Billion Dollar Beast - Olivia Hayle Page 0,15

is incredulous. “He never comes to these events.”

“Don’t know why he’s started to,” Tate mutters. “Is fundraising a business to pillage too?”

“You’re just jealous,” John tells him. “He’s gotten very rich off pillaging. We all know your trust fund is wearing thin.”

“Yes, that’s absolutely it. I’m annoyed at my own morality.”

I’m barely listening to their nonsense. My eyes are scanning the crowd, searching for a tall frame and closely cropped hair. For a man with a perpetual scowl and the build of a fighter.

I find him leaning by the bar. His dark suit follows his form closely, revealing the cut of his shoulders and length of his legs. A glass of brandy dangles from his fingers. The eyes he sweeps over the gathered guests are just as impassive as usual.

And that’s when I realize I’ve never really seen Nick in any environment where he belongs. He’s permanently apart, uneasy, different. Is there anywhere he simply exists?

He turns his head toward me. Our eyes meet.

It must be twenty feet between us, but I can see his raised eyebrow as if he were standing right next to me. He inclines his head slightly, no more than an inch, but it’s a greeting.

I give a shallow nod. The past week has been excruciatingly civil. We’ve rarely worked together, as I report to Gina, but the times we’ve been in the same room have been like some deranged adaption of Austen. Yes, thank you. No, thank you. Yes, please, sir. I’ll bear that in mind. Would you kindly?

We haven’t spoken a single word to each other that’s not work-related.

“Blair?”

I tear my gaze away from Nick’s dark one. “Yes?”

“Are you angrier with him than usual?” Maddie’s voice is concerned. “You looked so…”

“Distraught,” Tate says.

The smile that spreads across my features is genuine this time. “Not at all. I didn’t mean to zone out.” I turn my back to Nick. The same Nick who recently admitted that he doesn’t like me—who only offered me a job because he thought I’d turn it down.

Funny how ignoring someone is an active thing. I have to force myself to stop my constant awareness of him. Even when I try not to, my body knows where his is as he makes his way through the party.

I catch him talking to a brunette in a beautiful beaded dress. Her hand drifts to his arm twice—and neither time does he move away. I grip my glass of wine firmly and try to ignore my irritation.

It’s a common occurrence, this. Women are attracted to him because of his money or his terrible reputation, just like Maddie had a few weeks earlier.

He catches me when I head to the bar for a refill. Stepping neatly into my path, Nick moves more gracefully than one would imagine a man of his height and build might.

“Blair.”

I wet my lips. “Nick.”

“You’ve abandoned your group of admirers.” His gaze flickers over my head to something in the distance before returning to me.

“Friends,” I correct him.

“Lackeys,” he continues. “Posse. Leeches. Take your pick.”

I shift my weight. “And the woman you were talking to earlier wasn’t just interested in your wealth?”

“Of course she was,” he says smoothly. “And I’m not the least bit deluded about it.”

“Neither am I.” But even as I say it, his words from the Spencer wedding come back to me, when he’d told me I was a trophy invite.

“Of course not,” he drawls. “You probably know everyone in this room, right? Blair Porter, invited everywhere, a friend to everyone.”

The jab hits home. He’s not saying it as a compliment—that much is clear. “Rather a friend to everyone than a friend to no one,” I say sweetly.

“I’m not surprised you’d see it that way. Be careful, though. Your social standing is probably decreasing by the second, standing here talking to me.” He sounds pleased by the thought.

I take a sip from my wine to buy myself time. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” I say finally. “Fundraising doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“It isn’t.” His gaze flits above my head again. “Your friends are staring daggers at me, especially the weaselly-looking one. It’s very amusing.”

I resist the urge to turn around. “Ignore them.”

“Now, why would they do that? Have you told them anything about me?”

“Nothing,” I say truthfully. “I’m pretty sure your reputation precedes you in this case.”

His eyes narrow. “Which one of them is André?”

I have to school my features to hide my surprise. He remembered the name of the last guy I’d dated? And then