Just as I was about to down another glass of champagne, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd, laced with a playful warning.
“Hey, darling, slow down… we wouldn’t want you to create a scene here… AGAIN… with D… Uh.. Damon.”
My eyes narrowed, and I snapped back without even bothering to turn around.
“Was that supposed to be a joke? Because it wasn’t funny.”
I spun on my heel, grabbing another flute of champagne, and tried to walk away, but he was quick, his hand gently but firmly closing around my wrist. I glared at him, a silent challenge in my eyes, and almost immediately, his grip softened, and he released me, an apologetic flicker in his gaze.
“Hey, I’m really, truly sorry,” he began, his voice laced with genuine remorse.
“I deserve every bit of that. And … and I apolo
