“You should’ve told him about the application,” she says,
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. He already thinks he knows exactly who I am. I don’t care.”
“It’s not fair though.” Jess fumes. “He’s so quick to talk about how many hours he’s spent practicing on the football field, but what about all the hours you spend tinkering with computers growing up?”
I sigh. “He’s angry. He hasn’t been given the opportunities I have.”
“Are you taking his side?”
“No.” I laugh bitterly. “I’d never do that. But I see where he’s coming from.”
“That makes you about a zillion times more mature than me. I wish he’d choke on a big pile of horse poo, the dick.”
“Great.” I grin, taking my plate from the tray. “Just what I wanted to hear before I eat.”
She giggles and takes her plate too.
As we eat, I let my mind take me to silly places, like the idea that Smolder looks like my childhood crush. Maybe that alien avatar is hiding Maxton Miller’s greek god body and his perceptive glinting eyes that could make any woman melt.
It’s ridiculous. I know that.
Stuffing a French fry into my mouth, I tell myself to forget about meeting with Smolder. Nothing good can come of it.
There’s just as much chance of billionaire Maxton Miller wanting me as whoever Smolder turns out to be.
Exactly the same.
Zero.
Chapter Four
Maxton
It says a lot that I’m thinking about Gen here, at one of the swankiest events of the year. It’s a fundraising ball hosted by an elite East Coast family, the men in tuxedos and the women in flowing ball gowns, waiters circulating champagne, and a live band playing jazz.
I sit in the corner with my glass of champagne, hoping I can just stay here until it’s time to start the bidding. I notice women giving me looks, a lot of them with a suggestion in their eyes.
The truth is it sickens me.
I wouldn’t say that to them, needlessly hurting their feelings, but the looks provoke a physical reflex that makes me want to charge across the city, the country – the world if that’s what it takes – and find my Genevieve.
They stare at me like they’d let me drag them into the storage closet and fuck them without even learning their names.
When I claim my woman, I’m really going to claim her.
She’s going to belong to me.
I’m going to fucking own her, every single inch of her. And if anyone ever even thought about touching her, I’d unleash the beast inside of me, the animal I was as a teenager when I spent half my time training in MMA and the other half programming and pretty much ignoring school altogether.
Steve is on the dance floor with his date, both of them laughing like loons as they whirl each other around. Once Anna cheated on him and their marriage failed, he threw himself into a series of short-term relationships. I’ll never begrudge my friend that, but it simply isn’t the life for me.
I’m staring down at my drink, so I don’t notice when the woman approaches. Suddenly she’s in the seat opposite me.
I recognize her as the daughter of the host. A big deal has been made about her debut tonight, as though she’s a product and not a person. She’s tall and thin and, I know, the sort of woman that most men in here would kill to be with.
But not me. I want Gen, whatever she looks like.
Looks matter, Steve whispers in my mind. Even if people pretend they don’t.
“Lonely?” the woman asks.
I struggle to find a response that wouldn’t be considered rude. “No, not particularly.”
She flinches. “Oh.”
There’s a pause, and I force myself to remain seated, instead of getting up and walking away. I don’t want to hurt this woman’s feelings, but I’d rather be in the stars with Gen.
“I just thought I’d come over and keep you company,” she goes on. “A man like you shouldn’t be alone at a party like this. Come. Dance with me.”
I try my best to smile, though I’ve never been good at it. Steve says I have a resting prick face, which is like resting bitch face, but for men. “I’m not really in the mood. But thank you.”
“Hmm.”
She narrows her eyes. Her pupils are saucer-wide. She’s clearly been indulging in more than alcohol tonight. Which is fine. I’m not judging her. I just don’t want anything to do with her.
“You’re a conundrum, Maxton Miller,” she says.
“Am I?” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.
I don’t want her to think I’m flirting because…
Well, because there’s a girl on my mind whose name I don’t know. Who I’ve never even seen before. Thoughts of her swirl around in my mind fiercer and harder every time I close my eyes at night. Or any time I let my attention wander during the day.