If a stare could kill, Trent would already be lying face down on the polished hotel floor. Drake’s patience had run dry, his veins simmering with barely contained rage. Every time Trent appeared, smug, irritating, self-assured, it provoked a raw, almost primal need to crush him. Friend or not, Drake wasn’t about to tolerate a single unwanted move, a single smug grin, a single word of nonsense that might unsettle Lucy or disturb the peace he cherished.
“Are you going to answer my question, or just stand there until your last breath?” Drake’s voice was laced with biting sarcasm, sharp enough to slice through the tense morning air.
Trent’s grin widened, as if he thrived on the hostility radiating off Drake. “I’m here because I’ll be attending the conference too,” he said casually, his tone
