7
I take a step into the hallway as heat races up into my neck and face. I must be the color of an overripe tomato right now.
Cole’s jaw is clenched and his forehead is creased. I’m able to really look at him now. He’s clean-shaven this time around and dressed in an expensive-looking charcoal suit with an azure silk tie. He sure as hell cleans up well. In no way does he remind me of the laid-back, working man I met in the bar. Tonight, he oozes sophistication and fits right in with the rest of the country-clubbers circulating the room outside this hallway comparing their bank accounts.
He pushes off the wall he was leaning against and takes a couple of steps toward me, his body rigid and tense.
Lennon, that b***h, doesn’t even stick around to be my wingwoman. Instead she slinks off dow
