Page 6 of Serena (Shattered Queens #1)

This is the part I hate most when attending these events—the mingling.

I am not a mingling type of person; straight to the point is more my style.

Attempting to make small talk is definitely one of the top five things I hate, make it three.

This is more suited for Gabriel, who just sent me a text telling me that he isn’t coming.

He gave some fucking excuse about work coming up.

I know what he does all day; I don’t buy it.

I make a note to hound him about flaking at the last minute.

I return to the conversation being directed at me.

Edmund Steward is congratulating me on the successful acquisitions, but I tune him out.

It's nothing but formalities. My father should be here basking in the glory of all this praise.

He not only acquired Penger but also a smaller telecommunications company.

I excuse myself and head to the bar to refill my whisky.

I could just ask the waiter to bring me another, but I need to leave this conversation.

The bartender is busy helping another customer, so I wait for my turn.

I may own the company, be worth billions, and be paying for this event, but I’m not above having manners.

Although I’m not a patient man, the wait provides me with an excuse not to walk around and force myself to repeat the same answers to the same questions.

Standing here looking around the room, I recognize most of the guests.

Some are here as a courtesy, and selected press are here as well, being given access to tonight's event.

There are employees as well as the marketing firm that was recently hired for the transition.

Everything needs to be impeccable. The team hired will be taking care of all of the press and branding.

I’m taking in the room, looking around, and my breath catches as my eyes land on her.

There she is. Dark-blue dress. Soft skin.

Those lips. I freeze. I shouldn’t. I’ve trained myself not to.

But she’s here. She doesn’t know I exist. Not yet.

There is something about her; the way she presents herself, so in control, she could command this entire place if she wanted to.

She’s holding a glass of champagne in between her fingers, not taking a sip.

She turns to the person on her left, whom I recognize as Yuri Lobo.

My father and hers are good friends. There would be the occasional summer vacation together.

I outgrew them and spent the summers with my cousin, but I know my siblings and she used to be close.

Then her face changes. A flicker. A crack. Someone's approaching. Her posture shifts like she’s bracing for impact. And then, maybe she looks right at me. Maybe not. The bartender hands me the drink. When I look back, she’s gone.