Page 7 of The Crowned Garza
He walks me to the door anyway, smirking when I flip him the finger before slamming said door in his face.
Long after I’m showered and cozy under my covers, I glower up at the ceiling and stew.
That phony discounted me, antagonized me, and got under my skin. But he should’ve played nice and sucked up to me like he does with Torin. Shouldn’t have put me on the wrong side of his column. Because now he has my full interest. Now, I’m determined to unearth what he’s hiding or planning.
No, I don’t know how to play mental chess, but I do know how to be a nuisance. Like a nasty virus, I’m going to burrow myself under his skin and chomp away at his shield until I uncover who the hell thatfraudis.
CHAPTER TWO
“Lesser of two evils.”
Tillie
One week later
THE PITCH-BLACK RANGE ROVERrolls to a reluctant stop at the curb. If cars could sigh, this one would be sighing obnoxiously loud.
Across the street, Silk Nightclub pulses energy through its red-bricked walls, a string of patrons waiting rowdily in line.
Despite my better judgment, I idly scuff my strappy heels and wait it out to see if, for once, he’ll show an ounce of gentlemanly decency and get out of the vehicle to open the door for me.
All I get is a loud, impatient “Honk!”
Yup, still a jerk.
With subtle movements, I tug down the cleavage of my club dress as I trek to the vehicle.
Once inside, the ever-present fragrance of leather, lies, guile, and deceit envelops me. It shouldn’t feel sexy, but it does. It should be repugnant, but instead it’s seduction.
“What’s the issue this time,regalità?” he asks once I’m buckled in.
An upgrade from “princess” to “royalty?” I’ll take it.
Adding a light slur to my voice, I say, “I’m in fear for my life.”
His deep grunt is loaded with disbelief. He thinks I’m full of it.
Which I am. Twenty minutes ago, a cab dropped me at the exact spot he picked me up from. I’m dressed like I went clubbing, but I haven’t set foot in that nightclub. I left home tonight solely to commence “Operation Mask Off: Exposing Bad ‘Guy.’”
“How much did you have to drink?” the fraud asks.
“Too much.”
“Who did you go with?”
“Some friends. They’re still there.”
A dark edge tinges his voice when he asks, “Did someone touch you?”
Seeing as I called him because I “feared for my life,” I can’t answer no. But if I answer yes, it’ll get back to my brothers and that’ll only trigger their overprotective behaviors again, which is stifling.
“I’m fine,” I evade. “I didn’t wanna take a lift from anyone or get in a cab while intoxicated.”
“She trusts me,” he mutters amusedly under his breath.
Not one bit. “Lesser of two evils.”
That rips a snort out of him.
