Page 15 of It Takes a Thief
“I’m going to install some upgrades.”
“Okay, well, I need to freshen up.”
For her date.I clench my teeth.
“I’ll show you to the guest room and you can get comfortable.”
I grab the luggage—all three pieces and my duffel—and hoist them up the stairs, then follow her down the hallway.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, reaching for her luggage. “You can stay in here.”
“Where’s your room?” I ask.
She points to an open door at the end of the hall. Not too far away in case I need to reach her quickly. Or, if I wanted to sneak in and crawl into her bed.
Which isn’t happening, Decker.
“If you need anything, let me know.” She hesitates. “The coffee shop isn’t far. We can walk.”
She licks her lips and I can’t drag my eyes away from them. Always so glossy and delicious-looking. I want a taste. Badly.
“Can you be ready in like thirty minutes?” she asks.
“I was born ready.”
However, when the moment comes and she’s sitting at a small table in the café flirting with Mr. Random Asshole from an App, it hits me—I am in no way prepared to see this shit. No way, no how.
I’m sitting at the table beside them and, from the moment they said hello and shared a quick embrace, my blood began to boil. Truth is, I hate every fucking thing about this situation. She’s out in the open, which makes her an easy target. And listening to her laugh and flirt? Like fucking bamboo shoots driving under my fingernails.
Why am I so bothered? Yes, she’s attractive, but so are a lot of women. Plus, she breaks all of my rules and is completely out of my league. Merritt Fontaine is a walking red flag because she makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say fuck my rules.
Taking a sip of my black coffee, I glare at Elliot fucking Arnold aka The Asshole. The guy’s a simpering idiot, and I hate him on sight. Right now, he’s talking about how he’s up for a promotion at the bank. Well, la-di-fucking-da.
“And where did you say you’re from, Meredith?”
“Merritt,” she corrects him.
“Sorry, that’s what I meant.” He chuckles, and I squeeze my cardboard cup so hard the lid pops off. Her name might be a little unique, but it’s not hard to remember if you have half a brain.
“A little place near the south of France, but I’ve been living here for almost five years. I came for school.”
“What did you study?”
“Art history.”
“Good luck finding a job with that degree.”
He laughs again and I crush the plastic lid in my fist.What a dick.I can only imagine what he’d think about me not even finishing high school.
“I majored in finance because it’s a solid career choice and allows me to make an excellent living,” he continues, sounding like a pompous prick. She has to see through this idiot. “Being financially successful is a priority for me because I want to be able to take care of my future wife and family.”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh loudly enough that they both look over. Merritt sends me a half-warning/half-pleading look, and I force my attention toward the front picture window. Although I try to focus on the people walking by on the sidewalk, I can’t stop listening to their conversation.
“I assume you want to be a stay-at-home mom?” he asks.
I arch a brow. Why the hell would he assume that?
“Why would you assume that?” she asks, echoing my thoughts.
