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Just then, a familiar yapping comes from the distance. And surprise-surprise, the Pink Medusa sashays toward us across the floor, all purple dress, pink stilettos, and cunt attitude. Two girls in mini dresses stare at us from the table in the opposite corner of the restaurant—I didn’t even see them come in. Which is surprising because Margot’s screechy voice can wake up the dead.
I’m not sure what bothers me about some of the spring-breakers, except the fact that the only thing they did right in this life was to be born with a silver spoon in their mouths.
Margot’s eyes zero in on me and Marlow as she slows, and her bright-pink lips spread in a sleazy smile as she stops at our table and leans on it with her perfectly manicured hands and a giant opal ring. The stench of her overly-sweet perfume makes me wanna vomit.
“You sure prefer male company,” she says to me, then turns to Marlow. “Hey, Nick.”
“I prefer intelligent company,” I murmur quieter, not looking at her.
“Can’t lose the habit of getting around?”
If she doesn’t go away soon, I swear, my pretty tractor boot will go right up her ass.
She doesn’t stop. “Entertaining yourself elsewhere while Archer is busy?”
“Margot, seriously.” Marlow chuckles. He is too nice to people.
“Yes,” I snap. “And I see you got a habit of spying on me in hopes to find Archer. So desperate,” I add under my breath and lift my eyes at her.
The glint in Margot’s eyes is sharp as steel. She taps her lemon-colored nail on the table. “See you around,” and leaves as I murmur, “Unfortunately,” and roll my eyes at Marlow.
35
ARCHER
Kat never texts me.What girl never texts the guy she likes?
No flirting. No questions. She’s made friends with everyone at the Center. Goes on lunch breaks with the surveillance guys. Her laughter seeps into my office now and then, getting under my skin, but when I stare her down across the window, she doesn’t respond.
In fact, it looks like she is avoiding me. And it pisses me off. Considering my right hand will soon go numb from obsessive self-care.
Avoiding her doesn’t seem to work out so great.
She doesn’t know it, but I talk to her father more often than her.
It’s late evening, and I’m at the villa, standing by the pool with a glass of cognac.
The pool will forever remind me of Kat. One night with her, and my bed, pool, and breakfast table remind me of her being here.
I’m staring at her picture on my phone, wondering if I should summon her to the villa—yeah, I’ve been drinking. The screenshot is of the cam footage of her at my pool. Head tilted back against the edge of it. Her body illuminated in neon blue. Her tits above the water, nipples hard and so delicious I can almost feel the texture of them in my mouth.
My dick hardens. Always does. The picture is grainy but beautiful. And my self-control obviously doesn’t work.
Granted, I’m on my sixth drink and my patience is nowhere in sight.
Just then a text flashes on my screen.
Margot: Is she servicing just you? Or you share these days?
The attached picture makes my insides turn cold.
It’s Marlow and Kat, smiling, leaning toward each other across a restaurant table as he curls a strand of her hair around his fingers.
Motherfucker!
Anger flares inside me, and I try to swallow it down with the rest of my drink.
I pull up the app that tracks Kat’s phone—Tapas.
