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)
“It has the potential to make him famous. It’s a celebrated piece of history. Unique. He’d likely become a national celebrity. Not that I’m suggesting he doesn’t also love you,” I add.
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
“You have to admit, there could well have been an element of convenience in his proposal.”
“No one proposes marriage for a business deal.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
“A few days ago, I’m sure you would’ve said the same about his cheating. Now you know differently. Your bridesmaid and my PA.” With a sigh, I sit back.
“Excuse me.” There’s no swift removal from banquet seating. Her movements are ungainly and jerky—my own a little less so as etiquette dictates I also stand.
“Eve.” I wrap my fingers around her forearm, and she stills, but she doesn’t give me her gaze. “I am sorry.” Sorry that it had to be her tangled in this mess. “I promise there is good to come out of this.”
A sudden ache blooms in my chest as she swipes at a tear with the back of her hand. I just want to take her in my arms, but that would make me as bad as him. And the truth is I’ll hurt her much worse than this to get what I want.
“Where are the restrooms?” she asks a passing waitress, an older woman, not the same girl from earlier. The woman’s eyes dip to my fingers, her eyes an angry shade of blue as she misreads the situation.
“Follow me, hon.” Her attention moves to Eve with a smile. “I’m going that way.”
The pair leaves without a backward glance.
Chapter 10
EVIE
“This is so stupid,” I mutter to my reflection as I wipe the tear from the corner of my eye. I’m reacting like a kicked dog, which is ridiculous. None of what Oliver just told me is worse than what I discovered yesterday. I mean, it would kind of make sense; if Mitchell cheated on me multiple times, then he’s definitely the kind of man who’d marry for convenience.
But why the heck am I wondering if Oliver’s assistant was more to him than an employee? He looked so cut up about it. Maybe that’s why I feel so . . . urgh! And the fact that he wants to . . . what? Hire me? To pretend to be his girlfriend? The new Lucy?
“Collude,” I huff into the mirror. Conspire. Whatever. It’s not the same as wanting me.
I turn away from my reflection and lean against the vanity. I felt so different this morning, the hotel door handle cool in my hand as I paused to glance back at Oliver, splayed across the bed. His hair stark against the linens, his skin gilded by the rising sun. He had temptation stamped all over him. My fingerprints too. I’d felt a tiny thrill wash through me: I’d wanted him, and I’d had him. It all seemed like part of a grand plan—Evie getting her groove back.
I guess it’s no surprise that when I opened Riley’s door to him, my body throbbed with remembrance. Unfortunately, my heart also went pitter-patter.
“Men!” I grate out. Worse still, the rich kind. It figures that Mitchell was hiding more than his extracurriculars, because I was straight from the start—money was a turnoff for me. He knew I didn’t get along with my family, that I couldn’t agree with their outlook or their lifestyle. Money corrupts, and that’s one of the reasons I left Connecticut. I said it was for adventure, but my mother was already applying subtle pressure. To her, the only good husband is a rich husband. As long as he provides, she’s happy to turn a blind eye. But deep pockets do not excuse a stinking attitude. Same goes for a pretty face.
The bottom line is, I am disappointed. For Oliver to seek me out for this bull goes in the face of everything he did for me yesterday. Yet, underneath the bottom line lurks a painful postscript in tiny text that I can’t help but acknowledge.
He doesn’t want me, and that hurts my pride.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, swinging back to address my reflection. “And fuck him.” Playacting isn’t in my repertoire, and one-way desire is a short road to hell. I take a deep breath: what’s one more disappointment? Nothing that I can’t cope with. Pulling on the door, I step out into the darkened hallway.
“Eve.”
I turn at the velvet sound of my name. “I wasn’t sneaking out,” I begin, immediately defensive.
Oliver pushes languidly from the wall, moving closer, all sinuous stalk and prowl. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.” His words are pitched low, spoken like secrets, but they don’t stop my ugly huff.
“I’m fine.”
Another step, and the breadth of his shoulders blocks the light from the end of the hallway. “Let me help you.”