Page 7 of Claiming Liberty
Fuck. I’m a terrible girlfriend.
I restrain myself from looking at Angel and look at the blond man instead. He’s shamelessly leering at me. There’s no misunderstanding his intentions. He isn’t sizing up my outfit, he’s straight up undressing me. Right in front of Robert.
Ass. Hole.
“Do I know you?” Angel asks Robert. I don’t take my eyes off Blond Douche.
Robert pulls his arm away, and from my periphery, I see him hold his hand out toward Angel. “Robert Gaumond.”
“He came to the island once,” Blond Douche explains, finally dragging his eyes from me. “I introduced you.”
“Island?” I ask, turning to Robert. All Robert does is work. I don’t remember him vacationing.
Robert clears his throat. “Mr. Hansley owns a small, private island near Fiji. He was kind enough to invite me to a function there once.”
Oh.
“You’re welcome back anytime,” Blond Do—er, Mr. Hansley—says, his gaze aimed at me. “Feel free to bring your pretty, um…” His eyes lower then slowly climb back to my face. “Date.”
Date.
He may as well make air quotes with the way he says the word.
He means…
Is he calling me a fucking hooker?
My eyes widen and blood rushes to my cheeks, partly from anger and partly from mortification.
Is that what I look like to these people? A prostitute?
“Right, I remember now,” Angel says to Robert. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you,” Robert responds. “And thank you for keeping my girlfriend company.”
That was pointed.
Fuck, he’s jealous, isn’t he?
Why didn’t I just go to the bathroom?
“Sorry if I’ve stolen her.” Angel tips his head toward me.
Robert waves it off to show it isn’t a big deal, although I can see in his rigid posture that it is.
“I’m happy Sawyer had you tag along on this trip. I was actually hoping to run a few business ideas by you.”
“Of course.”
I stare at the man, Sawyer, who continues to ogle me. The pointed comment may have been at Angel, but am I the only one seeing this shit? This overt disrespect?
And this is Angel’s friend? The chivalrous dude?
I almost laugh at myself. He’s probably an asshole too.
Show me your friends, and I’ll show you your future.
I bet my dress wasn’t even crooked.