“Nah, you were great, babe,” Jackson said. He looked down at her in complete worship.

Babe? I felt my eyes go wide. “Now wait just a second—” I began but the mayor approached Lexi with a wide warm smile and began to pepper her with questions about the development. As the two women walked toward the architectural model with Jackson following them like a puppy, I felt Annabelle step up beside me.

“They’re a thing,” she said. “I’m not sure how serious of a thing but definitely a thing.”

I turned to face her. It was the moment of truth. Scale of one to ten, how much did she hate me—with one being “Hate-shmate, let’s kiss and make up” and ten being “I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire”? I almost wished I would catch on fire because then I’d know.

“Hi, Goddess,” I said.

“Hi.”

She was so achingly beautiful in her curve-hugging dress that I wanted to whisk her away from everyone and everything and have her all to myself. Selfish? Probably. Did I care? Not a bit.

“Well, well, well, now it’s all coming into focus.” A man’s voice interrupted whatever I’d been about to say, which was probably a good thing because all I could think of was Guh and then I’d likely drool on myself. Still, it was annoying to be interrupted, and I turned to see a thin-wristed, sandy-haired guy standing there in an Armani tux and shiny shoes, looking at Annabelle with unchecked hatred.

It didn’t take a big brain to figure out that this was the guy who’d been making her miserable at work. Objectively speaking, he had a very punchable face.

“I’m sorry, Carson, did you say something?” Annabelle asked. She was all poise and grace, and I wanted to kiss her until I passed out.

“This. You. Him.” Carson sneered. He wobbled on his feet, spilling the whiskey in his glass. He didn’t seem to notice. “You didn’t get the creative director position because you deserve it; you got it because you’re banging him, the rich guy with the stroke.” His voice was slurred and the word came out “shtroke,” which frankly sounded like more fun.

“How much did he pay Miguel to give you the job? Was it worth it?” Then he waved his hands in the air and moaned like he was mimicking me having a seizure and an orgasm at the same time. His whiskey went everywhere, and I pushed Annabelle back behind me before she got soaked.

“You all right?” I asked. She nodded, but her lip was curled in disgust.

“Oh, isn’t that precious?” Carson asked. He mimicked me stepping in front of Annabelle.

I hissed a breath and stepped forward. I was going to rip this asshole apart, not for mimicking me, because . . . whatever. But how dare he diminish Annabelle’s talent that way?