Page 32 of Mr. Aster
Okay, fine. Maybe I didn’t need the money, but the winery did, and the faster we could bring in money with the recognition from my article, the quicker he could get his ass out of here and move back to New York.
But would he leave? Would it be that fast?
That’s it, I couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t do this. I had more self-respect than this. I was not driven by money, and I wouldn’t allow it to dictate my decisions. I had to go hunt his ass down and find him.
I marched to the door and flung it open, only to see the sorry sucker smoking a cigar across the way on the side of the courtyard where his room was. He was puffing away like a fucking king who’d cherry-picked his queen for the rest of her miserable, arranged-marriage life.
Not me, no way.
I power-walked the entire stretch of the upstairs balcony until I reached where he casually stood, leaning against the edge and staring down at the neatly trimmed trees in the lower courtyard.
“I changed my mind,” I said, noting that he hadn’t flinched once since I’d stormed over here and approached him.
“That would be a mistake,” he said in a low voice.
“No, what would be a mistake is acting like I’m dating you and then showing the world whatyouwant them to think.”
“And what’s that?” he tilted his head and puffed his cigar while he looked over at me.
“Isn’t it a little too early to smoke cigars for people like you?” I questioned in utter disgust.
He grinned, and this time, the sexy wolf grin did absolutely nothing for me. He rose and stared down into my eyes.
“People like me?” he chuckled. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You’re a journalist who entertains others by writing aboutpeople like meand what you believe to be true when half the time you are wrong.”
“I state facts after thorough research. I do not make things up,” I said.
“Well, here’s a fact, Miss Burke,” he said, intentionally using formalities with me in a condescending tone. “Peoplelike mesmoke cigars whenever we damn well want. I prefer to smoke them when I’ve achieved a beautiful victory that reminds me of the man I truly am.”
“The man youtrulyare? What’s that, a lying asshole?”
“No, a man who won’t be played or fucked with by you or anyone else. I’m to be respected.”
“Well, I’m here to disrespect you and tell you you’re smoking a victory cigar too soon.” I rudely pulled the cigar from between his fingers and stomped it out on the concrete walkway where we stood.
He crossed his arms and exhaled in irritation, “Do tell me how you plan on backing out of this when you and I know it is highly profitable for you and your family to remain in agreement.”
“I don’t need, nor do I want, any money or fame. I most certainly do not wish to write aboutyouand give your sorry ass any more recognition than it deserves. Unlikeyou,I am not motivated by money. I’m not a prisoner to it like you are.”
I hoped my insult would’ve pissed him off, but he just grinned as if I were the idiot, and he wasn’t.
“Well, that’s fine, then.”
“You’re going to be in that auction and do all of this the right way,” I demanded, taking back all my power.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, I don’t need your story anymore, and I’m not fake dating you.”
“Yes, you are,” he answered with an amused expression.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I questioned. “I’m not doing this, and there’s no possible way you’re making me.”
“You know the funny thing about uswealthy assholes?” he questioned, and I could tell he had more shit up his sleeve to con me.
“That you’re assholes?” I said.
“Very cute and very true. I can see you’ve done your research,” he mocked.
