Page 14 of My Ruthless Opponent

“Please.” She bats her wet lashes at him.

She doesn’t even have to use more words.

I watch stupefied as the officer returns her driver’s license, steps back, and gives us a firm warning about the speed limit and rules.

He then climbs in his car and leaves.

The moment the car is out of sight, Summer’s sly expression is back.

Why am I surprised? Since childhood, Summer has excelled in switching emotions.

I claim to ace in hiding my true self behind the façade I mastered throughout the years. But the ability to switch from happy to sad is the real talent.

That doesn’t make her a liar. That trait makes her a survivor.

To survive in the unforgiving competition of this world, you do whatever it takes to not be eliminated.

Summer has an interesting theory.

If lying can benefit you or someone else without hurting anyone in the process then that’s not a lie. It is a saving grace.

In her case, if no one extends a hand of support, you become your own support system. You do whatever it takes—even if that means lying through your teeth—to not break. To keep going.

Summer is so good at this that I was caught off guard for a moment there.

She didn’t have to bring my nemesis into this. She knows better.

“You had to use Hannah’s name for my wife?” I give her a disdainful look.

“Can you blame me? every time we are together, you whine about her. Be it about her winning or about you defeating her. You always have something to talk about her. I never met this chick but it feels like I know her.”

“That’s not true. I didn’t mention her name tonight.”

She snorts. “The night has just begun. Besides, didn’t you call me in the wee hours to bitch about her on Friday?”

I did. She ruined my fucking party. The royal princess thinks she is too classy to have a drink with me.

I have to say, she had me for a second there when she asked about my bruise.

It has been a week since the wedding. Since I got that bruise.

The past week I was so busy implementing our selected Ad campaign that I didn’t cross paths with Hannah up until Friday at the party.

With the way her eyebrows creased with worry upon the sight of my busted lip, it provoked me to think for a second about the ice queen having a heart after all.

But she squashed the thought before it could take shape by uttering those words.

She thinks I am unworthy of her company. What the fuck does she think of herself?

I have to fire back. I need to make her pay for her rude comment.

“We’re here.” She parks in front of the steakhouse.

Later that night, I write an email to Hannah regarding our meeting for tomorrow.

What I am doing is petty. I glance at the typed email and smirk.

Itisjuvenile but I don’t give a flying fuck. She needs someone to clip her glittery wings.

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