“How’s your girl doing?” My girl. The words warm my chest. “She’s my assistant,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “Yeah.” He smirks. “That’s what I meant.” I drink half my beer. “She’s none of your fucking business.” He lets out a loud laugh, head tipping back. “Streicher, relax. I’m not going after Pippa.” My shoulder muscles ease and I take another pull of my beer.
