Page 9 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession

Like under a doctor’s knife.

So, I’m stuck with either staying in the dark or wearing these darned light-filtering lenses when I can’t avoid bright light.

Which makes nosy and mouthy little women like Bonnie Russo have an opinion. I huff. Remembering the ‘Harvard’ comment still pisses me off, even after three months.

If she’s annoyed by the color of my glasses, she’ll likely flip when she finds out she will have to get used to being in the dark around me. Not to mention—

Hold your horses. There’s nothing to get used to. She might be friends with Sabrina, who is like a sister to me, but Bonnie is never going to be part of my life or social circle, not if I have anything to say about it.

I doubt she would mind, considering she all but dumped her champagne on my head.

I find it hard to believe that soft-spoken Sabrina and smart-mouthed Bonnie are friends.

Bonnie’s name had come up a few times in conversation over the past year, and I’d imagined a nice woman with a shy, sweet disposition. Certainly not a prickly, smirking, smartass hacker with an Irish accent and biker chick vibes.

The moment she walked into the rehearsal dinner, strutting into the hall like a queen, not even knowing who she was, I was gripped by a sudden desire to talk to her, to know her.

Which is the opposite of who I am.

I hardly socialize or look to expand my social circle beyond my tight-knit family and friends, and I don’t date.

Because relationships are messy.

I like to keep my affairs tightly controlled, predictable, and mess-free. Not only does my sanity depend on it, but also because unraveling is not something I can afford to do, given the sort of clients I work with off the radar.

It turned out I needn’t have bothered trying to get to know her since she seemed to dislike me on sight, and it had proven an impossible feat to get through to her with the snarkiness that she wore like armor.

After the awkward introduction which left Bonnie storming off, Sabrina said she thought my comment about Harvard was a low blow because Bonnie was actually a high school dropout.

Twice. And she also dropped out of college.

Now, that floored me. Just how unconventional can one little, sweet-looking woman be?

And with all her big talk about getting laid, I know for a fact that she ended up sleeping alone through the whole trip, including that first night she spent in Brooke’s room.

I wonder why she’d rather have me believe she’d hooked up with a random guy.

Putting my hands on her at that wedding reception felt like I'd been plugged into a live socket. Her body talked to me in a way she would never allow her mouth to.

I’d heard her soft pants and the moan she tried to suppress, and I’d relished her unexpected reaction to my touch.

Until she became terrified.

Of what?

Me?

But then, she'd opened her sassy mouth, and my hesitation had evaporated in a cloud of annoyance.

We met again last week at my friend Xavier's and her friend Brooke’s wedding. Their wedding was a small affair, unlike Alex’s big Cancun ceremony. No bridesmaids or groomsmen and, thankfully, no bouquets or garters.

Actually, ‘met’ isn’t the right word since Bonnie barely looked my way and didn’t say a word to me throughout.

Which was just as well. As beautiful as she is, that tongue of hers can slice a man to ribbons.

Unless he’s wearing armor, too.

She’d attended with some guy I assumed she must be dating, going by his attentiveness to her and the adoration in his eyes.