Page 12 of Ruthless Mr. Ricco
A block of ice settles in my stomach.I snarl and stalk across the room to her purse.If she’s married, she wasn’t wearing a ring—I’d know since she had her hands all over me—but cheaters rarely do when they go out to break their promises.
With barely leashed fury, I break the cheap fastener of her purse, grab her wallet, and dump the rest of the contents onto the floor, but only a set of keys clinks onto the marble.After searching for hidden pockets and finding none, I tuck her purse against my side with my elbow and open her wallet.
Her driver’s license reads Brook Simons.She’s an organ donor.The address is in a decent apartment building.Beyond her weight, height, and hair color, the plastic rectangle offers me no insights.
I systematically empty each compartment of her wallet before snatching her keys off the floor and flipping through them.
No ring.No pictures.No answers.
I’m not a Prescott.I’m a lawyer.
Was that her veiled way of telling everyone she’s married?If she’s unavailable, why wasn’t that the first thing she said when she woke up?Why hasn’t she mentioned having a husband?
My heart pounds as I recall how her sharp little teeth pinched the sensitive skin of my jugular.Blinding-white rage steals my vision as I imagine her treating another man the same way.
I both envy and hate whichever unsuspecting socialite she dug her claws into.
I shove everything into her purse, chuck it onto the entrance table, and spin back toward the bed only to halt in my tracks as another possibility hits me.
What if she targeted me to use my money and power to get out of an unhappy relationship?It wouldn’t be the first time a woman set her sights on me to improve her social status.
Unwilling to continue spiraling with no answers, I call Liam and order a thorough background check on her.
I’ll know everything there is to know about Brook Simons, and what I can’t learn from research, I’ll pry from her myself.Her secrets won’t remain hidden for long.
The water turns off.
I end the call with Liam and prepare for another battle with my sharp-tongued little rabbit.With a smirk, I lean against the wall, blocking her from a hasty retreat out the front door, and cross my arms over my chest as she emerges from the bathroom.
She pauses in the doorway and scans the room before ignoring me as she glides around the foot of the bed.With her expression guarded, she takes her phone from the bedside table and checks that the lock screen is in place before looking around again.
She won’t find her shawl mixed in the sheets since it hangs in the closet beside my suit coat, but I keep my mouth shut and enjoy her lithe movements and pert breasts as she rifles through the bedding.
I pinch the underside of my arm, hoping the pain will prevent a full hard-on, but my nerve endings leap in remembrance of her teeth, so I drop my arms and cross the hall to the front closet.Her sharp inhale as I pull her shawl off the hanger fills me with mirth.I hold it out to her hooked on my fingertip.
She grits her teeth and stomps across the room toward me.Delight and hunger ripple through me as each step shifts her curves within her tight dress.
I move my arm away half a second before her hand closes around the garment.She huffs and drops her fist to her side.Her glare arrows straight to my balls.
“See you tomorrow morning at eight for your first day of work,” I say.
“But tomorrow is Sunday,” she says through gritted teeth.
“And?”I quip.
Her pupils shrink.Fury stiffens her shoulders.
Excitement ripples down my spine as I anticipate her outrage, but she shocks me with her composed response.
“Eight o’clock on a Sunday morning isn’t ideal, and neither is the lack of notice, but as stated in our contract, since I have no legitimate reason to decline, I’ll be there.I have several addenda I would like to negotiate before the end of my first full workday, so please ensure that’s possible.”
She pins me in place with her no-nonsense stare.I can’t speak.
Fucking hell, she’s goddamn gorgeous.
I drop her shawl onto her purse behind me before unrolling my shirt sleeves.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” I state as though to a child.“The offices, including the HR department, will be closed.”I pull my suit coat off the hanger and shrug into it before adjusting the lapels.“Negotiations will wait until Monday,” I declare as I take my cufflinks out of my breast pocket.
