Page 43 of Rivals Next Door

“And exactly how much would I need to borrow from the money jar?” I bit out.

The snake—his leer made him look like one—said, “I think we should discuss things with my boss. There is the matter of interest for late payment and all that, Ms. Brentwood…”

The way he purred “Brentwood” said it all. They knew who Liam was, who I was… I knew I had a lifetime of blackmail and extortion to look forward to with these shady characters.

“Interest… right,” I drawled.

There was only one thing to do. Play it cool until I got away from Mr. Nameless and then run like hell to the nearest police station. This was going to be a PR nightmare…

To my chagrin, when I made it outside, my driver hadn’t arrived yet, and Mr. Nameless appeared.

“Ms. Brentwood,” he said. “I’ve been thinking…”

Oh, no. Nothing good could come from a criminal thinking. I turned to him with stiff shoulders, fully aware that we were the only ones on the sidewalk and he had angled himself to block me from anyone who might be passing.

“Were you? About…?” I asked.

“It’s best if you come with me now to meet my boss. You know, so we can discuss payment terms.”

A black SUV pulled up in front of us, and he opened the back door, before gesturing for me to get inside.

I gulped as I stared at the ominous dark interior. As if I was stupid enough to get inside.

“Never get inside the car. You’ll never be seen again…” That’s what Elena once told me while she was working on an article about a kidnapped executive last year.

“I think it would be best if I talked business with your boss at my office,” I said coolly.

“Get in, Ms. Brentwood,” he ordered. “I insist.”

My heart jumped into my throat when he snagged my elbow and gave me a subtle push toward the vehicle.

15

ALEX

I hated myself for the jealousy that reared its head when I saw Olivia walk past my table with another man. It was ridiculous considering that I was on a date. I thought hooking up with one of my dalliances would make me forget about Olivia. The irony of her walking into the same goddamn restaurant…

After my embarrassing ordeal with Candy, the exotic dancer, I was determined to get back on track with my flings. I had a playboy reputation to uphold after all, and I dared not disappoint all of Boston. The blogs had been noticeably dry since my brief disappearance from the social scene. Plus, I hadn’t gotten laid since I reunited with Olivia, and I was determined to change that tonight. However, things went downhill with my date the moment I laid eyes on my ex.

“Alex, babe, you’ve barely paid me any mind since we got here.”

I glanced at the pouting woman in front of me. Lila was an up-and-coming fashion designer who I had something in common with. Like me, she was climbing the ladder of success from absolutely nothing. I admired her for that, which was why I chose her to ease back into the dating game. Although this was more like a fun fling rather than dating…

“You know I don’t like to be called, ‘babe,’ Lila,” I murmured.

Olivia used to call me that in college. Goddamn Olivia. I couldn’t go five minutes without her popping up in my mind, and I was ready to tear my hair out.

Lila pouted again. “I got all dressed up for nothing. You haven’t even commented on my latest design. This dress really shows off my new accessories, don’t you think?”

My gaze dropped to said accessories. Her breasts were significantly larger than the last time we had dinner. “Uh-huh. They look great, Lila.” I hated fake tits. I hated fake everything. You know who had nice perky natural tits…?

My gaze slid back to the table where Olivia and that guy sat. Who was he? Were they serious? He didn’t look like her type. He seemed… shady.

Jeezus, Alex!

I wanted to detach my foot and kick myself in the ass. How could I go from hating a woman, or convincing myself that I did, to being obsessed with her? I should have gone to therapy years ago as my friends advised. They were poking fun at the time, but hell, I think they were onto something. I’d probably be diagnosed with selective rejection disorder turned into hopeless infatuationitis or some fuck-shit like that.

“Alex.”

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