Page 42 of Love Her

I didn’t want to just complain to Rhaim—or need protection.

I wanted to be able tohelphim—and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I ran away with my tail between my legs.

“I’m good, and I believe I have a wedding to help plan?” I said, giving Marcus an icy but accommodating smile. “Thank you though.”

Trevia nodded—and I realized it was a long life of having to butt into places likethisthat’d made her wear her hair likethat.

Girls like me only got invited into old boys’ clubs if our tops were coming off.

“I promise to have her home by her curfew,” Marcus said, waving her away.

Once Trevia was gone,Marcus’s lawyer left, too, but Arnold didn’t. He sat down annoyingly close me and forced me to accept twenty different calendar invites.

“First off, you’re going to our stylist this afternoon. For the next two weeks, you only wear what we tell you—and that includes hair and make-up. We’re making you blonde.”

I reared back like a startled horse. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not in the least?—”

“If you turn me into some sort of wife-bot, no one will believe me—” I said, looking to Marcus for confirmation of this fact. “Especially in my demographic.”

“A high percentage of our voting population finds blonde women comforting,” Arnold informed me.

“You mean the elderly?”

“Let her keep her hair,” Marcus said, but then nodded. “As for the rest…”

“Fine,” I snapped—then Marcus pulled out his phone, and whatever he saw on the screen irritated him far worse than my auburn hair—or anything Trevia or I had done today—which I found strange.

“Lunch is postponed. We’ll do a family dinner tomorrow instead,” he said, suddenly standing.

I couldn’t deny I felt a flash of relief—and then wondered how his own children felt about him marrying someone their age. “What, your boys don’t want to meet their new stepmother?” I asked sweetly. Marcus ignored my potshot.

“Do what Arnold tells you to do—and make sure you tell Katerina how many flowers I sent you yesterday, because I’m a hopeless romantic,” he said, before sweeping out of the room.

23

RHAIM

It took all my strength not to call Lia to check in on her—so I was irritating Sable instead, making her confirm the location updates I was getting every fifteen minutes, as Lia was apparently visiting every showroom on 5thavenue.

And when Sable said, “For all I know though, Rhaim, they’re hauling around her corpse—you should’ve given her an Apple Watch instead, so I could check her pulse,” I knew she’d had enough of me.

“Look up some piece of shit named Bix who sells heroin to kids at Columbia.”

Sable squealed like a winning beauty pageant contestant on the far end of the line. “I knew you’d break!” and she fell into utter silence, doing her thing. “Does he shave his head?”

“I don’t fucking know.” I was on the roof of Corvo now, pacing as I smoked, my former bad habit now firmly back in the driving seat—until I could replace it with my other one, murder.

“Pretty sure I’ve got him then.” Since I was alone, I put her on speakerphone as she sent me files, along with an address and photos. While his head was aggressively shaved, he wasstill good-looking enough I could see him getting into student parties.

“He ever do time?”

“He’s come close, but managed to dodge it. Lawyered up hard—looks like there’s family money in play.”

“Good.”

“What’s the plan?” Sable asked.

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