đź’śNicole
The party was exactly what I had expected: loud, expensive, and full of people who probably used words like "synergy" and "leverage" in their casual conversations. Marco's penthouse was magnificent, a glass box suspended over the city lights, with a pool that looked like a giant, sapphire martini. I have never really been to pool parties else I would have rated this the most luxurious I had seen.
I stood by the edge, feeling gloriously, aggressively conspicuous in my neon pink dress. It was less a dress and more a public safety hazard. It was my uniform for Operation: Look, I'm Hotter Than Your Fiancée.
I spotted him immediately, leaning against the rail by the bar. Leonardo. He was wearing a dark, open-collar shirt that did absolutely nothing to disguise the coiled power of his shoulders. He was perfect as usual.
I watched him take a sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the crowd with that cool, proprietary indifference. And then his eyes landed on me.
