Page 46 of Salvaged Hearts

My jaw popped, it dropped so suddenly. A headache was blooming behind my eyes as my heart rate escalated. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“You know first-hand what an image of you on the arm of another man would do to this campaign.”

“I wasn’t on his arm, and Royce is married.”

“Royce?!”

“He has a first name.”

“Marriage means nothing to these people. You understand that, don’t you? It’s an alliance. A piece of paper bartering for allegiance in business.”

“Just becauseyou’rebuying a bride to cover your ass doesn’t mean that everyone is. I highly doubt a preacher’s daughter advanced Royce’s place in this social circle.” The hum of the motor filled the silence as we rounded a corner, Greyson scowling out the window across from us.

“This needs to be precisely executed, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Then saythat. Don’t insinuate I’m not doing my part because I just entertained the vapid musings of plastic sex dolls and feral men who would happily befriend me to get to you for the last three hours.”

“Don’t trust them, either.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” I snapped. “Contrary to the selection of breeding mares available in those walls, I actually have two brain cells to rub together and know when someone isn’t acting in my best interest.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“You approached me, not the other way around. Ihighly suggestyoudon’t forget that.”

“Like you’d let me,” he scoffed petulantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t show your face unless it’s obligatory—you don’t even eat dinner with me.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You’ll have to do more than the bare minimum to satisfy the arrangement, Alessandra.”

Ooh.I wanted to knock him the hell out. “The terms of our agreement are simple, although I’m happy to get a translator to re-outline them if you need clarification, though I doubt you want to involve another party, no matter how ironclad your contracts are. I sold the story. All night long.”

“We’re going to need a deeper understanding of each other—beyond our scandalous office romance and fictitious European proposal—to pull this off.”

“You might,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest. “I knowplenty.”

His eyes narrowed. “Coffee to creamer ratio isn’t exactly what I was going for.”

Grinding my teeth, I argued, “How about exactly how many pins in your spine required you to be medically discharged after the accident that killed your father? Or the fact that there was a criminal investigation to follow, where they proved you weren’t at fault but never found the driver who was? The only reason they believe he was drunk were the open containers in the totaled vehicle he left behind.”

“Those facts are public record?—”

Maybe so. But I was on a rampage and wasn’t about to slow down. “You’re allergic to shrimp and crab but can eat clams and lobster. Your first girlfriend was named Jenilee. Your high school sweetheart, Selene, was the one woman you claim to have loved. You’re the oldest of three boys, but a drunk driver killed the youngest while he was still in elementary school. Your mother blamed his loss for the strained relationship between you and your father, although the logic behind the fallacy evadesme. Your why in life is Mattie, shortly followed by Beau, who was named for your late brother, and if you absolutely had to choose a third, it would be Oliver.Oh, and I don’t think you want me sharing this tidbit, but you never orgasm inside a woman—condom or not—because your Uncle Reggie told you not to sire any inheritance-stealing bastards. I guess Oliver didn’t get that speech or didn’t particularly care. I’m not sure which.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Alessandra,” he ground out.

“You forgetyourself when I’m around, Mr. Hart. Butthe helptalk. And you and Ollie aren’t as quiet as you think you are when you’re too busy being men to realize I’m there. The perk of playing the pretty doormat is that everyone underestimates you—nobody bothers to notice when you enter a room. But don’t preach to me about learning my subject. I know you inside and out, Mr. Hart. That’s the job.”

“What is wrong with you?” he snarled as the car slowed around familiar bends in the road.

“You. It’sbeenyou for two damn years, and I’m insane for thinking I could tolerate you for more.”

“You’re insufferably condescending.”

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