Page 121 of Off Limits Mogul

I turn around.

A glamorous blonde glides towards our table. Her wrists are pinned to her narrow hips, exaggerating each step the way a model would sashaying down the runway. In her vertiginous heels, she looks like an Amazonian. The contrast between her long hair and her low cut, formfitting emerald-green dress isarresting. The blonde’s large breasts spill out of the top part of the deep décolletage. It isn’t a stretch to assume she’s a lingerie model. Or an actress. Or socialite. Or a rich and powerful woman. In other words, she’s nothing like me. If I had to put a face––and a body––to my earlier insecurities, this woman is it.

The petals of my blooming confidence in regard to being enough for Rhys wilt a little. Okay, a lot.

“Rhys, darling.” The blonde stops at our table. She ignores me. “I gave you my number, but you never called,” she says before pouting like a child.

Satisfaction courses through me.

Thank you, God. She’s not one of his uncomplicated flings.

“Good evening, Addison,” Rhys says. His voice is distant. “And for the record, I never made any promises.”

“But we had a great night together,” the blonde says.

“We talked. Nothing more,” he says.

“But I wanted to offer so much more. I wanted to offer you all of this.” She sweeps a manicured finger along her tall frame.

Seriously?

“I’m good,” Rhys says.

“Oh, darling?—”

“I’m not your darling, Addison.”

I flinch.

“But you could be…” The TV game show model hand gesture ensues.

Cue an eye roll.

“Addison, you’re interrupting our dinner,” Rhys says.

She does this sound of disgust as her face contorts. For the first time since the beginning of this circus act, Addison’s attention shifts to me. She narrows her blue eyes. “You’vedowngraded.”

Oh God.

Rhys’s eyebrows hit his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“Please,” she says. “You go from this…”—She does that ridiculous hand gesture again—“…to that?” She points at me. “It’s like downgrading from a top-of-the-line sports car to a mule.”

Jesus, she could’ve gone for the Worst Car Ever award-winner.

A mule?

Sheesh.

“Addison, keep walking,” Rhys says.

“Seriously, Rhys…” I guess she didn’t hear the warning in his voice. “I’mwaybetter.Shegives off the vibe of an inept virgin. And she’s wearing white, for God’s sake. On a weekday. At a seafood restaurant.”

I wasn’t aware I was committing fashion suicide when I selected my outfit.

I opted for a sexy, but tasteful, white dress that hits me above the knee with a seductive V neckline and an elegant slip. I complemented the look with a pair of Cedrics—aka Cedric de Seignard—skyscraper glitter silver heels. Arianne swears by the French shoe designer. I thought I’d nailed it. Doubt twists my tummy.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t know what to do with a guy like you.” Addison isn’t done crucifying me. “I would.”