Page 147 of Vengeful Princess

Instead of listening to her, I’d willfully ignored her advice and allowed him to get close to me.

“What we have doesn’t need a label, darling. Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the woman said in a low, seductive voice. Nausea roiled in my stomach as I leaned in,eager to hear Landon’s reply. Maybe I’d misread the situation. Maybe he was here under duress.

Perhaps she was a friend of the family and she’d got drunk and was trying to seduce him. I hadn’t forgotten the look of disgust on Landon’s face when I’d seen him with the college welfare officer. That whole scene had given me serious bad vibes. Was this a similar situation?

Landon was handsome, sexy, and every woman’s dream. It was hardly a massive surprise if some older woman tried hitting on him. Of course she wanted him. What woman wouldn’t?

But the more I tried to rationalize the scene in front of me, the more my brain revolted. Then Landon spoke and shattered the remaining fragments of my heart.

“I’ll definitely consider your offer,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps we should discuss it more in your room? Where it’s more comfortable.”

Tears pricked my eyes as he leaned into her, stroking her neck and then the swell of her fake tits. Yeah, call me bitchy, but no woman in her late 40s had tits that perky. I bet they felt like concrete.

“Yes, let’s get upstairs,” the skank panted, making it clear she was desperate for some of Landon’s dick. Of course she was. It was a 5-star experience. Not that I’d find out. There was no way I’d go there now I knew he was fucking other women.

I spun around, eager to exit this room before I vomited all over the expensive carpet. An event like that would cause too much of a scene and I was here to complete my assignment for Torrance.

Fuck Landon and his man-whore ways. He was dead to me.

I’d plant the drugs and escape. With a bit of luck, Torrance would let me go home.

My pulsed quickened. The clock was ticking. Cassian might already have finished having dinner with his father. Or drinks. I couldn’t quite remember what Torrance had told me.

I dashed back down the long corridor, oblivious to the antiques and paintings, no longer interested in admiring the damask silk wall coverings or the beautiful vases on strategically placed tables.

All I cared about was finding the elevators that would take me to Cassian’s suite. When I reached the main lobby, my eye snagged on a second corridor in a smaller alcove to my left, not far from the reception desk.

The concierge looked concerned when he saw my expression, but a couple approached the desk and distracted him before he could ask me if I needed any assistance.

Just as I reached the elevators, one of them opened, and to my absolute horror, Cassian Forsyth strolled out looking like he’d just stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine fashion shoot.

My world imploded as I realized I now had zero chance of accessing his room without being caught.

“Thea? What are you doing here?” Confusion flashed across his face before he registered the fact I was mid-breakdown. “Shit, what’s happened, baby?”

My brain stuttered at his use of the word ‘baby’ in relation to me. He’d never called me that before. To my horror, I discovered I liked the way it made me feel. It was a small spark of warmth in an ocean of frigidity.

A spark that proved my undoing as the fissures in my emotional barricades cleaved open and I burst into floods of angry tears.

“Fucking Landon!” I sobbed.

79

Cassian

The sight of Thea in floods of tears threw me for a loop. The dress she wore didn’t help. I found myself unduly distracted by the way it clung to her curves, highlighting every delicious inch of her gorgeous body. Now was not a good time to give into my desire for her. Not when she was one second away from a complete mental breakdown.

Why was she here, in the same hotel as me, and most confusingly, what the actual fuck had Landon done to provoke such a storm of hysteria?

One thing was certain, though. The Ritz’s lobby was not the best place to handle an emotionally volatile woman. The last thing I needed was an over-zealous concierge offering assistance. Or a lone tabloid photographer snapping photos of me with a sobbing Thea and then writing a fake story accusing me of being an abusive asshole.

There was only so much damage control my father could do when shit like that hit the headlines. We’d found that out the hard way after I was photographed snorting coke off a lap dancer’s tits. It was the last time I got drunk and fell for a dare.

Making a split-second decision, I pulled Thea back into the elevator with me and hit the button for the 7th floor.

By the time I led Thea inside my suite, she’d calmed down. I still wasn’t sure what had prompted her meltdown, but decided an interrogation could wait.

“Drink?” The suite had a well-stocked bar cart.

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