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“That’s not what I meant,” I try to explain, but she isn’t having any of it.
“I can’t believe you did this.” Miriam is strong, so strong. But the waver in her voice tells me everything.
Her pain feels like a knife in my gut. I made a mistake and I’m not sure how to fix it. The sparkle in her eyes has completely disappeared. Her expression is closed off, and I’m certain she has barricaded her heart.
Desperately, I lean over her, resting my elbow on the wall behind her head. “You’re smart, you’re creative, and you make me want to invest in your stock.” I try to make a joke to lighten the mood, running one hand softly over her cheek. My voice deepens until it’s barely audible. “You’re the woman I didn’t know I wanted. And now that I really see you, I know you’re meant to be mine.”
Her eyes narrow, anger and hurt gleaming within them like hazel fire. “You never saw me before. You’re only seeing me now because of some ridiculous rivalry. This isn’t real. You’re using me like a pawn, just like everyone else. Well, I don’t want to be a part of this.”
She pushes me away again and goes to leave, pausing in the doorway to make one final statement. “You’re the one that hurts the most. I thought better of you, Drake.”
Chapter 7
Miriam
I knew this date was a bad idea before I even said yes, but it’s worse than I expected. I met Michael at the Monolith hotel ballroom an hour ago, wearing a form-fitting black cocktail dress and nude heels.
It’s a massive, gilded room with dozens of chandeliers overhead. Most of them are dimmed to give the large room a cozy ambience. There’s a bar along the back—where I’m standing—and tables and chairs decorated in lavender and gold, all set out before a makeshift stage.
It should be a lovely evening, raising money for cancer research while enjoying catered hors d'oeuvres and a tasty champagne. When I first arrived, I felt quite pretty. Instead, my confidence takes a hit with each woman who walks on the stage waiting to be auctioned off.
Michael leers at each of the women, making lecherous comments about their bodies, their dresses, their sexual appeal. Nothing is off the table. He even goes so far as to bid on one of them, which I don’t necessarily mind. After all, it’s for charity. It’s not the bidding that bothers me. It’s the sleazy wink and comment that goes with it. “You understand, right babe? I like to keep my options open.”
Thank god it’s just a couple hours of my life. I excuse myself to use the restroom and group text with my girls.
Miriam: This is the worst date ever.
Quinn: Where are you?
Miriam: At a charity date auction.
Helena: I’m here too! I’d save you, but I gotta keep an eye on my own troublemaker.
Miriam: He can’t be as bad as mine.
Amara: Just have a few drinks, do your time, and get out of there girl. You don’t owe him anything.
Quinn: What she said.
Miriam: Thanks ladies. I think the auction is almost over. Gotta go.
When I return to the ballroom, Michael is already mingling. He’s in a group with what look like mid to upper level executives. Not the big fish in the room, but the kind who follow the big fish and then turn around and try to claim credit.
Pasting a fake smile on my face, I join the group.
“There you are.” Michael offers his own smarmy smile. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends. Miriam, these are some of the top minds in the city. You know that app that made it so big this year? You might think it was created by TetraTech, but Fred here is the one who gave them the idea.”
Fred raises his glass in greeting and Michael continues, “Chip works with me and Jim has his own business. Gentlemen, this is Drake Gallagher’s personal assistant.”
My temper rises with his introduction. For one, it didn’t include my name. Additionally, I object to the implication that my services for Drake are somehow not professional.
“Actually, my name is Miriam Delgado and I’m an Executive Assistant for Gallagher Financial,” I correct him, my tone sharp.
“Sure, sure. We know how it is, right boys?” Michael slaps one of the guys on the shoulder. At this point, I don’t even care who they are. I have no intention of furthering my acquaintance with any of them. No wonder Drake ditched this asshole years ago. As it stands, anyone who claims an association with him goes on my Do Not Call list.
Michael’s buddies laugh like complete tools. One of them elbows a different guy and says, “I wouldn’t mind having a personal assistant with those curves.”
“Care to repeat that,boys?” A familiar, deep voice speaks from behind me. My shoulders instinctively release their tension. Drake is here.
