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“He asked me to go with him as a favor—”
“He asked you to go with him so he can fuck you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not why he asked—”
“Trust me.” He looked me up and down again. “That’s exactly why he asked.”
“Even if that were true, just because he wants to fuck me doesn’t mean he gets to—”
“But he gets to hold your waist and show you off like you’re his—when you’re fucking mine.”
This was so bad.“You need to calm down—”
“You need to remember who you’re dealing with, Laura. I put men in oil drums and dump them out in the ocean. If you don’t want that to happen to your little friend, I suggest you call this thing off.”
“I already agreed to go with him—”
“Then unagree.”
I turned away from him, sick of his rage. “I’m going with him as a friend. It’s a great opportunity for me to meet other prospective clients who might need my services, and unlike you, I’m not a billionaire, so I need all the help I can get.”
“You want money? I can get you ten million in cash in the next hour.”
“Oh my god…” My hands went to my hips. “All I want from you is you—not your money.”
He stared at me, his breaths growing so deep they were noticeable.
“You’re acting like a psychopath right now.”
“Sweetheart, I’m the biggest drug dealer in France. Of course I’m a fucking psychopath.”
I walked up to him, seeing him struggle to sheathe his rage. “You don’t trust me?” My eyes moved back and forth between his. “You really think I’m looking to replace you with a watered-down banker?”
“That’s exactly what you want in a husband, isn’t it?” he asked coldly.
I wanted to step back because his comment felt like a slap. “I would think a man like you would be too confident to be jealous—”
“I’m not jealous. I’m possessive. I’m controlling. And I’m selfish. You think I’d let someone else drive my Bugatti? You think I’d give my wealth to those less fortunate? You think I share my power or keep it all for myself? And you expect me to be any different with you? You’re mine—and I don’t share.”
I almost cowered and called the whole thing off. “Look, he’s a big client of mine, and I can’t abandon him at the last minute—”
“Then I’ll be your fucking client.”
“I have to keep my word, Bartholomew. This will be the last time, I promise.”
He was furious. It was all in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
He turned around and walked out of my apartment, but he made sure to slam the door before he left.
* * *
It was a boring party.
Hayes introduced me to some people, and I was able to make connections with potential clients. He knew a lot of rich people, which was exactly the clientele I was looking for. People who were too busy to pick out their clothes and could easily afford a professional making them look good for all their occasions. Some of them were bankers. Others were business owners. The types of people that had businesses you never heard of but made them millionaires.
I kept thinking about Bartholomew. I feared our next conversation. I feared there wouldn’t be another conversation…
