Page 106 of Coldhearted King

I’m heading for the large balcony when a clawed hand grips my arm. I stop and turn, my eyes narrowing as they meet Jessica’s icy glare.

“I know what you’re doing,” she hisses.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Trying to play brother against brother. It’s a cheap tactic and it won’t work. Cole chose me. He was always going to choose me. This world will always be his priority, and unlike you, I’m a part of this world. So just accept it and move on.”

My eyes dart over her shoulder to see Cole bearing down on us, a furious expression on his face. Behind him, Tate is adjusting the lapels of his suit, as if Cole had grabbed him there.

I turn back to Jessica and wrench my arm away from her.

“I’m not playing anyone, and if you think I have any interest in being a part of this world, you couldn’t be more wrong. I want nothing to do with any of you.” My eyes meet Cole’s again, even as I continue to address Jessica. “You’re all miserable people living miserable lives, where the only joy you seem to have is playing games with other people’s emotions. You’re welcome to each other. I’d rather live a real life with real people and real love than dirty myself with whatever it is that passes for relationships in your world.”

I spin on my heel and walk to the balcony with my spine straight and my head held high, trying my best to hold back the tears filling my eyes.

I slip out the door and rush to the balustrade, gripping it and leaning out to take a deep breath. Before I can take more than one lungful of the crisp air, a hard body presses against me.

My whole being reacts to his presence, my muscles loosening, my fingers itching to reach back and bury themselves in his hair. But a split second later, my head takes back control.

“Get off me, Cole,” I hiss. “Your fiancée is inside, and you don’t have the right to touch me anymore.”

He doesn’t budge, his hands dropping to my hips, his fingers pressing into my flesh while his lips find the crook of my neck.

“I can’t do it,” he rasps, his hot breath sending goose bumps skittering over my skin. “I can’t do it.”

“What?” My voice trembles. “What can’t you do?”

He doesn’t answer, only pulls me tighter against him. “It’s not supposed to be this hard. I thought I could do it, but seeing you with him tonight, I can’t...”

So it was just seeing me with Tate that made him jealous. So damn typical.

I shove back as hard as I can, and he finally gives me enough room to turn around. I meet his gaze, but the blaze in his eyes doesn’t electrify me the way it used to. In this moment, looking at his stupidly handsome face drawn tight with tension, I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life. Even my father. At least he never pretended to care about me.

“Well, let me make it easy for you,” I say, not recognizing my own voice. “I’m going to walk back into that ballroom. I’m going to listen to the award ceremony. I’m not going to talk to you or Jessica or Tate. I won’t even look in your direction. Then, as soon as it’s over, I’m going to walk out of here and forget about you, and you’re going to do the same, Cole. Because whatever I thought we had was a lie and a joke, and I have no intention of dwelling on it. When I finally meet the man I will love for the rest of my life, you will be a distant memory. Now get out of my way.”

His posture is rigid, his face frozen, as if carved from stone. He stares at me, the fire in his eyes dimming until they’re blank pools of icy blue. He steps aside and I brush past him into the ballroom, where I proceed to do exactly what I said I would do. I join the Elite team, keep my eyes fixed on the stage, clap as the awards are announced, and even muster a genuine smile when our team receives the award for Sustainable Hotel Design Concept. I do all of it. All except the part where I said I’d forget all about him. It’s too hard to forget when my heart is breaking all over again as the truth of my own words rings in my ears.

What I thought he felt for me was a lie—one I was responsible for telling myself.

CHAPTERFORTY

COLE

Islam into Tate’s office on Monday morning to find him kicked back in his chair, his feet on his desk as he talks into the phone. This is the first time I’ve seen him since the awards ceremony, which he disappeared from while I was still doing my best to keep Delilah in my view at all times. Then he up and flew his personal airplane to Napa Valley for the rest of the weekend and refused to answer my calls.

His brows rise at my precipitous entry. “Something’s just come up,” he says to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”

He hangs up as I stalk toward his desk, then pisses me off by grinning and folding his arms behind his head. “To what do I owe the honor, big brother?”

I fist my hands, pressing them hard onto his desk as I lean over it. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

He pretends confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You had your hands on her.”

He taps his finger against his lips. “I’ve had my hands on lots of women. I mean, just last night I—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were getting up to last night. I’m talking about Saturday night. You had your hands. On. Delilah.”

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