I grit my teeth as I look away, avoiding the overbearing smell of his breath. It’s clear Frank Hamilton is useless to me, and I’m done. “If you want to have a hand left to cash a check, you better take it off my ass,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

His reaction is delayed, like he can’t believe a woman put him in his place. “Whoa, honey.” He takes his hands off my body—smart man—and steps away. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your honey or your sweetheart. I’m Hazel Whitaker’s family, and you should really know better than to try to do business with someone while you have your hand on their ass. I’ll find another buyer.”

Then I walk away, and for the most part, I’m really unshaken. I watched Hugo do so many transactions that he bluffed his way through, I learned a thing or two.

Frank tries to call me back a few times, but quits before I get to the door to avoid the attention of the other partygoers on the balcony. I’ll give him credit though, the view was beautiful.

Just as I pass through the huge doorway back onto the top floor landing, I stop when I see Murph standing against the low wall, watching me intently.

Was he watching our entire conversation? The look in his eye says he either wants to tear someone apart or devour me whole, and I’m equally scared of both.

“You should have broken his hand,” he says flatly.

I let out a laugh. “You saw that? I was tempted, to be honest.”

As I join him against the low balcony, I notice the tension in his jaw. I’ve noticed he clenches it when he’s frustrated, and I can see the thick hair of his beard pulse when he clenches.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask with a smile. The whiskey is kicking in. “Did someone have their hand on your ass too?” Nudging him with my elbow, I try to make him smile, but it doesn’t work.

“I hate this shit,” he grumbles as we both turn and rest our arms on the low wall overlooking the party below.

“Me too,” I answer, which is mostly true. This is so different than the world I knew before, but also...sort of the same. These people bullshit the same way Hugo would bullshit with his connections. Hugo was ambitious. He wanted to rise up, get richer, gain power, and I see the same thing in people like Frank Hamilton.

I notice a younger guy, blonde as Tia, staring up at us. There’s a teasing smile playing on his lips. Next to me, Murph holds up a middle finger.

“Who’s that?”

“Some asshole I knew in high school.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. High school? It’s hard to even imagine Murph as a teenager, let alone collecting memories from those days. It’s not hard to imagine him making enemies though, and something about it makes me laugh.

The blonde guy won’t take his eyes off of us, and it takes me a moment before I realize he’s looking at me. With the way I’m leaning on the rail, it’s clear he has a solid view of my cleavage and probably doesn’t notice much else.