Page 113 of Mr. Wicked

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jovana

“I can’t believe you have this much shit,” Grayson grumbled from the kitchen the second the movers left his condo.

I’d asked the men to stack my boxes in the living room. I couldn’t have them place my things in Grayson’s bedroom. I’d just have to move them all the way to the other side of his condo, and I didn’t want to do that. At least the living room was much closer to the guest wing. I also didn’t want the movers to know I wasn’t going to be staying in his room.

Extra precaution was necessary when you were lying to the entire world.

“It’s not shit,” I told him, standing next to the six rows of boxes, each row five boxes high. “This is my entire life. Everything I own aside from my bed, dresser, nightstand, and bookshelf.” I’d given all the furniture to Sloane since I couldn’t bring it here. Once the year was over, I hoped she’d give it all back—a thought that caused a knot to lodge into my throat, causing me to whisper, “Be a little gentler with your words, will ya?”

He was leaning over the island with a bottle of water in his hands, the plastic making a crinkle sound as he squeezed it. “What are you planning on doing with it all?”

“Unpacking it. Obviously.”

“When?”

I opened the nearest box, which was full of books. The guest room didn’t have a bookcase or shelf. I was sure I had at least five more boxes that were just as full as this one. “Over the next couple of days, assuming I can get some shelves installed or something to hold all of”—I reached inside and pulled out the top title, showing him the cover of a shirtless man gripping the waist of a woman dressed in his button-down—“these.”

He eyed the book. “You want to display those in your room?”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

I placed the book back and tucked the folds to close the box. “I’ve told you my parents have been very inspirational when it comes to love and what I want in a relationship, but so has everything I’ve read. These aren’t just stories to me. They’re lessons. Tales about life and commitment and the hardships of a relationship. Every one that I’ve read means something a little different to me.”

He shook his head. “You’re setting yourself up for failure. You know that, don’t you? Whatever goes down in those stories isn’t reality. At all.”

“You would say that because you don’t believe in love. But I do and I’m not going to settle.” I glanced toward the boxes again. “Are some of the novels a little outlandish, sure. But the point is that everyone deserves to be loved. Not cheated on. Not used. Not disrespected. Not constantly screamed at. There’s someone for everyone, and I’m going to find my person.”

As I glanced in his direction, he was slowly licking across his lips. “And who is that person going to be? Jared?”

I laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe one of my other followers. Or a man I meet in the elevator of your building. Or someone I find on Hooked. Heck, even Holden is kinda cute.”

I’d seen Holden a few times in the bar and after we’d shot the ad in Grayson’s office. He had this beautiful, golden-color hair that reminded me of honey, the most dashing dark-blue eyes, and the kind of smile that was infectious. And when he looked at you, you could feel it, sense it, a unique type of charm that was positively consuming.

But Holden wasn’t my type.

I just wanted to get under Grayson’s skin.

His top lip lifted, like he was about to bare his teeth, and he clenched the plastic so hard, the bottle bent. “Watch yourself. You’re playing with fire right now.”

“Why would you care if I dated your best friend? Or one of my followers? Or a man I met in your elevator?” I waited for a response. When he said nothing, I continued, “Do me a favor, Grayson. If you’re going to warn me, at least have a reason to back it up. I’m the most patient person in this world, but empty threats get on my nerves.”

“God, you have a mouth on you.” He opened the bottom cabinet where the trash was located and tossed the water inside. “I’m starving. I’m going out to get something to eat. You can either join me or sit around and play with your ridiculous fucking books. Your call.”

My stomach groaned at the mention of food. With the move, I’d accidentally skipped lunch, and the only things in me were several cups of coffee and a banana.

I glanced down at what I had on.

Yoga pants.

Tank top.

Sneakers.

And on my head was a baseball hat, my hair braided and hanging across my breast.

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