Maggie heaved a put-upon sigh. “Where we are going to meet the elitist of the elite. I heard a lot about this Christos Papaioannou last night, and everyone said he was super rich, and about to launch some company that is going to revolutionize something. Buildings, I think. Also, he’s hot. Like, really hot, the sort of hot that has women ripping off their underwear and writing their phone numbers on them.”
I pursed my lips, wondering how many women had given Dmitri their underwear, and more, why I was so furious at the thought of that. “What sort of woman would be so low-class as to write her number on her underwear?”
“It happens,” she answered with a shrug, waggling her butt at me as she marched to the door. “I’m not wearing any, so I certainly won’t be doing so.”
“For the love of Pete
