays. Like the Change never happened.
There are groups of people here and there, mostly young, with some faces I recognize. They stare at us like we are a prom couple.
“You got what you wanted.” Marlow smiles.Attention, right.
Marlow takes my hand and wraps it around his arm. “Safer that way, stay close. I don’t want you to be dragged into the bushes and kicked by a dozen high heels.”
Cece, the birthday girl, is a pretty curvy thing in a pink dress and heels, her hair pulled into a high ponytail. She is the least overdressed person, with a beautiful burgundy choker around her neck.
“Wow,” she says, studying me when Marlow introduces us. “I’ve heard things about you. Just not that you are drop-dead gorgeous.”
I smile. “I have an idea who you heard it from.”
“Yeah. This place is like a crow’s nest sometimes,” she says, and Marlow laughs, producing a small box out of his back pocket and passing it to her.
“Happy Birthday, sweetie,” he says, kissing Cece on the cheek.
“She seems nice,” I say to Marlow when Cece turns away to greet other guests and we claim a small high bar table.