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“Bit of a bad timing, mate,” he says, breathless.
“I need a favor.”
“Of what kind?” His voice sobers up. I’m never the type who asks for a favor.
Never.
“I need you to hook me up with a member of Anastasia’s family.”
“The fuck you need the mafia for when you’re an attorney?”
“I need them to tie up some loose ends the law couldn’t.”
When I’m done with Christopher Vans, he’ll wish for the fucking Grim Reaper.
He’ll wish he’d never touched what’s fucking mine.
23
NICOLE
“We’re going to London.”
I choke on the orange juice I’ve been obsessing over like a fangirl with her idol for the sole reason of avoiding Daniel.
Until he dropped this bomb, of course.
We’re sitting at the kitchen counter on a Friday morning, having breakfast in a setting as strained as the Cold War.
The only one speaking is Jay with his hyper energy and endless stories. Even Lolli has chosen the silent treatment.
“We’re going where?” I echo Daniel’s words, needing double confirmation.
Clutching an iPad in hand, he stares at me over the rim of his coffee cup with that cold streak that he wears as a badge around me.
One part of me is glad he doesn’t pity me after the mess I was in last night, but a bigger part wants to rip open his exterior and see what he’s thinking about.
Maybe he does pity me.
Maybe he’s even more repulsed by me than ever before.
While he said it wasn’t my fault, he was angry that I didn’t file the report. He was angry that I didn’t ask for help, forgetting that when I showed up at his door, he cut me open so deep, the wound is still unable to heal.
The jerk.
So what if he didn’t fuck that girl back then? If I didn’t ruin his evening with my epic chlamydia plan, he would’ve shagged Katerina all night long.
With a dash of orgies, as he informed me.
My fist clenches against my stomach and I fight the bitter taste of tears building behind my eyes.
I can feel myself stumbling, backpedaling, and falling back into a deep, dark abyss.
Into my old stupid, unhealthily obsessed self.
And just like then, it’ll only end in disaster and heartache as harsh as Daniel’s coldness.
“London,” he repeats as if I’m a child. “England. The United Kingdom. Great Britain.”
