Page 3 of My Totally Unfair Deal

“I will. As soon as you sign the contract. Otherwise, I’ll have to file a restraining order on his behalf.”

“For what?”

“All the psychotic shit you’ve done,” I say. “Though I’ll only have to list the fire, the stalking, and the fact that you tossed a Molotov cocktail at his sister’s car to get this done.”

Her eyes narrow, and it looks like she’s about to try me, but she signs the contract with a furious flourish.

I consider leaving a business card but think better of it. The homicidal glare she’s giving me would probably incinerate it midair.

“You can apologize to me now,” she hisses.

“Apologize for what?”

“Your very existence to start, but if you have a bit of humanity left, you can also apologize for being part of the plan to break my heart. That is true villain behavior. I hope you atone for it someday.”

I stare at her, saying nothing.

Apologies have never been my strong suit—especially when I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Well, asshole?” She leans closer. “There’s a lot you could say, and I’m waiting…”

“You’re right,” I say, nodding solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

She smiles.

“I’m sorry the universe gifted me a perfectly chiseled face that makes women stop and stare,” I say. “I’m sorry my smile is capable of making most women’s panties wet, and I deeply regret that one night in my bed will erase every man in your memory.So. Damn. Sorry.”

She throws her champagne in my face and storms out.

Hopefully she’s checking into the nearest asylum.

Grateful the deal is done, I wipe my face with a napkin and make my way back down to the street.

The second I step outside—scalding hot liquid splashes across my chest.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m filing a fucking restraining order,” I snap, expecting to see Rachel. “You deserved to be behind bars a long-ass time ago.”

“Over the cup of coffee you wasted?” a deep Southern drawl replies.

I glance up. A beautiful redhead in a cutoff jean dress is waving her arms like she’s mid-monologue in a courtroom drama.

“You people—this city—sucks ass. Twenty effin’ dollars,” she snaps. “Like you own the sidewalk…”

I blink a few times, taking her in, ready to crown her asSexiest Woman I’ve Ever Seen—but she splashes what’s left of her coffee onto my shirt.

“What the hell is your problem?” I ask. “I assumed you were someone else, but you might be the same brand of psycho as she is.”

“You thought someone else was standing outside this door waiting to baptize you with a cup of coffee?”

“Honestly, yes.”

“That coffee cost me twenty dollars.”

“It’ll cost me more than that to get it out of my suit,” I say. “This is the part where you ask for my phone number so I can send you the invoice.”

She blinks, speechless, and I realize she might be taking my sarcasm seriously.

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