Claimed By His Greatest Rival

For five years as Conrad’s secret girlfriend, his favorite spectator sport was watching other men pursue me.

Whether someone offered a bouquet of peonies or a velvet jewelry box, Conrad would sit back against the leather lounge cushions, swirling his bourbon with unbearable ease. He never intervened. He never looked remotely threatened.

He knew my script by heart:

"I’m sorry, but I’m already in love with someone."

Once, after a client had made a particularly humiliating spectacle of confessing his feelings over dessert, I asked Conrad if he ever worried someone might actually take me away.