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He let me go, but the sternness on his face showed his disappointment. The man clearly had never been rejected—ever. He didn’t say a word, but his countenance demanded an explanation.
“It’s not you…”
He waited for more.
“I recently got out of a relationship, and I guess I’m not ready.”
He stared for a solid ten seconds before he spoke. “If you aren’t ready, why are you in this line of work?”
“I guess…I thought I could do it.”
His eyes glanced at my lips, like the kiss was still on his mind.
“It’d be different if it were just a job. But the fact that you’ve given me the option…makes a difference.”
He still didn’t say anything.
And I’d run out of things to say.
“You’re in love with this guy.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but it came off that way.
“I wish I weren’t…”
“Why did it end?”
“He…didn’t want to be with me anymore.”
He analyzed my face like a shrink on a couch. “Then he doesn’t deserve your loyalty. If a woman treated me that way, she would forfeit my fidelity. She would forfeit everything because I don’t put up with bullshit—and neither should you. That’s my advice.”
“You don’t seem like a one-woman kind of guy.”
After a long stare, he said, “I was once. A long time ago.”
“What happened?”
He never answered. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’m always open for business.”
* * *
I sat in the back seat with Bartholomew beside me. We were in a long line of cars approaching the roundabout in front of a three-story mansion. It was the first time I’d seen him wear anything nice. It was usually boots and a jacket. But now, he was in a tuxedo, and of course, he looked handsome as hell.
He was typing on his phone, indifferent to the fancy party we were about to attend. It reminded me of Cauldron because work never slept for him either. I wore a dark teal dress with ruffles on one sleeve. Bartholomew didn’t buy my wardrobe, so I recycled something from my old life in the South of France. It felt like a betrayal to wear it when I was with another man, but if I didn’t wear these things, I might as well give them away.
No way in hell I was doing that.
When we came closer to the drop-off, Bartholomew slid his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. Nothing had changed since I’d rejected his kiss. He wasn’t particularly cold to me, and he didn’t seem offended. He had a big ego, but it was also impossible to wound his pride.
I liked that.
The door opened and we stepped out, joining the throng of people making their way inside to the sounds of the orchestra and circulating flutes of champagne. Bartholomew slid his arm around my waist, something he very rarely did. As we made our way inside, he spoke to me. “If anyone asks, you’re my personal shopper, and that’s how we met.”
“Alright. So, who am I spying on this time?”
“You aren’t.” He handed me a glass of champagne and declined one for himself. “I’m here to meet with someone. Until then, your job is to make this party bearable. Handle all the bullshit small talk. Cover for me if people ask where I’ve gone.”
“Sounds like a walk in the park.”
He eyed the people around us with disgust. “For you. I hate this bullshit.”
