Page 25 of Sinful Lies

Short, dry, and devoid of any warmth, but somehow still exactly him.

Tomorrow, I'll find an envelope on my desk.

Inside, there’d be a note:Use this to relax and stop pissing me off, along with a spa voucher.

The bastard knew me too well.

So yeah, I didn’t want to see him. Especially not on my birthday.

I turned on my heel and placed my hands on Aussie’s chest.

“I’m bored. Let’s go.”

Taking a step to leave, I barely got anywhere before he grabbed my wrist. Tight.Tootight.

“Wait,” he said, pulling me closer, his grip firm on my hips. “Your present’s comin’.”

My stomach twisted.

The shift in his tone wasn’t cute. It wasn’t teasing. It was something darker, something I didn’t like one bit.

His whole vibe had shifted from charming to something… off.

I pushed at his chest. “Let me go. I’m getting another drink, then I’m out of here. This birthday adventure? Officially over.”

His fingers dug into my hips, hard enough to bruise, and I felt the slow burn of fury ignite under my skin.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” he growled, his Australian accent cutting sharper than usual, “And you’re gonna take the bloody present I forked out half my paycheck for. Then you’re gonna shut your damn gob.”

What the hell?

He thought he couldmanhandleme? Threaten me? Like hell.

I let out a scoff. “Half your salary? You should’ve saved your money,mate. You’re about to spend the rest of it on an emergency room bill if you don’t let go of me right now.”

His hand shot to my chin, yanking my face closer with enough force to make my jaw ache. “You fucking?—”

He didn’t get to finish, because the lights suddenly cut out, plunging us into darkness. The DJ, who clearly had no sense of timing, kicked off “Happy Birthday” with cringe-worthy enthusiasm.

The lights flickered back on, but only onus.

Out of nowhere, two girls with stripper heels—barely dressed in anything except tiny bikinis—strutted toward us. They werecarrying two massive bottles of some ridiculously expensive brand of champagne, and both had firework sparklers shooting from the tops.

Aussie instantly let go of my chin, a fake grin plastering itself on his face.

He tried to laugh it off like nothing had happened, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he muttered, still not letting go of me entirely.

I didn’t say a word, just took the champagne glass one of the bikini-clad girls handed me.

She grinned wide, shaking the bottle like it owed her money. When the cork shot off, champagne sprayed everywhere; the crowd cheered.

She poured the bubbly into my glass—or at least, tried to. Most of it missed and ended up on my new Louboutins.Fantastic.

I stared down at the sticky mess pooling around my toes, my grip tightening on the glass.

The crowd kept clapping, phones out, recording every second like this was the highlight of their miserable lives. Meanwhile, all I could think about was how satisfying it would be to smash the champagne bottle over Aussie’s smug head.

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