Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(51)

My buzz was thoroughly wrecked at this point and my stomach pitched and roiled, basted in acidic wine. I needed to eat something. Preferably a piece of bread. “I'll tell him you called,” I said.

“Oh, will you? Think you can remember to do that this time?”

I hated this guy. “I remembered,” I said. “I just didn't do it.”

A sound of frustration came over the line, and I smiled. I mean, I'm not usually vindictive and unprofessional like that, but I was drunk, I really needed to eat something, and he was just a shithead.

He changed tactics. “I apologize, Miss MacElroy,” he said after an audible sigh. “It has been a long and very trying few days. Mr. Ward must come back to New York. It is very important.”

“You're not going to give me a hint about what's so goddamn important?” I said. I obviously didn't have any right to that information, but if it was a business deal or something I was certain it could wait until the end of our meal.

There was a silence. “Okay. Fine. He's wanted for questioning by the FBI.”

I nearly dropped the phone in shock. “What?”

“Yeah. You'd better get his ass back to New York, or he's going to be arrested.”

I licked my lips. “I have no reason to trust what you're saying. You've been nothing but a shitlord to me since the world hello. You better tell me right now what you need him for or you're just going to have to call him yourself.”

“Does he have his phone on him?”

“No.” I wasn't sure, but I wasn't going to give him any quarter.

“And I have no reason to trust what you are saying. You're just a gold-digger.”

Now I was so shocked I couldn't even speak. Was that why he was such a terrible person to me? Don seemed to take my silence as an admission of guilt. When he spoke next I heard his smile.

“He's not crazy, you know,” he said. “It's all an act. You can't get his money by duping him.”

I felt cold. “I know he's not crazy, you ass. I'm not after his money, either.”

“Sure you aren't,” he said, his voice brimming with smugness, as though he knew all my motivations. I'd have had no problems marrying someone for their money as long as we were perfectly honest about our relationship... but this wasn't like that.

“Good luck getting a hold of him when I accidentally drop his cell phone in the toilet,” I said and hung up before I became the target of any more invective.

Sobered, I stood in the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I hadn't put on any make up and my hair was loose, but the clothes I wore were beautifully made and they mostly hid my tattoos. I didn't look like someone who would sleep with a guy for the money... did I? And I certainly wasn't the sort of person who would take advantage of a crazy person for monetary gain.#p#分页标题#e#

That dickhole knows nothing about you, I thought fiercely. Leaning over the sink, I splashed some cold water on my face and, feeling a bit more clear-headed than before, I turned and strode back to the table where Malcolm was speaking with Dominic.

“Sorry about that,” I said, settling back down in my chair.

“Who was it?” Malcolm asked.

I shook my head. “No one important.” Just your secretary, telling me you're wanted for questioning by the FBI. Oh yeah, about that...

He held my gaze for a little longer than I would have liked, but after a moment he turned back to Dominic and spoke again in rapid French. Dominic smiled and laughed, left and then returned almost immediately bearing a loaf of crusty bread, olive oil and vinegar, and a smattering of herbs on a plate. With a flourish, he poured out the oil and vinegar onto the plate, somehow managing to create a pool of oil with a perfectly-formed black-vinegar heart in the middle. Malcolm shook his head, but it was indulgent.

“Dominic claims we are destined lovers,” he said as the old man bustled off, presumably to get the rest of our meal ready.

“You said that we might be the day after we met,” I said. “Don't you remember?”

His eyes softened. “I do, but I said it was the red thread of fate, which ties together those who are destined to meet, not necessarily become lovers. So the red thread of fate connects us, perhaps, and even if it were to designate us as destined lovers that is not necessarily a good thing. Often lovers in Eastern mythology are tragic figures.” His eyes twinkled, as though he thought being a tragic figure would be quite a lark. “Dominic doesn't mean it that way, but he's a remarkably optimistic man.”

I tilted my head, “And you aren't?”

He seemed surprised that I had misread him so badly. “Me? Oh, no. I'm far more fatalistic. The Buddha himself tells us that suffering is inevitable. It must be true.”