Page 184 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

-I’ll take a fucking emoji at this point.

-Please.

-Please, Briar.

-You looked really beautiful, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that.

ME:

-No.

Shit.

No.

Okay, no.

I know what it looks like. But that’s not why I texted him back. I didn't reply because I felt terrible that he had to resort to begging. I replied because he was bothering the hell out of me, and I need to focus. I’m at Nat and Oscar’s place, and we're here to discuss our little senator problem.

But God. Fucking. Damn it.

He’s so adorable when he’s feeling guilty.

After hearing what Rurik told them, I told Nat and Oscar everything about me and Rurik. Rurik was adamant about keeping us a secret, so imagine my fucking surprise when I found out from my friends that he also confided in them everything—from when I pursued him to how he never stood a chance with me.

They both looked understanding when I told them I didn’t want to talk about Rurik anymore. Nat told me ending things can be seen as a blessing in disguise because this means I can channel all my energy and focus on bringing down Philip Greene.

But it’s still hard because the asshole keeps texting and calling me, leaving voicemails that range from desperate to angry.

I may have saved all of them.

“Briar. I’m not going to come over because I’m sure you’ll change the locks again, and I don’t want to look like a fucking creep standing outside your door. But answer your phone.”

“I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Can we please talk?”

“You’re still fucking mine, Briar.”

If I were any other ordinary woman, I would freak out and consider getting a restraining order or something. But I'm not ordinary — I’m extraordinary, according to Rurik one time — and I sure as fuck not freaking out. In fact, witnessing him freaking out like this is stirring something within me, and... I'm loving it.

I can’t help but feel a bit smug.

In your stupid, handsome face, Rurik.

I knew this man has feelings for me.

Stupid asshole.

“I know you’re happy about getting justice, but you don’t need to be smiling like that,” Nat interrupts my thoughts. My head snaps up as I stare at her.

“Like what?” I ask, blinking stupidly.

Nat smirks, a brow rising as she leans forward and points at my mouth. “Like that.”

“Stop judging her," Oscar teases his wife. “Maybe discussing kidnapping the senator gives her all those warm fuzzy feelings.”

“You’re not wrong,” I grin, putting my phone away. “Murderous can be warm and fuzzy.”

“There she is,” Nat throws an arm around my neck and kisses my cheek. “Welcome back, bitch. Now, how do you want to do this?”

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