Groomzilla Read Online Free PDF Page B

ducked around the guy, Daniel following with all the haste of a foot-dragging child on his way to a spanking.
    “Have a lovely day, cutie!” Ander called to the guard before sweeping through the doorman-opened door.
    Daniel sighed.
    On the street, Ander picked up without a beat. “That man is interested in you and please don’t even pretend your mouth wasn’t watering the entire time.”
    “He’s very….”
    “Say ‘nice’ again and I start sending you dick pics on the hour, twenty-four seven.”
    “I liked him. And yes, he’s gorgeous. Jaw-dropping hotness and he smells like sex, my God, I wanted to bite him.” Daniel exhaled his words as he stepped into the street to hail a cab, cheeks burning even in the wind. “He’s also someone I’m going to be working with, and that’s as good a reason as any—”
    “Shut up, shut up, shut up .”
    A cab pulled to a stop in front of Daniel; when he turned to Ander, he was busy on his phone.
    “Ander….”
    “One second, I’m googling giant cocks so I can start the queue for your phone.”
     
     
    HOW DANIEL assumed the conversation was over, he had no idea. Temporary insanity.
    “Why can’t you just relax and let things happen?”
    Daniel ignored the buzz of his own phone, knowing full well what was waiting for him. “First you emotionally manipulate me into doing a freaking reality show and now you’re trying to get me to date—”
    “I didn’t say date, my love. I said fuck.”
    The cab driver looked in the rearview mirror, and Daniel shrugged. “Okay—whatever you are encouraging here, I just think it would be awkward.”
    “Awkward and delicious. One glorious night, then every time he walks into the room, you get a boner? Jesus. I think this reality show might have a spin-off.”
    Daniel sank lower on the seat.
    Ander’s office sat on the thirty-eighth floor of an older building on Eighth Avenue and Forty-Seventh Street, pretending it had more to do with being in the heart of the fashion district and less that Ander’s boss had taken a hit in his last divorce.
    Sven Glory—not his real name, but Daniel had not yet seen a birth certificate to confirm—and his fashion lines were enjoying a long life in the middle of the fashion hierarchy. Expensive enough to be at Saks, not Macy’s, cheap enough that the jeans didn’t cost five hundred bucks. The women’s line, Glorious, brought in the big bucks while the men’s line, G, was still struggling to make a splash. After Ander’s fabulous work on a series of wedding dresses for Morning Glory, their bridal line, Ander had been “promoted” to head the men’s line.
    Good work, great job, here’s the bastard child of the empire.
    Daniel had tried to reframe it for Ander at the time, about how Sven was showing his faith in Ander’s genius to do for the men’s line what he had done for bridal. It was a compliment! Except for the part where Sven refused to approve any budget increases or let Ander hire more designers. The corner of the offices for G didn’t even get the good coffee.
    That was when it became clear Sven had laid a trap. Knowing Ander on his own could compete with Glorious, Sven had given him the golden handcuffs. Enough money to make it hard to walk away while making sure he stayed in the basement of design.
    The basement was on the thirty-eighth floor, but still.
    “I just need to take a quick meeting with Rebecca and then we can grab a late lunch,” Ander said, momentarily off Daniel’s love life.
    “Rafe not back yet?”
    Ander’s shoulders sagged, phone quickly forgotten as he gave Daniel a forlorn glance. Oh, there was that scared boy crying in his bed because he missed his parents so much. “He said his meeting got pushed back. He’s going to fly home in the morning, but then I have the meeting with the guys from Tokyo and dinner at night with Victor and Owen.”
    “So reschedule the dinner,” Daniel said as they reached Ander’s floor. “You guys haven’t had