The rest of lunch goes by in a blur.
Stephen is still talking, and I’m trying really hard to focus on his words. Now that I think about it, Stephen kind of worships Damon. If you look past the arrogance and the maddening god complex, I guess it makes sense. Damon Penrose is a self-made billionaire, after all. Thirty-five years old, and he’s already built one of the most successful real estate investment firms in the world. That kind of brilliance demands respect—or at least acknowledgment.
Even if he’s a lying, cheating boyfriend.
I can’t stop my mind from wandering, though. My thoughts keep bouncing between Shantelle Rossi’s face when I’d walked past her and Damon’s hands on my body.
I need to get a grip.
“What’s with the accent?” I ask, cutting off whatever Stephen is saying about
