“Shoot.” I snap my fingers. “I knew I forgot something. It totally slipped my mind to have him drop his pants so I could take a look.”
Damien grins. “Did you at least get his number? Any man who’s willing to cough up money because he thinks you’re entertaining shows some serious sugar-daddy potential.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim on a giggle. “I don’t want a sugar daddy.”
“I do.”
“Damien, I hate to break it to you, but you are the sugar daddy.”
“You think Mateo is just using me for my money?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Dame, you’re handsome. But your boyfriend is a twenty-five-year-old Brazilian model with the prettiest face and tightest ass I’ve ever seen.”
He winks. “He has a big cock too.”
“TMI!” I cough on my own saliva. “TMI!”
“Don’t be such a prude, Dais.” Damien just laughs and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Now go get yourself a drink and enjoy the party.”
And then he’s off, doing his usual Damien-thing of schmoozing and impressing everyone in the room. I swear, I’ve never met anyone like him. Successful, hilarious, insanely fashionable, and sophisticated, yet he’s unapologetically himself.
It’s the kind of confidence and contentment that only come with age and wisdom and experience. I wish I could bottle it up and add it to my daily vitamin regimen.
The bar in my sights, I head on over and snag a glass of the complimentary champagne that sits out for everyone in attendance. Glass to my lips, I take a sip and enjoy the odd sensation of bubbles tickling my throat as it slides down into my belly.
“Daisy Diaz.” A familiar male voice fills my ears, and I turn to find Duncan Jones striding toward me with his signature smile etched across his lips. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”
I lift my glass in the air and offer a neutral smile. “Well, I’m here.”
“And I’m glad.” He pulls me into a friendly hug, and it lingers about five seconds longer than I would deem appropriate. “I’m hoping you’ll finally let me take you to dinner this weekend.”
“Considering it’s already Saturday night, and Damien and Thomas have plenty planned for this evening and all day tomorrow, I’m thinking you’re going to have to take a rain check.”
Ever since Damien hired me, one of his most successful agents, Duncan Jones, has been heavy on the flirtation and charm in an attempt to get me to go out with him.
He’s not bad-looking or anything. Blond hair, blue eyes, and an attractive face, Duncan is incredibly eligible in his bachelordom, but dating isn’t something I’m focused on at the moment.
I’m open to the idea, but I’m not looking for just any guy to fill the time. I’m waiting for the guy who makes me make the time.
Some might say I’m too picky, but personally, I think it’s more about timing. And now isn’t the right time. I’m only twenty-nine, and my career goals are far more important to me than finding someone to settle down with.
Not to mention, several of my female coworkers let me know from day one that Duncan Jones is like this with all the women in the firm. Which, to me, only gives off red flags and stay-away vibes.
“Really? A rain check?” His lips crest into a confident smirk. “And when do I get to cash in my rain check?”
I shrug cheekily. “I don’t know.”
He grins and reaches out to slide a rogue piece of my hair behind my ear. “One day soon, you’re going to let me take you to dinner. And I promise, you won’t be dis—” He pauses midsentence when the sound of his cell ringing urges him to pull it out of his jacket pocket. One finger in the air toward me, he says, “Hold that thought. I need to take this real quick.”
I kind of want to roll my eyes at the obnoxiously oblivious contradiction between his rabid pursuit and his inability to finish even a sentence without prioritizing me behind his call, but I just offer a small smile and nod as Duncan steps away to a quieter spot in the crowd. Frankly, it’s a relief to be rid of him for a little while.
I make a point to wander away inconspicuously while he’s busy talking LA real estate with whoever is on the other end of the line, but I only get a few steps toward the table filled with appetizers when my phone vibrates in my purse and grabs my attention.
Gwen: How is Vegas, darling?
I’ve known Gwendolyn Ross since I was a fifteen-year-old lifer in the foster care system and she took me in. She’s pretty much the only family I have, but she’s more of a best friend than a mother figure. Still, I’m not entirely sure where I’d be without her.
Me: It’s fabulous. How’s your Saturday going?
Gwen: Also fabulous. And Sunday is looking to be the same. I have an art class in the morning with the girls and a brunch date with David around noon.
Me: David? I take it you’ve found a new flavor of the month?
I grin over her always-busy social calendar. It’s honestly one of my favorite things about her.
She doesn’t let life lead her; she leads her life.
Gwen: He’s a pepper-gray stallion who always picks up the check. Who knows? I might even let him entertain me for two months instead of one. ;)
I shake my head on a laugh.
Gwen has never been married, and besides taking me in when I was fifteen, she’s never had any kids. But her dating life is always thriving, and it’s certainly far more entertaining than mine.
She may be in her sixties now, but the woman never has any issues finding new men to date. She just never keeps them around for long.
Me: Okay, Miss Thang. I better get back to my work party. Phone chat soon?
Gwen: Of course. Call me when you make it safely back to LA. Kisses, darling.
Before I slide my phone back into my purse, I pull up my email inbox to see if Frederick sent any of the photos he took at the Malibu beach house my way. To say I’m proud of what I created for the interior of that unspeakably gorgeous home would be the understatement of the century. Looking avidly through my inbox for the picture proof in the middle of the party so that I can avoid chitchatting with random strangers for the time being is merely a bonus.
For the last month, I’ve put my heart and soul into that space. Every single detail was meticulously chosen to create an airy, relaxed, sophisticated atmosphere that will make wealthy home buyers drool over the idea of living there.
I slide my finger down the screen to refresh my emails, but unfortunately, when five new emails populate the screen, not a single one of them is from Frederick.
Sheesh. It’s like he’s taking the weekend off or something.
Most of them are the usual spam everyone gets for giving stores their information for those stupid rewards cards that do jack shit. But one email in particular stands out like a boner in a pair of skinny jeans.
From: U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS)
Subject: Urgent Update Regarding Work Visa Lapse