Wednesday—November 25th, 2020

Daphne glared at him as he chuckled at her expense. She didn't know who he was so he couldn't have been in town for long, otherwise she'd have heard all about him. For his face was frankly perfection. It took only a moment to realize that he put all of Michelangelo's statues to shame. His eyes were oddly intense—so blue they practically glowed—and his hair was black and cut stylish.

This was a man, Daphne thought wryly, who could easily steal the spotlight away from the Bridgerton men for good. Why that annoyed her so much, she didn't know. Maybe it was because she knew a man like him would never be interested in a woman like her. Maybe it was because she felt like the veriest frump standing there in his splendid presence. Maybe it was just because he was laughing as if she were some sort of circus amusement.

Simon didn't know why he didn't give her a straightforward answer, but some devil within made him reply, "My intention was to be your rescuer, but you clearly have no need of my services."

"Oh," the girl said, sounding slightly abashed. She clamped her lips together, twisting them slightly as she considered his words. "Well, thank you, I guess. Shame you didn't reveal yourself ten seconds earlier. I'd prefer not to have hit him."

Simon looked down at the man on the ground. Blood was coming out of his nose, and he was moaning, "Laffy, I think you broke my nose! Laffy!"

"Laffy?" Simon murmured, sliding his gaze up to her face. Really, she was quite an attractive little thing, and from his height the bodice of her blouse seemed almost decadently low.

She scowled at him, clearly not appreciating his attempt at subtle humor—and also clearly not realizing that his heavy-lidded gaze had rested on portions of her anatomy that were not her face. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Do you even work here? You don't look like you work here."

"I could ask you the same thing," Simon said.

Her scowl deepened. "Yes, but I'm clearly visiting someone who works here. Are you visiting someone?"

"Something like that." Simon crossed his arms and assessed the situation. "Do you want me to drag him out into the streets in shame?"

Eric's eyes widened and he looked at the girl fearing her answer.

"Tempting," she said. "But not worth your time. Or mine."

Eric sighed in relief.

"You're a more generous soul than I, then," Simon said quietly.

It was the girl's turn to sigh, a soft, breathy sound that Simon somehow felt across his entire body. She turned to Eric. "I'm sorry I came over. I shouldn't have done that. And I'm sorry I asked you for money, Eric," she said with quiet dignity. "Truth is... I'm on the brink of losing my business. I will do whatever it takes to save it, Eric. If you're not going to help me, I'll find someone who will."

Simon felt a strange sort of admiration for this girl. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind or to admit that she needed somebody's help. He felt strangely curious to know more about her, like what kind of business she had and the problems with it, but it wasn't his place to ask.

She headed toward the door but stopped when Eric called her name. "You broke my nose, Laffy," he sniffed, still clutching at his face.

She looked over her shoulder at him and answered, "Well, you broke my heart, Eric." And then she was out of there.

Simon didn't move for about ten seconds and then he had to follow her. He caught up with her at the elevator and when the door closed, sealing them alone, Simon couldn't help but stare. Her clothes were a perfect fit, revealing her curves to perfection. Her hair was styled so that one thick lock fell over her shoulder, curling seductively at the top of her breast. She started to say something and Simon knew he should be listening to her, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off that single dark lock of hair. It fell like a silky ribbon across her swanlike neck, and he had the urge to close the distance between them and trace the line of her hair with his lips. Maybe his tongue.

Would she be down for it? There were more than just one way to ask.

A kiss. Just one little kiss. It was tempting, so deliciously, maddeningly tempting.

"Hey!"

With great reluctance, he dragged his eyes up to her face. Which was, of course, delightful in and of itself even when she was scowling at him like that.

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"Of course," he lied.

"You didn't."

"No."

A sound came from the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

Simon watched with fascinated interest as she took a deep breath and muttered something to herself. He couldn't hear her words, but he doubted any of them could be construed as complimentary. Finally, her voice comically even, she said, "If you don't want to talk to me, why did you follow me?"

"I wasn't going to stay there watching a man cry." He gave her a disarmingly lopsided grin. "That was an excellent right hook, by the way."

For a moment Daphne forgot to breathe. Just when she'd decided that her would-be rescuer was irredeemingly arrogant, he had to go and smile at her like that. It was one of those boyish grins, the kind that melted female hearts within a ten-mile radius. And, much to Daphne's dismay, it was awfully hard to remain thoroughly irritated with a man under the influence of such a smile. After growing up with three brothers, all of whom had seemed to know how to charm ladies from birth, Daphne had thought she was immune. But apparently not. Her chest was tingling, her stomach was turning cartwheels, and her knees felt like melted butter.

"Are you holding your breath?" he asked suddenly.

Daphne forced herself to breathe. She hadn't realised what she was doing. Something about the tone of his voice—and the way his eyes seemed to have grown almost smoky as they focused on her face—made her extremely uneasy, and it was all she could do not to shut her eyes. She refused—absolutely refused—to let him see how he'd affected her.

His lips curved into a slow smile. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous!" she almost shouted. "I'm... disturbed. It's a different emotion altogether."

"And why," he asked, pausing for dramatic effect, "are you disturbed?"

"Because you're ridiculously good looking and you're staring at me without blinking," she blurted out. "It's disturbing. Not to mention annoying. Why aren't you blinking? What is wrong with you?"

He was quiet after that, having far too much fun watching the play of emotions on her face to do anything but drag this moment out to its lengthiest extreme. Of course most of the emotions on her face were varying shades of irritation and dismay, but that made the moment all the sweeter.

He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them to only a few inches. "You think I'm good looking?" he said softly, knowing that she'd feel his breath on her face.

"That's the only thing you registered?" she retorted. "Typical."

Simon shrugged and leaned forward some more, his eyes heavy-lidded and seductive as he said, "You did say I'm good looking though."

She looked a little befuddled by his onslaught, but still she managed a rather defiant, "So? Lots of people look good."

Simon nodded slowly. "But not ridiculously so, isn't that right?" And then he moved in to steal a kiss, but before he could reach her lips she started to laugh. Right in his face.

"Oh, my God," she gasped. "Oh, that's so funny!"

Simon was not amused.

"Did you really think it'd be that easy?" This was said between laughs. "Ha! I mean, I'm not gonna lie, it was a very good try. You looked amazing. And it would've probably worked if not for the fact that I have many brothers. I'm immune to your mind games."

"Is that so?"

She gave his arm a reassuring pat. "But yours was a most admirable attempt. And I'm flattered you picked me to try your sexy little talk on, as most men don't."

"Most men," Simon said bluntly, "are idiots."

The elevator door opened and Daphne walked out, the man following her closely. She stopped near the doors, meaning to say her goodbyes, when Eric came tumbling down the stairs, painting and bleeding. "Daphne Bridgerton!" he shouted and her name echoed in the entrance hall of Global Hastings causing many people to turn and stare. Eric came toward her and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her with such force she thought her neck might snap.

Then her savior muttered something that sounded like "fuck's sake" and landed a stunningly powerful blow on Eric's chin. People around gasped in shock. Eric went down like a stone.

Daphne regarded the man on the floor. "Oh, wow. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, actually," he said, scowling at Eric. Then he looked at her with the weirdest expression. "Did he say your name is...?"

"Daphne Bridgerton," she supplied.

Simon staggered back a step. He suddenly felt physically ill, as his brain finally processed the fact that she had thick, chestnut hair. The famous Bridgerton hair. Not to mention the Bridgerton nose, and cheekbones, and—Goddamn it, this was Anthony's sister!

Fuck.

There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.

While he stood there, probably staring at her like a complete moron, one of the receptionists approached them. "Mr. Hastings!" he exclaimed. "Are you... alright, sir? And the lady? And what should we do with Mr. Macclesfield?"

Daphne stared at Simon.

"It's Basset," he told the man. "Not Hastings. Don't ever call me that. And you can do whatever protocol tells you to do."

"There isn't protocol for knocking people out in the hall, sir!"

Simon was about to answer he couldn't care less what they were going to do to Eric Macclesfield when Daphne Bridgerton said, "You're Baron Hastings' son." She looked baffled.

Simon watched with growing horror as the blood drained from her face. "Jesus, you're not going to swoon, are you?" He couldn't imagine why she would, but she looked decidedly pale. And if there wasn't protocol to dealing with one unconscious person, then two would just make his first day impossible.

She looked offended that he'd even considered the notion. "Of course not." She pulled large sunglasses from her purse and put them on in one efficiently swift motion. "I'm going to leave. Good day."

And she did.

Without another word.