Page 197 of Hate to Love You

His eyes follow me everywhere, and when they can’t, it feels as if he has other pairs of eyes watching me. Always.

To escape them, I called Lizzie, who sits down on the stool next to me with a smile.

I knew she doesn’t work Sundays, and so I asked if maybe she wanted to have a girls’ night and come get a drink with me. Thankfully, she was more than happy to come, and could barely contain the surprise and excitement that practically danced through the phone.

Sundays at The Studio are different from normal days. The party really starts after midnight, but beforehand the music is lower, allowing people to mingle and actually talk to each other before the festivities start.

I have no idea what is on deck for this evening, and I would’ve normally checked, but I was in such a rush to get out of the house and escape my rioting demons, that it didn’t even cross my mind.

I place my wine glass down on the table, pulling out my phone. The screen lights up as I open my messages.

Roman

10:57 p.m.: Should you be here on a work night?

Abby

10:58 p.m.: Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking the day off tomorrow.

Roman

10:58 p.m.: No. You are not.

Abby

10:59 p.m.: Yes. I am.

Sighing, I put my phone back into my clutch, my eyes catching a grinning Roman up in the VIP section, before I quickly look away.

Of course, he’s here. Where else would he be? This infuriating man is everywhere I don’t want him to be.

I overheard the office sluts complaining about not being invited tonight, especially after finding out that all department heads were invited.

This meant that Oleg would be here. My last mark.

Which would be perfect if I didn’t have Mr. Mafia looming above me in the VIP lounge sipping his drink, looking far too perfect and godlike.

Lizzie stares at me as I lift my glass to him, and I watch as she follows my line of sight straight to him.

“Shut the fuck up!” She hisses, her eyes wide. “Is that Mr. Antonov?!”

I was worried that maybe this would be awkward.

Lizzie gave me her number months ago, and I’ve never texted her, nor called her. I only ever saw her at the bar when I came in. Yet here we are, talking like we’ve been friends for years.

“Mmhmm,” I hum, clicking my tongue as she raises her wine glass to her lips, gulping it down. “My boss.”

The wine flies from her mouth, as she slaps her hand over her face.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?” She splutters. “He’s your boss?!”

I nod.

“Well…is it true what they say about him?” She says, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

“What?”

“You know… dick for days?” She sings.