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Me: What do I care?
Margot: Oh, I don’t know. Just stay away from his villa tonight.
What. The. Hell?
I text Archer to call me back, but half an hour on pins and needles with no response from him makes me angry.
Does he really have a meeting? why doesn’t he pick up?
“Fuck this,” I murmur to myself, walk out, and head to Cliff Villa, not paying attention to Slate, who shadows me. Even Slate irritates me. It’s drizzling and getting dark already. At night, he’ll spook me every time I’ll hear his footsteps behind me.
I storm to Cliff Villa, but the door is locked. It’s a bad sign—Archer never locks the door. I punch in the code and walk in.
The unfamiliar pop music trickles through the speakers. The sweet perfume in the air makes a shiver run down my spine. So does the scent of body powder and the wine bottle and two wine glasses on Archer’s coffee table no one’s allowed to touch. A woman’s fashionable jacket hangs over the couch arm.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I want to go to the bedroom but I’m afraid to see something I won’t be able to unsee.
“Archer?” I try to sound calm, but my voice doesn’t come out so haughty.
“Oh, hi, there!”
The chirpy voice turns me around, and I see slick blond hair, a cocked brow, and a wide lip-gloss smile.
But it’s her body that makes my stomach turn—slim and flawless, wrapped only in a towel…
36
KAT
I hatewomen whose hobby is fucking others’ happiness. Not men’s, no. Their hobby revolves around destroying other women’s moods and confidence.
Margot is like this. But I think she only does it because she’s a miserable bitch.
This one—I study the girl who looks like she just stepped off a beauty magazine—is a professional life-wrecker. Her smile tells a story of dozens of fucked-up girls who dared to stay in her way. I know this type—she’ll make it her mission to ruin any female who dares to look better than her.
“Who are you?” I ask though I know the answer.
She shouldn’t be here. There’s no reason for her to be in my man’s house wrapped in a fucking towel.
Yet, she is.
“Who areyou?” She studies me up and down with poisonous contempt, though I’m sure if she’s friends with the Pink Medusa, she knows about me already.
“Archer’s girlfriend,” I say.
“Oh, right, the flavor of the month.”
Bitch.
Keeping cool is getting harder by the second.
“You have to leave,” I say, my blood starting to boil. I pick up my phone and call Archer again. No response. Only a message.
Archer: I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back.
The girl’s perfect lips stretch in a smile like she knows she’s getting under my skin. “Archer’s at a meeting. He won’t pick up random calls unless it’s someone important.”
