Page 25 of King of Deception

Mason glares at me over Preston’s shoulder. “Really? Leo?”

I notch my chin. “Preston brought reinforcements, why can’t I?”

“I’m not?—”

Through the phone, I can hear Leo spitting and cursing as Preston goes from purple to pale.

I cross my arms. “What do you want then, Mason?”

“Can you please come to dinner tonight? We can discuss you and Preston later.”

Preston hangs up my phone, pressing it back into my hand. “Your brother is?—”

I hold up my hand. “I don’t need your opinion. Not anymore.”

Preston’s mouth presses into a firm line. “Can we talk? Please?”

I shake my head and then my gaze meets Mason’s. His eyes silently plead. “I’ll go to dinner with your parents. I don’t want to talk.”

Preston gives a curt nod.

I turn and, leaving the door open, head for my room. Time to trade the sweatpants for the heels.

I’m reading in twenty minutes. It would have been sooner, but my eyes are still puffy, so I needed some artful makeup.

No one talks as we take the limo from my apartment to the restaurant. When we enter, it’s apparent that we’re late.

Preston’s parents are seated with three other men I don’t recognize. Mason immediately begins handshaking, leaving me with Preston as his mother approaches. “Darling, there is fashionably late and then there is just rude.” She shoots me a glare.

“Apologies, Mother. It’s my fault. I forgot to add this dinner to the calendar, so Bella didn’t know it was happening.”

Mrs. Wingate rolls her eyes and my teeth snap together. I am not in the mood for this.

My teeth lock tighter together. At least in a few hours, I’ll be meeting Luke. And this time, I’m coming armed with the kind of information that might make this nightmare end.

CHAPTER NINE

Arabella

Three hourslater I sit at the bar, a sparkling seltzer water in front of me, waiting for Luke.

He’s late and I’m annoyed.

The last few hours have been a lesson in pain, coupled with the hours of crying, I’m tired.

I refuse to watch the door, but it takes all my energy not to glare at it in anticipation.

The bartender has been eyeing me for the last twenty minutes, I know he’s working his way up to asking me out.

That last thing I need is another man to manage. I’m full up.

I take a sip of my seltzer and turn away as the bartender tries to make eye contact for the third time in the last minute. But I wish I hadn’t. In fact, I’d wish I’d smiled back and flirted shamelessly.

Instead, my gaze collides with the man who is walking through the door.

Gris.

How does he even know I’m here? This time, I know it’s not a coincidence. I told him just hours ago that I didn’t want to see him again.

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