The two men’s eyes met, locking in a silent, unbroken stare. Neither looked away.
One pair of eyes was dark and fathomless, inscrutable. The other, brown with a hint of blue, just as calm and unyielding.
Standing on the city sidewalk, these two impossibly handsome men drew more than a few glances from passersby.
Between them, Emily Blair hung her head, watching as Jack fussed with something under the hood of the car. She didn’t notice the crackling tension between the two men beside her, their gazes nearly sparking.
Andrew Lane’s assistant, however, noticed everything. He held his breath, afraid to make a sound.
Tristan Davis’s low chuckle suddenly broke through the uneasy silence. Emily was already annoyed—her car had broken down, and of all people, Andrew Lane had chosen this moment to drop by and start a conversation. Just her luck. With an edge in her voice, she snapped, “What’s so funny?”
A sudden warmth brushed against her arm. Emily’s eyes flicked sideways; Tristan had sidled up close, so close his breath tickled her ear as he bent down, laughing under his breath. “So this is Mr. Lane, huh?”
She gave him a look. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Tristan already knew that, didn’t he?
He just smiled, lazy and careless, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Mr. Lane, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Emily’s friend, Tristan Davis.”
Andrew replied with a cool nod. “Andrew Lane.”
Emily, meanwhile, was still trying to figure out why her car wouldn’t start when suddenly an arm reached over her shoulder.
Tristan, as shameless as ever, leaned in. “Emily, now this is your fault.”
She rubbed her forehead. “What are you on about now?”
He clicked his tongue in mock reproach. “We’re friends, sure, but you should at least have my back in public.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Fine. What did I do wrong this time?”
Andrew watched the two of them, pressed close together, his face an unreadable mask. He might as well have been looking at strangers.


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