His eyes lingered on my face, the wicked glint it held suggesting that he had something in mind. I raised a perfect eyebrow at him, and he flashed me a devilish, cunning smile.
❝ Why don't we do it? ❞ he proposed, his voice deliciously husky. ❝ No s...
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I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck Or I did last time I checked — 505 Arctic Monkeys
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GLARING WOULD BE a better word to describe what I was doing.
Ian, that fucking bastard, couldn't be decent enough to keep his eyes from straying down to Blaire's chest. Being a man who, well, loved breasts, I completely understood the urge. But doing it in the presence of someone who was believed to be a woman's boyfriend was fucking disrespectful. No, screw me. Doing it in front of people you were working with was damn unprofessional. A glance was fine. Three glances were tolerable. But a total of sixteen glances was practically a wish to get beaten up. Badly.
I cracked my knuckles and diverted my attention to the plate of macarons instead, accepting the truth that there was nothing I could do. Disrupting the photoshoot would be a terrible idea — although tempting.
I picked up the last piece of macaron and rolled it between my forefinger and thumb. "Red," I muttered under my breath, glancing back over at Blaire.
Her eyes met mine briefly before moving to the other side of the room, then another blinding flash of light followed. I exhaled a heavy breath. This was no doubt the longest and most daunting two hours of my life. As much as I wanted to stick around for Blaire, this entire ordeal was killing me.
I popped the macaron into my mouth, then pulled my phone out from my pocket just as a text message appeared on the screen.
Scott: I found this poor boy outside our apartment building today.
I clicked on the image he sent to the group chat. It was of a skinny Golden Retriever sleeping on some very familiar off-white marble tiles.
Rowan: Please tell me you didn't bring it inside the Bachelor's Pad.
