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Rom chuckled. “A hot nerd who came wearing lingerie and fed him a nice dose of his own bullshit. There’s only one problem—he doesn’t know her name.”
This was the least of my problems, actually.
Even if I could, indeed, consider someone as an actual wife, the little octopus definitely wasn’t prime material.
She was a liar, clearly below my station, and a blonde. My mother would never consider her for the position.
Even if she did, I wouldn’t.
She possessed none of the qualities that had made it to my list.
And yes, there was a list:
• Filthy rich.
• Open to a clinical arrangement.
• And above all—obedient.
I did not tolerate love.
Couldn’t stand romance.
Actively loathed homo sapiens.
And she was very human indeed. All messy flesh and blood. Hot temperament and even hotter body.
The cryochamber screen beeped three times, signaling it was ready.
“What’s the problem?” Ollie stuffed his giant feet into slippers, yanking the door to the walk-in cryotherapy room. White-blue smoke rolled out in thick waves, tumbling along the floor. “Just go through your guestlist.”
I followed him, teeth clenched. “If she were a part of the guestlist, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
I was not in a great mood.
I did not like to be outsmarted.
No, let me rephrase—I was notusedto being outsmarted.
The child bride of Satan blew into my life like a tornado. Slipping into my castle, going through my shit, very nearly winning a Go game against me.
And then, to top all of that off, she’d run away cartoon character-style, climbing over my towering gate like a lizard.
Whoever she was, she wasn’t a cushioned heiress with extravagant dreams in her head and a black Amex in her vintage Birkin.
Rom entered the chamber last, closing the door behind him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Ollie is right.”
The digital clock aboveour heads began counting down from four minutes, white clouds of ice obscuring it for the most part. Both men shivered.
I, as always, felt nothing.
Rom rolled his neck, flexing his abs. “Even if she wasn’t on your guestlist, she came in with a guest. In their car. There is literally no other way to get past security. It’s too heavily guarded. And you have that shoe to go by.”
“It’s a common shoe,” I growled.
But it was not a common shoe size for a woman.
Size ten, narrowed trim.
