Page 29 of The Bad Boy Rule

I hate him and literally everything about him. I do not need to know what kind of depraved, kinky things he’s into.

“Mmmm, Golden Girl’s blushing.” My gaze snaps to him and off the tight contour of his bicep beneath the black T-shirt he’s wearing. “I think I’m onto something. Miss prim and proper likes it dirty, doesn’t she?”

Ignoring the rapid patter in my chest, I turn toward the tailor shop and swallow hard. I can hear him chuckling behind me, and it makes me consider turning back just to throttle him.

He’s so smug… and arrogant. Infuriating.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” The rough, low timbre of his voice sounds next to my neck, where he dips his head, lips almost brushing against my ear. I can feel the heat of his breath caressing the shell of my ear, and I nearly shiver. It takes every ounce of control in my body to stop the visceral reaction. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Something tells me that nothing is safe when it comes to Saint Devereaux and that I should remember that no matter what.

“Are you done yet?” I mutter, my voice slightly shaky.

A beat passes between us, heavy and thick with something expectant, before he reaches past me, wraps his large hand around the handle of the door, and starts to open it. “Ladies first.”

His hand finds the small of my back, a gesture that I would think to be gentlemanlike if I didn’t know who he was. Still, it causes my stomach to dance in a foreign way.

Once we step inside the custom tailor, I have a hard time focusing, my gaze locking on Saint as he looks around the modern store with light gray walls, marble tables, and luxurious gold fixtures. There’s a large chandelier with hundreds of crystals gleaming brightly in the center of the room.

“Fancy,” he grunts, running the pad of his finger along the soft fabric lining the tables.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in Bordeaux’s. They’ve been in New Orleans for nearly a century, providing custom tailoring for the people who can afford the ridiculous price tag. Which is exactly why I brought Saint here in the first place. I’ve purchasedthings from here in the past for other events, and if my dad sees the charge on my account, he won’t think twice about it.

He just won’t knowwhatI’m buying… or for whom.

A tuxedo fit for a king. It just so happens to be the king ofhell.

“Miss Rousseau, hello! Welcome in.” Leo, the tailor I called this morning to make our appointment with, greets us, his blue eyes warm and welcoming as he glances between Saint and me. “And you must be Mr. Devereaux? Pleased to meet you.”

He extends his hand toward Saint, who glances down at it, then back up, arching a brow but making no move to return the gesture.

I quickly step in, pasting on a bright smile. “Yes, uh, we’re in a bit of a hurry today, Leo, sorry!”

Leo nods enthusiastically, wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes. “Absolutely no problem. I’ll just pull a few of the most popular colors and fabrics this season and be back in just a moment.”

Once he walks away, I narrow my eyes at Saint and scowl. “Can you not be so rude? Jesus.”

“Just keeping up appearances. Asshole, remember? Gotta keep up the act.” I hate that stupid smirk that turns his lips up, showing the slight dimple in his cheek.

“Yeah, no acting necessary,” I retort. “You being an asshole comes naturally.”

He chuckles as he walks over and stops in front of me. I can see the slight golden ring that circles his dark irises, like molten honey, and he opens his mouth like he may say something but just shakes his head instead.

I put distance between us, looking around at the various bow ties in glass cases scattered along the wall.

A few minutes later, Leo returns, fabrics laid over his arms to present to Saint.

Who clearly doesn’t know or care about what he wears to the event, so I make a choice for him, hoping that it’s the right one.

Once Leo disappears once again to the back to prepare for the fitting, Saint turns toward me. “So what’s the plan? You’re just going to dress me up in a monkey suit and parade me around until daddy loses his mind?”

“Amonkey suit?”I sputter,“That is a two-thousand-dollar Saint Laurent.”

“Do you think I give a shit about that?” he deadpans, expression flat, and I sigh.

Yet another reminder that he and I… we exist in two very different worlds, and I’m not really sure whether that’s a good or bad thing anymore.

“I don’t know exactly what the plan is yet, but yeah, it does require you to dress up and go to a black-tie event. That’s why we’re here. Obviously, I’m not here by choice. They have a dress code, so for you to even walk through the door, you have to look the part.”

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