“The best friend,” she interrupts, sticking her hand out to him. “Phoebe Lawrence.”
Ruslan gives her his full wattage smile. It actually annoys me—not because Phoebe doesn’t deserve it, but because I think I deserve it, too.
Would it kill him to smile at me like that every once in a while?
We find a good spot on the bleachers and I try to shoot Phoebe a warning glare as she rattles off rapid-fire questions at Ruslan.
“How did you start Bane Corp.? How long have you been CEO? Do you ever take time off? Do you have an active social life?”
Her questions go on and on. But I have to give it to Ruslan: he never falters, never betrays irritation or impatience. He sits there, balancing Reagan on one knee and Caroline on the other, and answers every last one of Phoebe’s questions.
The only ti
