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“A cop who heads drug investigations.”
I picked up a stick and dragged it along the ground as we walked. “You think he’s on the take?”
“Probably.”
Was this really happening? Had I said those words? Suddenly, I was living in a real-life drama because that was heavy shit, and having watched my fair share of police dramas, I knew how those kinds of situations played out.
“I’m a bit nervous, to be perfectly honest.”
He stopped walking and gave me a sympathetic smile. “That’s understandable. But you’re the best choice because we can trust you. Crisp thinks he can buy anyone, and by walking out on him, you proved otherwise.”
I kicked a rock on the ground, choosing to remain silent because, had Crisp not insisted I leave Manon, he would have bought me.
One month without her, I could just do.
Not forever.
Life was way too short for forever.
We entered the farm, where the foundation for the market building was complete.
“That’s coming along nicely,” I said.
He nodded, looking pleased. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to meet my beautiful wife.”
He saluted me and headed off.
Chapter 17
Manon
“Whohasapartyon a Thursday night?” I asked Savvie as we drove to Notting Hill.
“Jacinta and Sienna and anyone in our scene, for that matter.” She giggled. “We’re not exactly having to spring out of bed for anything.”
No. She was right there. After leaving the Pond, I’d become rather fond of sleeping in. Drake rose early, however, often waking me. I didn’t mind. I would have woken up at four in the morning for him. Especially when it involved hot, hard sex.
Our mornings were raw and wild. Drake was like an animal. Sexy though. I loved hearing his rough breath in my ear while he thrust into me.
The nights were more a tease. I would parade in new lingerie and wait for him to pounce—passionate sex followed by soft touches, kisses, and more sex.
My heart bloomed just thinking about him, and I refused to allow Crisp to bring me down. There was hope on that front, since he hadn’t tried contacting me, despite insisting I marry him.
I imagined Natalia was keeping him busy.
Maybe she could convince him to marry her. I’d seen that sly, ambitious look in her eyes—my mother often looked like that whenever she was around wealthy men because, for her, everything had a price, and sex came with the biggest price tag.
Before heading for the party, I met up with Savvie to inspect apartments. Now that I had those five million pounds, I was ready to buy my own place.
There were stipulations, however. I was only allowed ten thousand pounds a month, but my credit card, in addition, came with a five-thousand-pounds-a-month limit. My grandmother probably wanted to make sure I didn’t blow it.
As I sat in the lawyer’s office, skimming over hard-to-understand legal language, my eyes landed on the following sentence: A predetermined limit has been established to mitigate overspending on frivolities.
I questioned him about that, and he suggested I talk to my grandmother.
She told me frivolities were things a person didn’t need.
“Like shoes and clothes?” I asked.
