DEMETRIA
“A date?” I asked, arms folded, pinning him with a stare.
“Yes. Wildfire. A date.” His lips curved into a smile, and damn it, my p***y reacted before my brain could catch up. I shook my head hard.
“If you think you’re going to blackmail me now that the gala’s a go, just to make me go out with you, then I’ll decline, Marion.” My words came out clipped, sharp.
“And why would I do that?” He tilted his head, a smirk carved on his mouth like it belonged there.
I shrugged. “Just because you’re capable, Marion Whitfield.”
“Hmmm. I see.”
He slid his phone out of his suit pocket, tapping the screen like I wasn’t even there. Focused. Effortless. And yet, I found myself watching him and admiring him.
His hair was slightly overgrown, strands brushing his thick brows as though he’d run
