IWMR | Bbangsaz

Chapter 3

Hanni

It had taken all of five minutes at this stupid party for someone to ask me how my father was doing. I had smiled politely and said fine, then changed the subject, which is exactly what Jake had told me to do. It feels wrong, though. It feels wrong to lie to people, but worse than that, somehow, it feels like I'm dishonoring Dad's memory by not telling people he had passed away a month ago.

It had been Jake's idea to keep his death under wraps for now. Pham Living was already struggling, and the fact that Dad had turned everything over to me in his will was … I guess a surprise to some people. Namely Jack Miller, who had thought he'd be in line to take over, after working under my father for the last twenty years.

But Dad had left the company to me, and Jake was convinced that the world wasn't ready to hear about a 27-year-old fashion designer taking over an established furniture company. I had agreed, mostly because I was so overwhelmed with everything else that was going on at the time. We'd had an intimate close-family-only service and kept his death announcement out of the paper, but I knew it was only a matter of time before news started to leak. After all, I'd effectively been running Pham Living for the last month — people were eventually going to start to notice that Dad wasn't around.

I take a gulp of champagne as another elderly gentlemen approaches me.

"You must be Hanni Pham," he says with a kind smile. "An absolute spitting image of your mother. I knew both of your parents well. How is your father these days?" he asks, not giving me time to respond to his first comments.

"Good, thank you." I take a long swallow of my champagne, trying to burn away the bitter taste of the lie. "Just taking a little downtime right now."

"Ah, well-deserved, I'm sure," the man says. "Well, when you see him, let him know he owes me a round of golf."

"I will." I plaster on another fake smile. This is excruciating. So much worse than I thought it would be. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Oh, goodness. It's Alberto, my dear. Alberto Fuego. Though you probably know me as The Carpet King. You can call me Alberto, of course. I tell all beautiful women to call me Alberto. Unless of course, you want to call me Your Highness."

He winks lecherously and I swallow a little wave of bile.

Right. The Carpet King. His company was one of our biggest suppliers. I smile as Alberto offers his hand. I take it to shake, only instead he lifts my hand to his lips and plants a wet kiss against the back of it. I try not to shudder and tell myself he's just being polite, but as I slip my hand out of his, I notice his eyes graze across my cleavage. I'm suddenly wishing I'd worn a less revealing dress.

"Would you care to dance?" Alberto  — Fuego — asks. He gestures to the dance floor, where only a couple of people are swaying to the music. I'm about to decline when he reaches for my arm. His fingers grip the fleshy part of my arm and he squeezes. Hard. His eyes are on me and I suddenly notice how glassy they are — Jesus, he's hammered.

"Please, Hanni, give an old man a bit of pleasure, won't you?" His words are polite enough but the lecherous way he's staring at me — or more specifically, at my tits — is making me nervous. I try to pull my arm away, but his grip is surprisingly firm.

"There you are," comes a deep voice from behind me. A heavy arm drapes across my shoulders. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

I glance back, startled, and come face to face with the most attractive woman I think I've ever seen in my life. She's got a strong jaw, soft lips, and full lips. Her eyes are a deep soulful brown, and they seem to burn into me somehow, sending a shiver right down to my toes. Even in my heels, she's a good six inches taller than me, and the way she wear her suit tells me that the body underneath is just as impressive as the expensive and well-cut fabric covering it.