Page 103 of The Love Destroyers

I’m no expert at romance, but for a man who supposedly wants to get on his girl’s good side, Jeffrey’s not coming off as very repentant. He’s going along with the spa day bullshit, but he’s not pretending to be joyful about it.

I decide to give him something else to choke on.

“Say, what happened with the old pervert who broke into your room last night?” I ask Ellie with concern. “I stopped watching the live after I went in to see the doctor.”

She laughs so hard she nearly snorts. “Oh, that was Jeffrey.”

“Jeffreywas walking around peeking into people’s rooms?” I shift my gaze to him, feigning surprise. “Why were you doing that, man? That’s messed up.”

He looks like he wants to hit me, or maybe pay someone to kick me out, but he settles for firming his jaw. “A misunderstanding. I came to the hotel to surprise Ellie after our disagreement.”

“And shewassurprised,” I say with a grin. “It’s not every day you get a call like that.”

“Are you high?” he asks pointedly, getting to his feet. “Your pupils are dilated.”

“Probably. I’m on painkillers after I bruised my rib catching your girlfriend. It’s a good thing I was around, huh?”

Nicole clears her throat. “Now, what do you say to some rest and relaxation to get over all that excitement? We have adivineprogram planned for you.”

We mosey over to the spa. The mud for the massage smells and looks like the kind of mud you’d find by a riverbank after a strong rain, so I fully expect them to balk, but neither of them do. It’s entertaining to watch the massage therapist, whom Nicole and Damien have literal dirt on—rub the warm mud into their skin. Jeffrey, who probably refuses to go outside on rainy days for fear of ruining his suits, looks disgusted.

I soak in his disgust like it’s warm summer rain.

They clean up afterward and head straight to a conference room that Nicole may or may not have permission to use for the meditation session, which is a fucking joke. Jeffrey tries to use his cell phone multiple times before Nicole grabs it fromhim, announcing she’s taking custody of it “for the good of the session.” Shockingly, he lets her. Probably because Ellie looks about ready to walk out on him and he still hasn’t gotten what he needs.

I enjoy watching him suffer, it’s not nearly enough. He hurt Emma. He’sstillhurting her. She doesn't want to risk getting tangled up with me because of what he did. She’s lost the career she loved, helping women who need her, because of him.

He spends the rest of the session giving us all death glares and murmuring under his breath while Ellie repeats Nicole’s nonsense chants with enthusiasm. The beautiful irony is that she’s recording the whole thing—including her boyfriend’s phone being taken away—on a tripod.

Through it all, I’m sent on dipshit errands. Grabbing water bottles, getting towels that will immediately be soiled, playing songs on my phone during the massage session because the therapist didn’t have a playlist Ellie cared for.

I feel bitter about a lot of things. Mostly related to Emma, but I’m also irate for poor Carrot. Ellie still hasn’t asked a single question about him, as if the rabbit ceased to exist for her the moment he was taken out of her line of sight.

After the session, Nicole sprays lavender water in their faces, getting some in Jeffrey’s eyes, and tells them to shower and change and meet us downstairs in half an hour. He grumbles and then grabs his phone back from her with enough force that it falls and ricochets.

“You didn’t take the meditation seriously,” Ellie tells him in a carrying undertone as they turn to leave the room. “If you did, you’d feel as relaxed as I do.”

“You’re right, darling,” he says, wrapping an arm around her. I don’t like his insipid tone any more than I like his smug face. I definitely don’t like the possessive way he’s touching her—because it reminds me of that photo of his hand pressed to Emma’s back. His possessive fingers on the woman I care about.

So I lift one of the reed mats at exactly the wrong moment and trip him on his way out of the room.

He goes down hard, nearly taking Ellie with him, which would have made me feel guilty. He lets out a satisfying oomph and then rises, red-faced, and glares at me.

“You did that on purpose.”

I give him a questioning look, feeling pretty good about forcing him to break his act. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Because you have some asinine idea that my girlfriend is interested in you after that ridiculous display last night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ellie says, shoving his arm. “He’s gay.”

I’ve corrected her more than once, but fuck it. Let them think what they want to.

I smile at Jeffrey. “Don’t worry. You’redefinitelynot my type.”

“You’re fired,” he says dismissively.

I should probably pretend to be remorseful, but the day I beg him for forgiveness is the day I die.

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