Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“It’s fine. I see him,” Ophelia says. Even from here, I can see the angry gleam in her eye.
I stand, clearing my throat and buttoning my suit jacket. “If you’ll excuse me, Nigella can take care of the rest of the details.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ophelia demands when I intercept her a few feet from my table.
I take her by the elbow and lead her through the crowded restaurant and out into the lobby of the boutique hotel.
“I asked you a question,” she repeats, calling the attention of everyone there. Not that I care, but she might.
“Finally visit your father? How is Horatio?”
“As if you don’t know. What were you thinking? Why would you tell him about the engagement?”
I shrug a shoulder, knowing it will irritate the fuck out of her. “I just assumed he knew. I mean, your daughter gets engaged, it’s not normally a secret. It’s been what? A year now?”
“How dare you insert yourself into my business!”
“The Foxes are my business. As long as you’re aligned with them, you’re in the crosshairs, which makes you my business. I told you to watch yourself with them.”
“I don’t need your advice. Let me go!”
I don’t. “You’re out of your league.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not worried about you.” I hear my own lie but I haven’t forgotten what Ophelia Hart did to me. The night we spent together. The morning after. I will never forget, and I will never forgive.
“Right. Let me go.”
“No.”
“Why do you care anyway? I know exactly how you feel about me.”
“You know nothing. Let’s go. We’re not doing this here.”
“We’re not doing anything. I just came to tell you to stay out of my business. I’m done.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done. Let’s go.”
“No.”
I gesture around the lobby. “Do you think your fiancé will be curious about our little tête-à-tête? Not to mention other nocturnal visits.” That last part is uncalled for, I know, but I can’t help myself.
“He wasn’t my…” she trails off, almost growling with frustration before finally taking notice of how quiet it’s grown. She glances around. “Fuck you, Silas Cruz,” she hisses before turning toward the elevator the bellman already has waiting for us.
I follow her. “There she is. There’s Barbie. Foxes must be proud of you.”
She glares at me over her shoulder. I insert my key which will send the elevator directly to the penthouse. She folds her arms across her chest and stares straight ahead, her hands fisted. When the elevator doors slide open, she steps out, her heels clicking on the polished marble floors as she enters. She looks around, taking in the opulence, the luxury detailed in every cushion, every curated piece of furniture a piece of art.
“You’ve come up in the world, haven’t you?” she asks.
“As you’ve gone down, sweetheart,” I say, pouring myself a whiskey. “Drink?”
“No.”
“Might make you nicer.”
“I don’t need to be nice. Not to you. I don’t know who you think you are or what it is you’re playing at, but what you did? Things are complicated enough without you meddling, Silas.”
“Meddling?” I set my drink down, take her arms and move her backward until her back is pressed to the wall. “Tell me something, Barbie. Was I meddling when I saved your ass that night at the bar?”
She tries to break free, but I raise her arms over her head, pin her wrists to the wall with one of mine.
“Was I meddling when I kept your fucking secret after what we did?”
“I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“No? So, you would have been happy to tell your fiancé that you spent the night in my bed? Oh wait, I didn’t know you were fucking engaged until the morning after, did I?” I say, vitriol in every word.
“You never even gave me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? What was there to explain?” We’re near shouting now, both of us.
“We weren’t engaged, you asshole! Not then.” She shoves me away, tries to move past, but I grab her arm and don’t let go.
Stunned, I stare at her, sure I missed a beat. “What?”
She just shakes her head. “Fuck you!”
“Explain yourself,” I demand.
“Now you want to listen?”
“Fucking explain.”
“I hadn’t said yes, Silas. I hadn’t accepted. That’s what I tried to tell you, but you were busy, weren’t you?” Her eyes fill up and all I can do is stare, dumbfounded. “You were busy telling me what a whore I was!” She wipes at the tears that spill, the hurt in her eyes twisting something in my gut. My chest.
I step back. “You had a ring.”
“I hadn’t said yes.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’re lying.” I walk away, pick up my whiskey and down it.
“Why would I bother? Why would I fucking bother to lie to you now?”
I pour myself another drink, keeping my back to her. It’s not true. She’s backtracking, trying to make herself look better.