Page 105 of Sinful Blaze

“Alright. That’s it.” I snap the folder shut and jump out of my chair at the same time. “I think I have everything we need to schedule the showing. We’ll be in touch.”

He’s stunned. “What did I say? What did I do? Daphne, I?—”

“You are engaged to someone else.” I hold a hand up to stop him from getting out of his chair. “You made that exceptionally clear. The fact that you’re here is one thing; the fact that you’re trying to… to what? Win me back?”

Conrad ignores my hand and pushes himself up anyway. “I’m trying to figure things out. Make things right. Especially since?—”

“Anything to do with me has already been figured out. We’re done.”

For all the fuss I made about Pasha’s hickey, I’m suddenly wishing I’d just left it alone so Conrad could see how utterly unavailable and uninterested I am. I’m wearing the necklace, but clearly, this guy has no idea what it means.

I’m almost embarrassed that I ever cried over this idiot. That I ever entertained spending the rest of my life with him. That I ever shared a bed with him.

Holy fuck, did I win the lottery when it came to this pregnancy. How close was I to bearing the wrong man’s child?

Pasha is everything Conrad is not. Stubbornness is the one thing they have in common, but even then, it’s entirely different flavors. Conrad doesn’t know when to accept defeat.

Well… neither does Pasha. But honestly, I’ve noticed this drive is his way of taking care of the people around him. Not to serve himself, or his own interests, at least not as much as his decisions serve everyone else.

Even me. He may want our baby, but I know that he’s determined to care for her for the sake of his family. His Bratva. His own child is an act for the greater good, not just himself.

Conrad is a selfish little bitch by contrast. He doesn’t care who he throws under the bus so long as it benefits him and him alone. Does Brittany even know he’s here?

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m trying, Daph. I really am. I?—”

“Stop.” If I’m surprised by how strong I sound, he flinches and his eyes widen a little more. “Stop trying. I don’t want you to try. I don’t want you, period. I don’t want your flowers, your letters, or your pathetic apologies. Does she know you’re here, by the way? Does your fiancée know you’re trying to woo your ex?”

He looks away. The guilt is written all over his face.

“Here’s how this is going to work.” I pull my phone out like I’m checking my digital calendar, but I’m actually making sure the rest of this conversation is recorded. “The only interaction you and I will ever have moving forward will be via email. If you need to schedule a meeting, you will schedule it with Hazel, Todd, or Keith. Deliveries will be handled by a third party.”

“But—”

“No. I am the curator of your show, and that is all. Our only interaction is what I get paid to do. I may laugh, I may smile, I may say nice things to people who want to buy your work. But understand—” I lean forward just to emphasize my point. “—it is because I am paid to. Given the choice, we’d never share the same air again.”

I don’t wait for him to respond. I don’t want to hear it.

He gets up and leaves without another word. Thank God. And in his wake, silence settles over the building.

No Conrad.

No Tweedles.

Just sweet, blessed silence.

That blessed silence lasts all of half an hour.

At least it’s just some delivery guy. He didn’t do anything to piss me off.

Except bring more flowers from people I don’t want to hear from. But that’s not his fault.

It’s my parents’.

The fact that this bouquet is almost identical to Conrad’s doesn’t surprise me. I’d bet good money that they coordinated his little ambush.

I pluck the letter he stuck inside the roses and stare at it. Do I even want to read it? Is it worth the headache?

Better yet, do I have a lighter stashed away somewhere?

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