Page 125 of Bitter Rival

“I was only joking about the dress,” Daisy says.

“I’m loaded, princess. I could buy you a hundred designer dresses and a closet full of shoes and it wouldn’t make a dent.”

Now I’m bragging about how much money I have?

Just how fucking low will I go?

I can tell by her expression that she’s not impressed.

In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s pissed.

“Sorry to break it to you but I’m not the gold digger you thought I was,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “So you can take this all back.” She glares at me, eyes shooting daggers. “I don’t want any of it.”

I love it when she gets all feisty but if she thinks I’m going to cave to her demands, she’s got another thing coming. “Get over yourself, princess. I’m not taking it back. If you don’t want it, you can take it all back. Or donate it to charity. Do whatever the hell you want with it.”

I grasp her chin in my hand and force her eyes to meet mine. “But don’t do it just to spite me or to prove some kind of point. I know you’re not a gold digger.” I brush my thumb over her lush, pouty lips before releasing her. “I was disabused of that notion pretty early on.”

She relaxes her shoulders, her gaze darting to the bed and chews on her lip. “So what’s with the grand gesture?” Her gaze flits over my face. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Maybe I just like giving gifts.”

“Do you?” she asks skeptically.

Only to the people I care about. Of which there are only a few. And now, apparently, you are one of them.

I shrug again and back away toward the door. There’s no need to make a bigger deal out of this than she already has.

She smiles. “This is a whole new side of you. Is this your love language?” she teases.

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. Be ready by seven.” I spin and head out the door.

“Beckett?” I pause, my hand on the doorframe. “Thank you. I was just a bit overwhelmed. It wasn’t necessary but it was really nice of you.”

Nice is not a word anyone would use to describe me.

Most of my actions are either driven by guilt or revenge.

But I just tip my chin in acknowledgment and then stride down the hall.

Why did I do this?

But there’s no real need to question it.

The answer is obvious. I was trying to one-up that douchebag. Not because I’m jealous, but because I hate cheaters.

Let’s face it, the guy’s a loser. It would be beneath me to be jealous of him.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Daisy

I feel like Pretty Woman. Except that this isn’t a Julia Roberts movie.

But it does feel like I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe.

Why did he buy me all those clothes?

Why did he show up at the door with flowers and chocolates?

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