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In six months’ time, I’d have to watch them kiss. Marry. Fuck off to the type of happily ever after that was never meant for people like me.

The glass shattered.

The conversations near me lulled, followed by an outburst of gasps and whispers. Two staff members immediately appeared to take the broken glass out of my hand and sweep up the broken shards.

“Many apologies, Mr. Markovic,” one of them said. A small tremble ran through his voice. He avoided looking me in the eye while his colleague did his best to fade into the background. “Please, let us get you a Band-Aid for that cut. If you’ll follow us…”

I glanced at the smear of blood on my hands. I’d barely felt the pain before he brought it up.

“We’ll make sure to double-check the integrity of all our glasses…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I shook my head, cutting him off. The incident wasn’t his fault, and it damn sure wasn’t the glass’s.

I grabbed a napkin to stave off the bleeding and waved the men away. They disappeared without question.

The music was loud enough that only the people in close proximity to me noticed what happened. Ayana was still chatting with Sloane, but the other woman left a minute later.

Ayana was alone.

She sipped her drink and looked around the room, her gaze skimming over me before she did a double take.

Our eyes met. A soft glow of surprise illuminated her face, and the sting from my cut receded.

She took a step toward me.

However, before she made it any further, a man with slicked-back hair and a red shirt cut into her path. She came to an abrupt halt, her mouth hardening.

The man didn’t have to turn around for me to recognize him.

Hank Carson.Her agent.

Something dark and unpleasant slithered through my veins.

I’d been going through his and Beaumont’s files. I hadn’t pinpointed why they’d raised red flags yet, but I would. Until then, it would be interesting to see their dynamic play out in person.

So I watched.

And I waited.

CHAPTER8

Ayana

“Hank.” I masked my displeasure with a tight smile. What thehellwas he doing here? “I didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smiled back, all sophistication and artificial charm. He was objectively a handsome man, but I’d seen behind his mask and found the sight revolting. “I’m not, but it’s a Tastemaker event. Considering how many of my girls are here, I figured I’d make an appearance.”

There were a dozen other models from Beaumont in attendance. I’d exchanged brief hellos with them when I arrived, but everyone was too busy schmoozing to hang out with people they deemed competition.

“How thoughtful,” I deadpanned.

“I heard the Delamonte shoot went well on Monday.” He returned his attention to me. “You received a rave review from the photographer.”

“I told you you didn’t have to worry.”

It was my first major beauty campaign, and I’d been a ball of nerves going into the shoot. Luckily, the photographer and crew had been fantastic, and everything went off without a hitch.