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)
Oliver laughs, the deep sound apparently eroding my brain cells, because, apparently, I’m on a roll. Of idiocy.
“I know a drug dealer in Hammersmith who used a snake in his business. A boa constrictor. He’d mail it to people who owed him money, obviously to frighten them. I mean, it was the snake I was acquainted with, not the drug dealer. And in a professional capacity.” Why am I babbling? “It’s not like I owed him money or anything. How do you suppose he hasn’t turned up at the hotel?”
“The snake?” He blinks. “Mitchell.” He glances down, then straightens his shirt cuffs. “Few people know I live there. Which is exactly the way I like it.” He pauses. “Are you worried about seeing him again?”
“I’d rather never set eyes on him again.” The low violence of my own answer surprises me. “Why else do you think I gave up on my belongings?”
“You should’ve allowed me to rectify that.”
“I don’t want you to. There’s nothing I need.”
“There must be.”
“Leave it, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Oliver studies me silently before speaking again. “You know, your paths are bound to cross again at some point.”
My mouth twists as I suddenly understand his reticence. “I should’ve guessed. Seeing him is somehow part of your game plan.”
“I’m no friend of Mitchell Atherton’s. You know that. How would I have arranged a meeting?”
I harrumph my distrust of his answer.
“That’s not to say I think it shouldn’t happen. And when it does, surely, it would be better if I were by your side.”
“Why? You gonna play llama?” I almost expect him to say something crass, assert that one of us being acquainted with Mitchell’s ball sack is enough.
“It’s not going to be swords at dawn, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Because he doesn’t like me that much.
Sometimes I forget Oliver isn’t like other men. But other rich men? Yep, I see those similarities. I wonder if he does it on purpose—reminds me of our situation whenever we’re getting along well. I should probably thank him for it.
“I’m not so dumb as to think you’d want to protect my honor.” My answer comes out uglier than I expect.
“That’s not fair, Eve.”
“Nothing about this is fair.” I slide him a look, my gaze flicking up, then down.
“I will do what I need to,” he answers simply. “But I’m not the one that put you in this situation.”
“No, you’re just the one who took advantage of it,” I say, plucking at a button on my cardigan. Rich men can’t be trusted. I should put that on a card. Laminate it for durability. Read it aloud ten times a day and use it as a mantra. “I was stupid enough to accept his proposal. I was fooled by his lies and his empty promises.” I need to remember, not repeat the mistake.
“Enough,” his cool voice commands as Oliver hauls me onto his knee, without a thought for what either I or the driver think. “This self-flagellation does not serve. You deserve kinder treatment, above all from yourself.”
“Do I deserve kinder treatment from you?”
“He will seek you out. And I will be by your side. That will be kinder.”
“Cool sidestep.” Whether I’m to blame for this situation or not, Oliver definitely took advantage of it. The strange truth is I can’t not like him. But trust is another question altogether.
“Just imagine it,” he says, his hand whispering through my hair. “I’ll take you in my arms and kiss you, and whatever plans he’s undoubtedly scheming will be crushed. He’ll be crushed. Because I have you and he does not.”
Such words. All pretend.
“You want to see him crushed, don’t you?”
I shrug, turning away from him. “I mean, it’s a close second to death by peanut butter.”
Chapter 26
OLIVER
“Here?” Eve glances up at the building, the distinctive blue flag fluttering in the gentle breeze. “Really?” Her doubtful gaze returns to me.
“Yes, really,” I reply, fastening the button on my jacket as I take her hand. “Come on. We’re already late.”
The door opens before we reach it, meaning that Eve stops tugging, hissing questions, and generally fussing. She’s right; I might’ve mentioned we were visiting one of the world’s most prestigious jewelers, but that would’ve spoiled the surprise. And created a lot of questions, more to the point.
“Mr. Deubel, Miss Fairfax, welcome to Garrard & Co.” Our greeter, a Mr. Jones, slides his hand down his blue tie and a slight middle-aged paunch.
“Good afternoon.”
“Hi. Hello.” Eve’s eyes widen as we step inside. The interior is stylish and luxurious, but I expect her reaction is more about the store’s numerous displays of diamonds.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Mr. Jones, our consultant for today, seems enchanted by Eve’s apparent wonder as she stares at the high Edwardian ceilings, the chandeliers, the silk-lined walls. And the jewels, of course.