Page 21 of Ruined By the Enemy
And me too, because I’ll never forgive myself for sleeping with him.
It was a first-class ticket, so I couldn’t let it go to waste, but I did my best to rack up a tidy bill by the time I checked out of the penthouse suite.
My anger simmers to frustration as I slide into the back of a cab, but the urge to throttle Dom doesn’t fade away.
I close my eyes as I rest my head, recreating repeatedly the moment I found the ticket. Only this time, I’m not throwing the paper across the room, but him.
It’s a bit graphic, but it soothes me until the cab pulls up in front of my apartment building.
I pay the cab driver with a clipped “thanks.” My heels echo down the hallway as I head toward my apartment door. Every step only reminds me of how I’m going to murder Domenico Moretti if I ever see his smug, broody face again.
The door creaks open, and I freeze when I step inside.
Amara is standing in the middle of my living room, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it might leave orbit.
“Oh my God,” she blurts, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re alive.”
I blink. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’ve been calling you since last night! Multiple times.” She jabs her finger at me. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. No texts, no updates—just poof. I thought maybe your body washedup somewhere on a beach and they’d send me your teeth in a Ziploc.”
“I’m fine, obviously,” I say, dragging my suitcase in and kicking the door shut. “Just… had a last-minute trip.”
And a one-night stand with my arch nemesis. That’s why I had no idea she called—because I was busy locking lips with a man.
Amara narrows her eyes. “A last-minute trip with zero contact and a return that involves you storming in with murder in your eyes? That’s not a trip. That’s emotional damage wrapped in luxury linen.”
I sigh and flop down onto the couch. “You’re not wrong.”
“Start talking,” she says, plopping down beside me. “And don’t skip the spicy parts. I want names, positions, and betrayals. In that order.”
A sigh escapes me. “It’s not that important. It was a work trip.”
“Okay?” she presses. “You’ve been on several work trips before, and none have left you looking like you needed a full day of sleep. And I thought you could pick your hours now? That’s the perk of being a junior partner, right?”
Oh crap.
Between showing up at Dom’s office, getting interrogated, and being shipped off on an impromptu trip, I forgot to tell Amara that I quit my job at the law firm.
I shoot to my feet. “I need a drink. Do you?”
Amara doesn’t budge. “Why do I feel like you’re about to say something and you’re stalling so I don’t freak out?”
She’s not wrong. I need something in my hand if I have any hope of getting the words out. But when I open the fridge, all I find are condiments and regret. I grab two water bottles and head back, handing one to her.
She eyes it, unimpressed. “This better be cold.”
“I thought I had one last bottle of wine,” I say, sinking into the armchair. “But I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while.”
She accepts the bottle and twists off the cap as I blurt, “I quit my job.”
Her hand freezes halfway to her mouth. “You what?”
“I quit,” I repeat. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. I just didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry, and I needed to line things up first.”
She slowly lowers the bottle. “And?”
“I found a better opportunity. I’m okay, I swear. I just needed a clean break.”
