Arrogant Playboy(201)

“Oh?”

“I respect that it’s not something that would’ve come up in conversation,” I say. “I’m not holding that against you, for the record.”

I give myself a silent pat-on-the-back for saving my lawyer some trouble with that one. Wrongful termination suits based on religious beliefs can be a goldmine for the accusing party.

“For the record, I don’t believe in polygamy either,” she says, her eyes darting into mine. We hold our gazes for a second beyond what feels natural to me. “I’m trying to get away, not that you care. Not that it matters to you.”

“How do you know what does and does not matter to me?”

“Okay, fine. Not that I matter to you. There. Fixed it.” Her arms cross and her fingers dig into the flesh of her arms until her knuckles whiten.

“Are you being held prisoner right now? Against your will?”

“It’s complicated, Dane. And if you’re just asking because you’re curious and not because you’re interested in helping get me out of this situation, then please don’t make me waste my breath.”

“What if I said I was interested in helping you?”

“Then I’d tell you to start by un-firing me.”

“Not so fast.”

Bellamy tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s about to cling to what I have to say next.

“I’ll need some time to think about this,” I say, straightening my jacket. “Naturally.”

What good would it do to teach her she could throw a tantrum, call me names, give me some sob story and get what she wants? I’d be doing both of us zero favors by allowing that.

“How much time?” Her pretty eyes widen.

“As much time as I need, Bellamy.” I fold my arms and narrow my gaze in her direction.

“How long would that be?”

“I don’t know? Weeks? Months?”

Her fingers snake up to her neck, gripping just under her jaw as she blinks away tears. “You don’t understand.”

Bellamy falls to her knees once again, like a woman who’s exercised all options and has nothing more to lose. There’s nothing sexy about this stance, and her shoulders rise and fall as her head smashes against the palms of her hands.

Sniffling fills the voids between soft cries.

I’m not good at this.

I’m not good at soothing people when it’s not immediately following an intense sexual scene.

“Stop.” I rake my hand along my jaw, my gaze flicking up. “Stop crying, Bellamy. Stand up. Have a little more respect for yourself. Show me the girl I met. The one drinking champagne on a Tuesday and ignoring the handsome stranger who dared to ask her name. Give me her. I want her.”

Her shoulders shake, harder now, and her palms slick away against her wet cheeks until she drags her eyes to meet mine. She takes a moment and pulls in a long drag of cool air to quell the crying.

“She was a lie.” She focuses on my shoes, refusing to make eye contact. “She never existed.”





TWENTY





BELLAMY



I’m in my office, but I don’t remember how I got here. I think I bolted away from Dane before he had a chance to say another word. I’ve tangled myself into a web of lies, and there’s no one else to blame but myself.

Dane’s an arrogant, pretentious asshole, and all things considered, I don’t even deserve him. He deserves better than some wanna-be sophisticate who’s nothing like the girl she pretends to be.

I walk up to the mirror and grab a tissue, smearing off the Chanel lipstick I’d slicked on for him this morning.

I’m a humiliated fool, no doubt. I thought I could waltz into his office, fall on my knees, take him in my mouth, and redeem myself, but clearly that’s not how he operates.

All the pretty things hanging in my closet will stay there. The makeup. The jewelry. The car. None of it was mine, but it was pretty amazing to step into someone else’s shoes for a change. I take one final look at them, running my hands along the intricate beading of a silk chiffon camisole in twenty shades of ivory I never had a chance to wear.

I shut the closet. It’s not the fancy things I’m going to miss the most. It’s the way I felt when I was his for one whole week of my hopeless life. For a week, I was treasured, lavished, ravished, and needed.

And for one whole week, freedom from Cortland and freedom from my father’s religious rule was beginning to be a fingers-reach away for the first time in my life.

Plan B.

I’ll keep trying.

I’ll find something else.

I’ll never give up.

I empty my things from one of the fancy bags I’d used over the weekend, carrying my wallet and leaving the Land Rover keys and my cell phone on my desk, next to my laptop.