Page 59 of Savage Lover

He’s a snake. I was a fool to let him slip his fangs into me for even an instant.

Still, I feel myself pausing on the sidewalk. Like he’s going to leave Bella in there and chase after me.

Of course he doesn’t.

I’m just standing there all alone, while cars whiz by, and pedestrians have to part ways around me.

Whatever Nero has planned in there, it’s a hell of a lot more important than me.

14

NERO

Out of all the devious and criminal acts I’ve committed, taking Bella for lunch is the most repugnant.

I honestly think I would have found kidnapping a school bus full of children less distasteful.

I have to sit across the table from her in the Poke Bar, listening to every stupid thought rattling through her brain, while smiling and pretending to be interested.

I fucking hate pretending.

It doesn’t help that I had to dress like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Button-up shirt, polished shoes . . . it’s not for Bella’s benefit. It’s so I don’t draw the attention of the security guards once we head over to Alliance.

I let Bella think it’s her idea. I ask her a couple of questions about where her dad works—questions I already knew the answers to—and she says, “It’s right across the street—do you want to see it?”

I check my watch—12:38. I’ve already watched Raymond head out to lunch at precisely 12:33, three days in a row. I love a banker who keeps a tight schedule. It makes him so conveniently predictable.

I have no interest in actually running into Raymond. Actually, I want him out of the way so I can poke around all the places I’m not supposed to visit, with clueless Bella as my guide.

But instead of dear old Daddy, we bump into Camille instead.

She looks like I’ve slapped her.

I know how bad it looks, me and Bella dressed up like a fucking Ken and Barbie doll set. I want to tell her it’s not what it looks like. Which is the stupidest excuse in the world. Except for this one time, when it’s actually true.

Not that I owe her an excuse at all. Camille and I aren’t dating. All we did is kiss.

But that kiss . . .

Okay, maybe it did mean something. I don’t know what, but I can’t deny it had an effect on me.

So I’m not enjoying the look on Camille’s face, like I’ve stabbed her in the heart. Even worse is her expression when she starts to figure out that there’s something hinky about me poking around the bank.

Camille is too damn smart for her own good. Her eyes are darting around the lobby while Bella is blathering on, and I wanted to put a muzzle on Bella and simultaneously tell Camille not to fuck this up for me, because she’s looking one part pissed, one part hurt, and a whole lot suspicious. The perfect recipe for disaster, if she wants to blow this whole thing up in my face.

Luckily, she takes the hint and leaves.

I really don’t feel any better, watching her stomp out through the double glass doors. Actually, I kinda want to chase after her. I want to explain—or at least assure her that this is a business lunch and nothing more.

I can see her standing out on the sidewalk, looking lost, like she can’t decide where to go next. She looks small from a distance. When she’s standing right in front of me, eyes blazing and arms crossed in front of her chest, she’s kind of intimidating. I forget that she’s actually quite petite.

“What are you looking at?” Bella says, impatiently.

“Nothing,” I reply, shaking my head.

I want to slap myself. I’ve got to get my head back in the game and soothe Bella’s ruffled feathers. She’s always had a bug up her ass about Camille.

“What is she even doing here?” Bella snipes. “I feel like she’s everywhere I look lately! God, it’s worse than high school! Why doesn’t she just stay in her shitty little shop like she used to?”

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