Page 45 of Beautiful Revenge
No pretense.
There’s no charade when it comes to Devon Donnelly. Given his prior career, it’s shocking.
I’m not used to this.
In the world I grew up in, it’s unheard of. Being slapped in the face with honesty is startling.
A shock to my system.
“Why do you care?” It’s all I can do not to choke on my feelings as the guttural words slip through my lips, because I’ve never wanted to know anything more. And that’s telling because there are things I would kill to know.
He tips his head and mulls that over. “I’m trying to figure that out myself. For the life of me, I have no bloody clue. Maybe it’s because you won’t open up to me. Maybe it’s just you. But the more time we spend together, the more I want to know everything about you.”
Damn.
There he goes again—being raw and real and authentic.
I didn’t know anyone so brash could be equally as sincere.
I jerk when Winnie appears at our sides. “Who needs a warm up?”
And just like that, the electric charge Devon had on me disintegrates into thin air. I force a smile up at Winnie. “Please.”
“Fill me up,” Devon mutters without breaking his stare from me. “Seems I’m going to need it.”
Coffee sloshes in our mugs, and Winnie doesn’t miss a beat. “Food’s about up. I hope you’re hungry, Harlow. Carl is doing it up big back there.”
“Starving,” I lie.
I was when I walked through the door, but not anymore. The Englishman sitting across from me, who’s proving to be no gentleman, sucked the appetite right out of me.
“Yeah, starving,” Devon echoes my fib. He’s doing his bestto convince me there’s nothing fake when it comes to him. I’m afraid to think about what that means when it comes to me and my new roommate.
If he’s not talking about the scent of fried food that permeates the diner, then I have a feeling I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GHOSTS
Devon
Carl did not disappoint.
I don’t know if he did it for Harlow or the photo op, but our table was overflowing with enough fried food to give five men heart disease. I might be one of them after the experience.
If Harlow was mortified by the sheer volume of food presented to her, no one could tell. Carl and Winnie were beside themselves at how happy she was.
She smiled for the picture I took. Carl and Winnie flanked where they stood next to her breakfast buffet. I have no doubt it’ll be blown up and will sit alongside the fake Elvis and famous volleyball for my next visit to The Combover. It’s not like there are a shit ton of places to frequent in town. Carl and Winnie’s isn’t the only game in Winslet, but it is one of few. The manor brings in a steady stream of new customers, and the locals have not been shy about their appreciation for the additional business.
The heiress to billions proved her dislike of food waste isn’t just for show. Even though there was no way Carl would expect her to eat everything he made, she was quietly mortified when he wasn’t looking.
After I ate my egg white omelet, I did what I could to help her put a dent in the fried buffet with a towering stack ofhotcakes on the side. I’m officially at risk for high cholesterol. Harlow was about to bag up her leftovers until I put my foot down. The last thing I want is for my suite to smell like The Combover. Instead of telling her that, I pointed out that she’d ruin her new-car smell that she paid a mint for. It’s bad enough we smell like bacon, but the Jag reeking of stale grease would be a crime.
She used the food as a reason to officially cut me off from the information I crave. I didn’t get bland pleasantries from her, let alone any new information. If it wouldn’t put my sister on high alert about my interest in this woman, I’d put her to task and have her dig up everything she could on Harlow Madison.
Bella and Mum are up in my business enough as it is. If they find out that my interest in the woman whose car I’m driving is anything other than innocent, they’d be on their way to my place to drive me mad once and for all. I’m already trying to figure out how to manage their upcoming visit if my new roommate will still be around.
I’m about to start my way up the mountain when the woman who is pushing my mind to places it hasn’t been in years reaches over to grab my forearm. “Do you have time for a quick stop?”
