Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I swallow down the rage and the instant response, realizing he’s right. I’m in the middle of Lionfish, the most important restaurant in the district, and in only seconds, I will have to perform for the most important interview of my life.
A fact Evan knows very fucking well.
It’s a struggle, but I get myself under control, forcing my face to something akin to neutrality and my tone to a harsh whisper. “Of all the times to do this, you choose now? Why would—”
He cuts me off, unapologetic and looking robotic. If anything, he sounds like he’s the one who’s been offended. "Don’t be melodramatic. I mean, this lasted longer than we thought it would, didn’t it?"
Evan looks at me expectantly, like he thinks I’m going to agree with him. And when I look into his eyes, that glint is growing. And that’s when I recognize it. It’s excitement, shockingly similar to the look he gets when he’s gotten one over on his opponent at the negotiation table.
Is that what this is to him?
I search his face, looking for some sign that I’m wrong, but find none. He’s not heartbroken over this. In fact, it’s as if he’s done this at the worst possible time for maximum devastation. I never knew he could be so cruel.
Didn’t you?
Okay, but in business is one thing. In matters of the heart, quite another, and I thought Evan and I had something. I thought we were going to be something.
“Excuse me?” It seems to be a mantra now, but it’s all I can think to say without causing a scene. Though I’m wondering if perhaps he does want me to do or say something inappropriate, something that would sabotage my interview.
“We had some fun. You got your foot in the door into this world, and we enjoyed some sport fucking. But we both knew this wasn’t going anywhere. We’re not… compatible.” He actually scrunches his face as though that’s ridiculous.
Damn, that one’s painful. Devastation barely graces the emotions that swarm inside me.
So that’s all he wanted out of this?
He’s the one who said he wanted to think about us moving in together. He’s the one who put a label on us first. What the hell does he even mean? My mind races with every thought and every little moment that convinced me he was the one.
He shifts, and something comes to mind. There were always a few lines I wouldn’t cross, and a few… “It’s Elise, isn’t it?” I guess aloud, and the bastard smirks.
A cold wave washes over me, and the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. His ‘executive assistant’, Elise, is gorgeous and flirty, and I’ve known for a while that she’s had a crush on Evan. He told me I had nothing to worry about and that things were strictly professional with her. But now he’s just demeaned our two-year relationship down to ‘sport fucking’.
His audacity takes my breath away, but I dig deep into my soul, finding the strength to hold it together. I put the pain and confusion into a box, setting it on a high shelf in the back corner of my heart, to deal with it later. I have one priority today… the interview. The rest? It can wait.
It’ll have to wait.
“Fine,” I reply, folding my hands on top of my white cloth napkin and looking him straight in the eye with the most neutral expression I can muster. “We’re done. You delivered your message. Now you can go. I wish you and Elise the best.”
Evan’s eyes widen with surprise, like he expected me to react more than I am. If only he could see me on the inside. “Raven—”
“Get. Out,” I repeat, my voice turning acidic. “Now.”
Evan looks like he wants to protest, but when the lady at the table a few feet away gasps at my words, he dips his chin sharply and turns.
My causing a scene is one thing. Him? Unconscionable.
Instead, he leaves, his handmade Italian wingtips clicking on the tile of the restaurant. I don’t watch him go. I’ve got work to do and not enough time to prepare. I take a long, steadying breath and look at my watch.
Two minutes.
I’ve got two minutes to get my shit together, and I don’t have a second to waste.
I’ll fall apart later.
CHAPTER 2
DYLAN
One of the benefits of being a silent partner in Lionfish is having my own private table. It’s in the corner of the luxurious bar, a table that’s slightly cloaked in shadow and allows me the chance to observe the social world of finance without having to be seen. Wealth certainly has its perks in this city.
I chose to invest in Lionfish because of its location. Within walking distance of my penthouse and my office, it’s one of the most exclusive spots in the Financial District. I’m often here late into the night, watching those who are celebrating and those who are commiserating. I wouldn’t call it insider trading, but seeing a certain fund manager sit at the bar and down shot after shot of bottom-shelf whiskey one night led to my putting in a massive short call on his biggest client the next day… and netted me thirty million dollars.