Page 23 of The Rebound (Close Quarters 3)

“I always thought playing by the rules would get me what I wanted in life—great career, loving husband, a baby, a beautiful home. But I’ve come to the conclusion it’s all a lie.” She stabs at another piece of potato. “Being well-behaved has only made me miserable. And it’s precisely what stopped me from seeing that Mike was using me.”

“Is that the only reason you walked away?”

“No,” she says quietly. “I mean, on the day...yeah. It was my driving motivation, but the more I think about it, the more I realise that I was kind of coasting through life. I wasn’tunhappy with him, but I’m not sure I was really that happy, either.”

“Then why did you say yes when he asked you to marry him?” Curiosity drives my question more than anything else.

“Societal grooming?” she quips. “He ticked the boxes I’d put on my checklist. Only now when I think about it, I’d put the wrong things on my list to begin with.”

“Such as?”

“I thought things like being surprised with first-class tickets to Bora Bora were important. That it meant he loved me,” she says.

My ears prick up. Mike wasn’t exactly struggling for cash, but I also know my father didn’t hand over his wealth that easily. I’ve worked hard for what I have and, while my family’s wealth has certainly helped, it was only ever for things like education.Notfor extravagant first-class tickets.

No way could Mike have afforded that on his own.

“He was never shy about buying gifts. When we were out, he would tell everyone how amazing I was.” She bites down on her lip. “Only I realised a little too late, he never said those thingstome. He never told me he admired me when it was just the two of us. In a lot of ways, it was like he was showing me off. Speaking about me like I wasn’t even there.”

That was my stepbrother in a nutshell.

“But now I know what I want.” She pops another morsel of food into her mouth and slides the fork out so slowly and sinfully I understand now that this is most definitely an ambush. “And I’ve got all the right things on my list.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Presley

CONFESSIONTIME:I picked this restaurant for a reason, and it wasn’t the food.

Don’t get me wrong, Mademoiselle nails the food. The service is on point, and the atmosphere is soft and romantic. It’s a great place to eat. But eating isn’t my goal here. When Sebastian suggests dessert—oh how I love a man who appreciates sweet food as much as I do—I do something I almost never do: offer an alternative.

We fix up our bill and I tell Sebastian I want to go for a drink. When the waiter returns, I smile up at him sweetly.

“I hear the oysters are good this time of year.”

Sebastian looks at me like I’m crazy, since we’ve eaten plenty. But I’m not really asking for oysters.

“Of course, madame.” The waiter finishes our transaction and then asks us to follow him.

Sebastian says nothing, but his face is alight with curiosity. As we walk, he stays close behind me and I feel his heat radiating like the force of a magnet, drawing me back to him. We reach the part of the restaurant where a large painting hangs—it’s a woman in an oversize oyster shell, holding a pearl that’s as big as her head. She’s dressed in a burlesque outfit complete with thigh-high stockings and tassels on her perky boobs. I look down at my own chest, which would easily be swallowed by a pair of tassels.

Now is not the time for insecurities. Do you think bad girls get insecure about their boobs? No way.

“I hope you enjoy the oysters, madame.” The waiter nods and leaves us standing at the painting. I trace my fingertip over the gilt frame, catching each groove and bump as though exploring something forbidden. Then my finger finds what it’s looking for: a latch on the bottom of the frame, hidden from sight but not touch.

“What on earth is going on?” Sebastian’s hand is at my waist and the touch fuels me. I want desperately to rock back against him, to feel him close to me like I did on the dance floor last night.

But I’m going to pick my timing. Good girls show their feelings up front, but a bad girl knows when to pull the trigger. At least, that’s whatCosmotold me once.

“Ready?” I ask him over my shoulder, biting down on my lip to keep from laughing at his bewildered expression. I press the latch and feel the painting release. Slowly, I shift the panel of the wall—aka the hidden door—to one side. It reveals a dimly lit, narrow staircase. “Welcome to the Oyster Room.”

“A secret passageway? Very Scooby-Doo.” He clasps my hand and follows me without hesitation. “How did you find out about this?”

My heels make clipped sounds as we descend, the secret door sliding closed behind us and the latch clicking shut with a sharpsnick.“Friend of a friend.”

The lower we get, the clearer the music becomes. We get to the door at the bottom and knock three times—single sharp knocks evenly spaced apart. A cover slides back at eye level. “What’s the password?”

“Lucky llamas,” I say, and behind me, Sebastian laughs.

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