The Billionaire's Regret
“I’m mad at you. But I missed you more, so I’ll be mad later.”
“Can we schedule it for Tuesday?”
“No. I’ll send you a voice note at two in the morning.”
She pulled back, held both my arms, then inspected me from head to toe with eyes capable of assessing stitching, weight, lip color, and emotional stability in a single glance.
“You’re still offensively beautiful,” she said.
“You’re wearing enough crystals to interfere with maritime navigation.”
Krystal lifted her chin, pleased. Her dress was pale gold, covered in details that caught the light every time she moved. Long earrings. Stacked bracelets. A tiny rigid purse that couldn’t possibly hold anything useful.