Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“That’s it? That’s why you don’t like him?” She sounds unimpressed, as though millions lost in profit is not enough to be upset about.
“What’s important about what I’m telling you is that the land sold for ten million.”
She begins to shake her head. “Mitch doesn’t have that kind of money. I would know. He lives in a rented one-bedroom apartment. He drives an electric car that’s on lease.”
“He lives in the apartment, but he doesn’t pay rent. He owns the building. He not only had ten million to buy the land, but he’s also successful enough to attract investors. That means he has a track record of returns.”
“I don’t know where you got that information from, but you’re way off.”
“Why? Because he didn’t tell you? Because he didn’t ask you to sign a prenup? There would be no point,” I add as her head rears back in shock. “They’re not worth the paper they’re written on in the UK. Besides, all his money is funneled through foreign shell companies. You’d never get a penny of what he’s worth.”
“I don’t want his money—I didn’t even know he had any!” Color rushes to her face, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Still, it looks like he’s been lying to you on more than one front. He’s quite cunning. You see, the parcel of land went to tender, and I happened to know my bid was the most competitive.”
“Because that doesn’t sound suspect at all.”
“Yet I was outbid.”
“It happens,” she says uncertainly. “Maybe he just bid more.”
“My point is how he knew what to bid because I later discovered he was sleeping with my personal assistant, Lucy.” My jaw tightens. One of these days, my molars will likely turn to dust as I remember. What happened with Lucy was the most painful factor in the whole sorry, sordid business. The repercussions . . . well, I just don’t want to think about any of it.
Eve grows pale and quiet, and as she reaches for her glass, I notice how her fingers tremble.
“I’m sorry,” I find myself murmuring. Stranger still, I mean it.
“You didn’t fuck me over. Lie to my face for an entire relationship.”
“I can still be sorry. I don’t like to see you sad.”
“I’m not sad,” she retorts sharply. “That asshole doesn’t deserve my tears.”
“I’m sorry because I’m about to make you feel worse. The property Mitchell and I are both interested in is owned by a man who’d like to see his legacy endure. He has no family of his own, and in his aging state, he believes the best thing he can do is to sell it to someone who has. Or at least has plans of settling down. I happen to know for a fact that Mitchell has played up to that.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“I think you do, Eve. When did he propose?”
“February.”
“A short engagement?”
“Long enough.” She frowns.
“Was that his idea or yours?”
“What does it matter?”
“The timeline ties in.” I give a careless shrug, knowing it won’t take the sting from my words. “If you’re sure it’s not love he professed”—I touch my phone for emphasis—“then perhaps it was need that prompted him.”
“You’re suggesting he asked me to marry him to get his hands on a house?” Her words are meant to be incredulous, but I hear the hurt in them.
“It is a very lovely house. An ancient estate, more appropriately.” One with nine thousand acres of land. It’s a symbol of the status that Mitchell covets, one that he no doubt imagines could be the crown of his success, were I not about to tear it out from under him and make it into a hotel.
He’d made no secret of his interest. Conversely, his wedding was almost a national secret. The first I’d heard of it was when Eve flung herself into my lap, which, of course, makes sense now. She’s the perfect woman to help him get his hands on Northaby House and all that it encompasses, and I’m sure he wanted to be certain I wouldn’t reach that same conclusion.
Too bad. His plans won’t be going ahead. I’ll have this monstrosity of a house. Truth be told, I’d raze it to the ground out of sheer spite, but English law tends to be very protective of its heritage. I’ll do a lot for revenge, but that doesn’t include wearing a prison uniform.
I’ll settle for ruining him.
Step 1. Steal the woman he needs.
Fuck with his head. Make him wonder: Is it real between them? Does Deubel know why I proposed? Does Eve?
Step 2. Steal Northaby from under him.
I doubt he’ll ever recover financially. And never professionally. He’ll be utterly humiliated in the eyes of his investors—ruined. Like he almost ruined Lucy.
“It’s still ridiculous.”
I pause before answering. How do I explain this without giving away the most unusual facet of the estate—without revealing her place in this whole scheme? It wouldn’t help either of us for her to know the whole truth.