Page 15 of Ruthless Love

“Or a zodiac symbol?” Margot says, trying sweetly to be helpful while I deal with the buzzing of an incoming text.

D: Need you here.

Evie: On my way.

Of course. Because my job is meaningless in his world. Whatever. This is the life I’ve chosen.

“Look,” I say. “I’ve got to go.”

Margot tosses me a suspicious glance that I don’t bother acknowledging. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I say, masking my irritation behind a smile.

Without any warning, I smother Jean in a monster hug. “If you remember the tattoo, let me know. I’m not half bad at tracking down mystery men. Especially ones with interesting tattoos you’ve probably nibbled on.”

Jean gives me a squeeze back. “Thanks, Evie.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Margot says, but I decline.

“Nope. Sister bonding next time.”

Everett Long is two shakes of a lamb’s tail from setting a wedding date with my mom, but the sister comment still throws Margot. It’s enough to let me slip away without her getting all up in my business.

Because I don’t need to be talked out of breaking up with my rich dick of a fiancé.

Chapter Eight

EVIE

The man I’m about to marry has it all.

The dangerous good looks that can melt a pair of panties from twenty yards away. The dark glare that has women stripping and begging before he utters a word. Enough money to buy and sell yachts and islands. The loyalties of formidable armies and corrupt countries. The heartstrings of one Mr. Garrett Banks, my father. And by extension, me.

I’ve tried to break it off with Dimitri. A dozen times. That’s how many times he’s heard my five little words.

We. Need. To. Break. Up.

Simple. Easy. And every time, he’s used the same tactic—ignore and distract. The man was born to lead with his charm and end with his tongue between my legs. And he’s fucking good at it.

He used to start with very reasonable, logical, undeniable arguments about how we’re perfect for each other. Followed by a mind-blowing orgasm—sometimes mine, usually his—and several outrageous bribes for my love. His mother’s ring was just the start.

A 10.7-carat flawless diamond that borders on gawdy, it’s perfect. Sure, the size and weight took a little getting used to, but sparkly and light enough as balls-and-chains go that the sheer sight of it dazzled me into submission.

Then there was the car. A Bentley convertible that I loved right away but never drove, terrified of the inevitable scratch or scrape or fender bender. Because let’s face it—that’s my track record. So it sits in Dimitri’s garage to this day, and one of his employees takes it for a two-and-a-half-mile drive daily to the end of the driveway and back. Just to make sure it still starts.

Said employee then wipes it down with a diaper, makes sure the gas is filled, and parks it back in the exact same spot he took it from. He does this between his duties as Dimitri’s henchman and following me around.

Not every day, mind you. Apparently, I’m too boring to hold Dimitri’s interest every day. His sweeps dropped from daily to weekly, then at my insistence, to not at all. I thought I could live with a controlling egomaniac—be the woman in his life. But no one was more surprised than I was when I discovered I couldn’t.

When Dimitri didn’t balk at my demands for privacy, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. I settled on skeptical, but I stayed engaged. Again.

And no matter how I try to be dazzled by the sort of wealth and status my pedigree is suited for, I know I can’t do it.

I can’t marry him.

Never mind his reputation, which spans both the good and bad sides of deplorable. And dangerous. Or that this little arrangement was concocted between him and my father. The man who, when I was the ripe age of ten, made the first attempt of many to arrange a marriage between me and an up-and-comer of society.

And since my engagement, my father—the man who never gave two shits about me—is suddenly kissing my ass at every opportunity. I take a modicum of pleasure at being the center of his ass kissing, as depraved as that sounds. But living for twenty-seven years in the shadow of my hard-partying brother, Alan, will really fuck up a girl.

---