Page 280 of Hate Mates

His door is open as I approach, but I knock regardless.

“Enter,” he orders without raising his head to look at me. “Well?”

I swallow down my nerves and straighten my shoulders. “The Mayfair apartment is mine as of Sunday.”

“Good. Seems you’re useful after all. Well…” His words trail off, but I know what he’s thinking.

“I didn’t fuck him!”

He dismisses my words with a flippant wave of his hand. “No, but you will if necessary. You’ll do whatever is required to ensure I get what I want. Isn’t that right?” He tips his glass toward me, pointing a finger.

“Yes, Daddy.” Thinking I’m free to go, I turn to leave.

“One more thing,” he says, stopping me in my tracks.

My eyes close, and I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile before facing him. “Yes, Daddy.”

“We are having dinner with the Simmondses tomorrow night. You will be on your best behaviour.” He pauses, and I know it’s for effect, to put me on edge for whatever he’s going to say next. “Once you graduate, you and Clayton will be married.”

And there it is. While my future falls apart with those words and my stomach fills with a thousand lead weights, I manage to keep the smile on my face long enough to nod, then excuse myself.

I find the nearest bathroom and expel everything in my stomach. Once I’m done, I rest back on my heels and cry. Sobbing quietly into my hands and rocking back and forth. I feel empty. Not just my stomach but my soul.

My despair feeds my hate for the Rawlinses. But the silver lining is the end result. My life might be over, but so will theirs be. And while it’s obvious no matter what I do to show my worthto my father, because he’s still going to marry me off, it might mean he’ll be a little more considerate to my needs.

The thought fizzles out like a firework after a spectacular show. He doesn’t care about me, only what I can do for him. If he did, he’d never let me marry a man like Clayton Simmonds. I’ve heard the rumours and know all about how Clayton treats women and spends his time. It certainly won’t be as the doting husband.

I also know why my father picked him. Clayton has just inherited one of London’s biggest hotels, never mind that he’s running it into the ground. Daddy’s millions will turn it around and make it the hottest name on everyone’s lips again.

Having avoidedmy father as much as possible the last couple of days, it’s now Sunday. Time to evict Mickey from his home. He might be the enemy, but he’s also the lesser of two evils, and the only thing stopping my father from marching me down the aisle tomorrow. And after last night’s dinner with the Simmondses, I’m keen to delay that reality for as long as possible.

I shower and do my hair, creating loose curls that fall in a chestnut wave down my back. I put on a light grey turtle neck jumper dress and white knee-high boots. With my make-up done, I grab my long beige coat and head out.

Pulling up outside Mickey’s Mayfair apartment, I’m not in the least surprised to see no sign of him vacating the property. Outside the usual Sunday morning hustle and bustle, there is no sign of Mickey, Priest or Fletch. I reach the entrance to find the door ajar. Getting in the lift, I hit the up button to the third floor. This side of the property encompasses a small bistro onthe ground floor and Mickey’s apartment spanning the third and fourth floors. There is another apartment on the second floor accessed through a separate entrance.

The lift jolts to a stop, and the doors open to a spacious entrance hall. Stepping out I face the black front door, which is also ajar. Nerves skitter down my spine as I push the door open to reveal a large open-plan lounge and kitchen area.

“Mickey?” I call out, my voice echoing around the space. Walking between the light, clean-cut furniture the clack of my heels on the wooden floor ceases as I step onto a thick pile grey rug. I round a curve, faltering when I find Mickey leaning up against the kitchen counter. He’s sporting a pair of dark grey chinos and a black polo shirt and holding a mug. The rich aroma of ground coffee beans floats through the air.

“Ah, here she is,” he says, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip of his coffee. “Come to claim your winnings, huh?” He places the mug on the counter behind him, then turns to face me, shoving his hands in his pockets and mirroring my own stance.

“You know exactly why I’m here, Mickey.” Unable to hold his gaze without thinking about Friday night, I allow my eyes to scan the sparse apartment, and I don’t know if that’s all Mickey or he has actually moved his personal things out.

He pushes off the counter, stepping toward me casually. “I do. But…” He stops in front of me, forcing me to raise my head to look at him. “I have to admit, I was hoping that maybe you’d come for a repeat of Friday night.”

His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare as I take in his face, trying to determine the sincerity in his words. “I don’t have time for games, Mickey. Friday night was nothing, fuck all. It meant nothing, so please don’t try and make it something it’s not.”

My breath freezes in my lungs as he reaches out, tugging on a curl of my hair. “Haven’t you ever heard of hate fucking, Roni?”He tilts his head as his fingers brush my cheek. “I hear it’s hot as hell.”

“I’m not fucking you!” I don’t need to put much effort into how much I despise the idea of letting him touch me, but I also don’t move away from his touch. “Wasn’t it you that said you don’t fuck for a bet?”

“I never said anything about a bet. I’m talking about two people using their hate for one another to get off.” He cups my cheek, then rubs a thumb over my bottom lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “Raw, dirty fucking, Roni, that’s all.” He steps into me, brushing his lips over mine, and my pussy clenches involuntarily. “Come on, Ice Queen. No strings. No commitment. Just fucking.” He grips my face, tilting my head up and kisses me.

I don’t deny him. I don’t deny any of it. I let him lead, and I follow. This has to happen. I hate him, hate his father, but the conversation with my father plays in my mind, reminding me of what’s at stake. Not only for him but me too. I block out my misgivings, ignore the warnings of my heart and allow myself this temporary stay of execution because once this is over, my life will be forfeit.

Chapter Seven

MICKEY

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