Standing right in front of them, as if he'd been waiting all morning, was none other than Eirik Langford. His perfect, punchable face was plastered with that same smug grin that made Amara's blood pressure spike. He looked every bit like the hero of a bad romance novel tall, dark hair meticulously styled, and dressed in a suit so sharp it could cut glass.
Elara tensed beside her, the air between them thickening with a mutual loathing for the man standing in their path. Amara could practically feel the heat of Elara's irritation radiating off her like she was about to burst into flames.
"Ladies," Eirik said, in that disgustingly smooth tone that made Amara want to roll her eyes straight into the back of her skull. "What a pleasure to run into you."
Amara's fists clenched at her sides. Pleasure? It was more like a test of willpower not to lunge at him and strangle the self-satisfied smirk right off his face.
