There was just something about Chayara. She had this way of being warm and sharp all at once. She pulled people in, made them forget what they were supposed to be doing, and reminded them what it felt like to be wanted—really wanted. The simple way she looked at you and made you feel like the most interesting person in the room.
"Yes. He thinks a Porsche suits me," Chay said. She tapped the hood affectionately.
Guy gave a tight smile, trying not to let the "Drake thinks" part burrow under his skin. "Of course he does," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Across the street, Drake still sat in his car, watching the exchange.
He hadn't quite figured out Guy's intentions, but the man rubbed him the wrong way—always had. He was too smooth, too present, too… available.
Drake leaned forward, elbows resting on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking. He's just her advisor, he reminded himself. He gets paid for this.
