Page 23 of Mastered By Desire

“I’ll think about it.”

“Ugh. We both know ‘I’ll think about it’ means no.”

“Then, no.”

“Comeonnnnn, Gagey. We can all catch up, like a reunion of sorts.”

“Claudia, the only Shiny I want to catch up with is you. The others…”

My heart clenches. The six of us were best friends. Even when we competed with each other, there was a solid friendship behind the backstabbing.

Changing tack, I say, “You’re all I need. If you end up doing a thing with the others, give them my best.”

Except Javi and Nic. They can go to hell. But I don’t say it out loud.

“Gage Hawthorne Jannik,” she says, all breathy softness gone. “If you don’t get your ass to LA?—”

“Goodnight, Claudia. Get some rest.”

“Gage—”

“Goodnight.” I end the call, feeling like a terrible friend.

She doesn’t call me back. She knows I’m a lost cause.

Leah

“There’s my car.” I point to my tiny sedan in the apartment complex parking lot.

Dmitri slows his Mustang. So far today, we’ve unpacked my important boxes, taken the borrowed truck back to Dmitri’s friend’s place (I got to drive Dmitri’s Mustang—yay!), and now we’re getting my car.

“What’s that on the hood?” Dmitri asks. “Did that motherfucker vandalize your car?”

“No way.” I lean forward in my seat. It looks like handwriting on the driver’s side of the hood. “He wouldn’t…would he?”

Dmitri hesitates. “I never got a good vibe from that guy.”

So what I’m hearing is both DanicaandDmitri didn’t like Mick from the start, but neither of them really tried to stop me from dating him.

Fabulous.

But I can’t blame them for my poor taste in guys, only myself.

Dmitri isn’t poor taste in guys, a little voice in the back of my head whispers.

Mentally shushing the voice, I wait for Dmitri to pull up next to my car. I hop out, thinking Dmitri will drive off. Instead, he sets his parking brake and gets out, too.

I’m still a few feet away when I start to make out the words on the hood.

You’re going to pay, one way or another.

It’s written in marker.

I rub at one of the letters with my thumb, but the ink doesn’t smear or budge at all. “Fuck, is this from a paint pen?”

“What an asshole. I’m sure some of my grandfather’s friends would have something to say about this,” Dmitri says.

“Your grandfather—no. The last thing we need is the Russian mafia getting involved in my break-up.”

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