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“He’s busy,” she blurts, swinging her hair over one shoulder so intensely it almost sweeps across my face.
“I’ll find out for myself. Thanks.”
But when I take a step forward, she blocks it.
Bitch.
I crane my neck and see Archer with two other guys. They laugh—apparently notthatbusy.
“I need to talk to him,” I say more out of stubbornness than anything else.
“I’ll let him know,” Margot says and closes the door, walking inside.
It doesn’t close all the way, so I can see her lean over to Archer, and without turning to look at me, he shakes his head.
Seriously?
She comes back, pushing me out as she steps out of his office, closes the door, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“As I said, he’s busy.” She arches her painted eyebrow that I want to pluck with pliers.
I turn around, pick up my phone from the desks, and leave the Center, texting Archer.
Me: Call me when you get a chance.
I know we’ll see each other at dinner, but I want to hear his voice and share the info.
I get to my bungalow and take a shower. But an hour later, there’s still no answer.
Me: Or you can ignore me.
No answer.
Fuck you, Archer, and your dinner.
How can a guy be such a gentleman and a dick at the same time?
Fury burns my blood as I text Marlow. He is in Tapas, so I change into a knee-length green dress and an hour later head there.
Tapas is filled with people. Some faces I recognize, others new.
“Cece’s birthday is tomorrow,” Marlow says as I join him and Axavier at an outside table.
Axavier who is wearing a leather jacket despite the heat finishes his drink and orders another one. “Some are pre-gaming.”
Marlow’s smile drowns my anger. Thank God there’s someone level-headed in my life.
“Cece’s birthday is a huge party. Dj, booze, food, fireworks. It’s at Bacaro restaurant,” he explains.
“I wasn’t invited,” I say.
“Well, I was. And you can go as my plus one. Unless you have plans with Mr. Chancellor.”
“I don’t have plans,” I blurt.
“Alright, then.” He picks up a guitar that stands propped against his chair and with a graceful swing sets it on his lap. “Any requests?” He plucks the strings.
I knew he plays guitar but never heard it.
