Page 26 of Pursued By My Grumpy Fiancé
“Of course I am,” I reply.
“You just seem unusually tense. Like, you’re usually a little grumpy, and annoying, but you don’t usually look like you’re contemplating homicide.”
“Ah, I’m glad I hide my homicidal tendencies well,” I joke.
She snorts in response.
“What was up with the necklace thing, really? Why did you bid for it?” she asks.
“You really want to know?” I ask.
She nods and turns to look at me.
I sigh. “Alright. Well, did you spot the guy in the striped suit?”
“You mean Mr. Eight Hundred Thousand himself? Yeah, I saw him.”
“His name is Ivan Sokolov. He’s my biggest business rival, but we used to be best friends.”
“Why used to?” I ask.
“It’s a long story, but it boils down to the fact that he tried to steal my company and did steal my girlfriend.” I shrug.
“Oh. Oh. He stole your girlfriend?” she asks.
“That’s the part you focus on?” I raise my eyebrows at her.
Her green eyes sparkle in the dim lighting filtering out from the winery.
“Well, come on. It’s the interesting part.”
“He tried to steal a billion-dollar company! How is the woman the interesting part?”
“So, you don’t think the woman is the interesting part? You must not have liked her very much,” she comments.
“No, I didn’t like her. But I did love her, once upon a time. Her name was Victoria.”
She arches an eyebrow, which I take as a cue to keep going. “We met seven years ago. We were together for four years. Victoria was incredible—beautiful and smart. But, unfortunately for me, she was also scheming and manipulative. I was constantly being put through tests and trials in our relationship, despite never doing anything to break her trust. She started to accuse me of cheating the last year of our relationship. Turns out it was because she was cheating on me.”
“With Ivan?” she asks, clearly invested.
“With Ivan. and Joseph. And Leon. And whoever else she could get her hands on.”
Hailey winces.
“Yikes, dude. That’s rough. I’m sorry.” It’s my turn to wince.
“Could you not call me dude? I know we live in California, but we don’t have to act like the common rabble.”
“Uh, ew. That is so elitist. If this arrangement is going to work, you have to stop acting like you’re better than everyone else just because you’re a billionaire.”
She wrinkles her nose at me, and I feel slightly offended.
“Hey, that’s not why I think I’m better than everyone else,” I respond.
“Oh, really? So why do you think you’re better than everyone else?” she asks playfully.
“Because I am better than everyone else.” I grin cheekily.
