Page 80 of Wrong For Me

“Okay, what about that guy?”

I squint into the crowd to see who Rose is talking about, zeroing in on the target in seconds. I snort into the cheap wine I’m holding. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

We’ve been playing this game for the last twenty minutes, and Rose is getting sillier and sillier in direction proportion to how empty her wine glass is. From the mischievous glint in her eyes, I have a feeling this is going to be the best one yet.

Getting Richard the insufferable self-help author to introduce us to Williamson had been easy—I had Rose next to me, after all. All she had to do was ask him about his book and he was half in love with her. Williamson had been the same way, clearly charmed when Richard introduced her.

It was pretty obvious that Rose could have easily dominated the meeting. She has this effortless charm about her, a natural empathy and interest that draws people to her, makes them trust her. But to my surprise, Rose made an obvious effort to include me in the conversation, explaining to Williamson that we’re co-TAs and describing all the work we’d been doing for Dr. Hernandez. He seemed fairly engaged, asking questions and even giving some advice on our fellowship applications. All in all, the meeting went well, probably way better than it would have without her there.

We were both feeling pretty good after the intro, so we decided to have another drink before calling it a night. That’s when she proposed this little game.

“Okay…” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at the balding man currently wearing a vacant expression while sipping his drink. “I’m thinking he’s a father of three from…Cheboygan. He’s a middle school psychologist who spends the majority of his day testing kids for ADHD and dyslexia.”

I frown. “Well that’s not very entertaining.”

Her eyes flash in that mischievous way I’m starting to get familiar with. “I wasn’t finished.”

I wave my hand, grinning in spite of myself. “By all means, continue.”

“In his spare time, he trains chihuahua’s for agility dog competitions.”

My bark of laughter is so loud several heads turn in our direction.

“I’m so glad I spent the last week cultivating relationships with these people,” I mutter. “Twenty minutes with you and they’re all going to think I’m some immature college kid.”

She rolls her eyes. “Give me a break. Every person you’ve talked to since we got here is head over heels for you.”

My eyebrows go up. “I guess you weren’t joking about watching me, huh?”

She makes a scoffing noise. “It was purely scientific, I assure you.”

“In what way?”

“A personality study,” she says lightly. “It was fascinating to watch you completely turn into a different person in front of my eyes.” She shifts so she’s facing me. “Imagine my surprise when the scowling, stick-up-his ass dullard I’ve come to know so well turned into Mr. Friendly.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me a dullard? Is that even a word people say anymore?”

She hiccups. “It’s a word I say.”

I can’t wipe the grin off my face. “Miss Ransome, are you getting tipsy?”

“Maybe a bit. But there’s still room for more.” She pokes my chest. “You’re ignoring the part about you transforming into someone else. Were you abducted by aliens or something?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called networking, Rose. Did you expect me to walk around glowering at people?”

She smiles sweetly. “I guess you reserve the glower for me, huh?”

I shrug. “What can I say, you bring something out in me.”

Her eyes lock with mine, and I’m absolutely sure she can tell all the different meanings lurking under those words. And honestly, I’m not sure if I mind anymore. It’s exhausting, pretending I don’t care anything about this woman, pretending she doesn’t affect me.

She swallows, then opens her mouth and I can’t help leaning forward just a fraction, wondering what she’s going to say.

Of course, that would be the moment a guy in a crimson Harvard tie would stick his face into my business. “Hey, Malone,” he says, holding out a hand to shake.

Jeremy Kensington. Exactly the kind of guy I’ve always avoided at all costs. Prep school educated, family rolling in money, currently working on his doctorate at Harvard. We’d met the first night, and I’ve been trying to keep a football’s field worth of distance between us ever since. And, of course, he’s one of the members of Rose’s little gang.

Gritting my teeth, I watch as they say hello, hating the guy even more for the way his eyes roam her body. Trust fund dickhead.