Ifhe becomes greedy.
We start walking. Gotta put some distance between us and Rupert before he regains consciousness. “We’ll sign a prenup. But I need my own lawyer for that.”
“Yes, my dear,” Ares says with a crooked grin.
“And you can’t change your mind about ‘not taking my shit.’”
“Of course.”
A beat of silence. “You aren’t asking me if I’m going to change my mind about not taking your shit.”
He cocks his head. “Are you?”
“No. But shouldn’t you worry?”
“Should I?”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re more pleasant when you don’t answer everything with a question.”
A lopsided grin splits his face. “That’s unbecoming. I apologize, but I’m an agreeable kind of guy. Why would I worry about you changing your mind? My wife should spend my money.” His pupils are even more dilated, and he’s probably being amenable without realizing what he’s agreeing to. Likely he also forgot our marriage isn’t technically real, even though the state of Nevada recognizes it as legal.
We slip into a glitzy hotel and get a room. “The nicest suite, please,” I say. I want to be able to splurge onmyself—and someoneIlike—for once.Oh, wait.I need to economize. “A two-bedroom suite, actually.”
The clerk takes our IDs, then demands plastic. Sadly, I don’t have a credit card on me, so Ares gives them his expense card with the company name embossed in front.
“Can you do that?” I whisper. “We aren’t working. Are you?”
“No, but I don’t have enough cash and it’s linked to my company, so my uncle can’t trace it. I’ll take care of the charge later,” he says with a shrug. “You want a suite, and we don’t have enough cash to cover it.”
I frown a little, but let him. The concierge rushes out to escort us to our suite. How nice. Did the hotel Doris book offer the same service? If so, how did she explain the fact that I was drugged?
Or maybe people don’t care. Sort of like how most staff at my house have looked the other way, all the while either knowing or suspecting something nefarious was going on. The ones I bribed cared, but then, they were paid to do so.
We go inside the suite. The concierge hovers. “If you need anything—”
“We’re good.” I smile. “Oh, if anybody asks about us, we aren’t here. I have a stalker I’m trying to shake off. A very persistent ex, you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Certainly. How awful,” she says with all the assurance she can muster. Don’t care if she thinks I’m weird.
Then I remember the creepy guy who was after Ares. “And my husband, too,” I add quickly, then flush at how intimate “husband” feels on my tongue. It’s super weird when I haven’t even had a boyfriend or a fiancé. Nobody ever proposed to me, and I feel cheated out of the entire courtship process.
After the woman leaves, Ares stumbles to bed.
“Wanna sleep?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think they provided any pajamas.”
“’s’all right.” He toes off his shoes, then starts to unbutton his shirt, his fingers surprisingly nimble. Given how his reflexes seemed off, I assumed he’d fumble with the buttons. Then I could’ve helped—
Stop it.
But the kiss was amazing. And he thought it was great, too. We could kiss again. Or maybe do more than that.
And let him see your horrific scar? He might just puke all over it.
I hate it when my mind won’t let me ignore reality.
