“I have a type? Thank you, Fin. I wasn’t aware.”
He leans back in his chair with a snort. “Yeah, you do.” He makes an expansive gesture. “We all do. Hot bodies. Cold hearts. Low expectations.”
“And I’m supposed to take romantic advice from a man who’s fucked half the world’s internet influencers?”
“That’s it!” With a snap of his fingers, Fin jolts straight in his seat. “The internet—I knew I recognized her.”
My shoulders tighten, and I clamp my jaw shut.
“That’s her, isn’t it? Atherton’s fucking fiancée!”
I slam my glass down. “He doesn’thavea fiancée.”
“Because you have her?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Matt mutters, dropping his chin to his chest.
“You fucking dog. What’s your angle?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is this about Lucy?”
Every atom of my being revolts at the unexpected mention of her name. “You will never—” I halt. Breathe in. Start again. “It’s not as though I planned or schemed. I was in my car, minding my own business, when Eve climbed in, wearing her wedding dress. You tell me that’s not fate.”
“Fate.” Fin’s expression firms. “Try another f-word.”
“I will. Mind your ownfuckingbusiness.”
“This is all of our business,” he says, making an expansive gesture. “Scheming is bad for business—bad for trust.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I showed you the Pulse Tok, and you barely flickered. All this time, you’ve had her.”
“Had?” I repeat dangerously low.
He narrows his gaze. “What are you up to?”
“You’ve met her,” I retort. “Does it look like I could persuade Eve to do anything she doesn’t want to?”
“I know you can turn on the charm like it’s nobody’s business when you want something, you ruthless fucker.”
“You’re confusing me with you.” If only charm had worked.
“But when charm doesn’t work, you turn dirty. Which is it? Northaby, or are you all about pissing off Atherton to avenge Lucy?”
“Does it matter? All you need to know is Eve and I are enjoying our time together while Atherton is, as usual, being a colossal prick. He has her belongings. She had nothing but the dress she was standing in.” And the delights it concealed. “She didn’t even have shoes.” I’ve no idea why her pink-painted toes in silk stockings should still seem erotic.
“But she’s living with you,” he states flatly.
“She’s staying in the hotel, yes.”
“In your suite?”
“That’s none of your business,” I say, straightening my cuffs.
