Chapter 9
OLIVER
Fifteen minutes later, Eve looks annoyed as she’s shown to the booth at the back of the restaurant. When I arrived, I asked for somewhere we wouldn’t be disturbed. Perhaps that’s what’s bothering her.
“This place is busy.” Her tone is tellingly light as she slides into the pale-green banquet seating opposite.
“You say that like it’s not a surprise.”
“I knew it would be busy.”
“Too busy, you hoped?” A fifty slipped to the hostess had not only remedied that problem but also provided us with a table out of the way.
“If I wanted to table block you, I would’ve come along with you. Nothing says premium allocation like hobo chic, and this thing is one wear away from a wardrobe malfunction,” she adds, plucking at the worn cotton.
As she redirects her glower, I’m allowed a moment to look at her. She does look different. Yesterday, she shone like a newly polished pearl, and today, in place of the bride is a woman who looks barely old enough to be married. Her face is makeup-free, and her hair is a little wild. Different, yes, but just as lovely.
“A man can hope.” I shoot her an unrepentant grin that’s not likely to help my cause. I’m saved from further blunders as the waitress sidles up to the table with our drink order. “One Macallan,” she singsongs, placing the lowball glass in front of me. “And a glass of Ruinart for the lady.”
“Ordering for me?” Eve snipes from across the table.
“You didn’t seem to mind me taking charge last night.” I lounge in my seat and slide my hand along the velvety back as both women’s cheeks flush with color. The waitress, though attractive, does nothing for me, yet the scowl Eve is wearing makes me want to lean across the table and lick it from her face. I find her opposition a level of pleasure all its own.
“Well, enjoy!” The waitress spins on her heel.
“You embarrassed the poor girl.”
“You’re not embarrassed.”
“No.” Both her scowl and her color deepen. “I give as good as I get.”
“Yes,” I agree, tempering my smile. “I like that about you.”
“What do you want, Oliver?”
My answer is in the way my gaze sweeps over her, lingering in some of the spaces my lips had savored last night. The hollow beneath her ear. The sensual curve between her shoulder and her neck. Those lips in a mouth so full of denials yet so perfect wrapped around my cock. Sadly, there are more pressing matters, but you can’t blame a man for getting sidetracked.
“You mentioned your belongings and your phone. I can help you get them back. Money and a place to stay too.”
“You want to help?” Her brows knit with distrust. “Why?”
The offer is a means to an end, my first point of bargaining. “In exchange for something.”
She leans forward, her eyes suddenly gold in the light. “How could I forget? You’re not the chivalrous type.”
“That also didn’t seem to bother you too much last night.”
“Last night I didn’t have many options.”
“Have things changed?” I ask, ignoring her implication—an insult that doesn’t land. She chased me. In some ways, she only has herself to blame. Had it not been for the night we spent together, I mightn’t have reacted as I did to the Pulse Tok recording or those drunken women. Or dwelled on Fin’s assertion that Atherton and I hate fuck this out. He fucked us both—that’s the reality. First me, then Eve. I just wasn’t expecting her to be a reluctant partner in this.
“Well, I’m not homeless.” She presses her elbow to the table, propping her cheek on her hand. “So, as fun as it was, I don’t need a repeat.” She brings her glass to her mouth, her eyes sparkling over the rim.
“Need is such a tricky thing.”
“Is it?” She sets her glass down, sliding her thumb and finger down the dainty stem.
“When it’s tied so closely to desire.” I watch as she continues to toy with the stem, wondering if her actions are deliberate. “You didn’t need to manipulate me into bed last night. You already had use of the room.” My answer betrays neither the tightening in my belly nor the discomfort of my stiffening cock.
“I don’t remember you being too hard to persuade.”
I swirl the amber contents around the bowl of my glass. Nothing to see here. Just two people tormenting each other. “I suppose that depends on your perspective.” I put it to my lips to conceal my smile. Or to prevent me from admitting how hard she’s made me.
“Oliver Deubel. You are a one-off.” But it’s a smiling kind of insult, accompanied by a slow shake of her head.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t mean it as a compliment.” As her gaze dips, a curl springs free and dangles against her cheek. Unable to help myself, I lean across the table and hook it with my finger before brushing it behind her ear.
“You’re wrong. I have nothing but good things to say about you.”
She inhales a breath, then stills, the tiny, telling motion going off like a lightbulb in my head. Despite her denials, she’s not as immune to me as she’d like to be. The second reveal comes as I take in her expression: she doesn’t like that fact one bit.
“I’m not sure I need your help.” Pulling away, she slices her finger through a streak of condensation on her glass, the motion marking a change in the tone of our conversation. “I expect he’ll be off on our honeymoon tomorrow. I’ll be able to get into the apartment then.”
I don’t think so. Not after seeing his plans unravel after yesterday.
“What a charmer. How on earth did you end up with him?”
“It’s a long story with a shitty ending, as you’ve seen.”
“I’d argue the ending was the right one,” I say with a casual flick of my hand. In response, she says nothing. “How will you get into the apartment without a key? Shoreditch, wasn’t it?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Unless he’s grown vindictive.”
“Because cheating on me wasn’t cruel enough?”
“He seemed very remorseful when he chased you.”
Eve flounces back in her seat with a snort.
“But I’m not sure he’ll stick to the same narrative once he sees the impromptu wedding video.”
“You’re assuming he will.” She folds her arms, her jaw taking on a stubborn set.
“One of your guests loaded it to the platform. It can only be a matter of time. I expect he’ll feel quite demeaned.”
“And that’s supposed to make me unhappy?”
“He more than deserves it,” I agree.
“And it’s not like I’m responsible. I didn’t record or load it.”
“True, but humans are a funny bunch. It’s strange how we can take our own mistakes and turn them into the fault of someone else.”
“He can have at it.”
“His wrongdoing and shame will likely turn inward to stew and froth into a sense of injustice. Of being wronged. Humiliation can make people very unreasonable in the aftermath.”
“I’m aware what humiliation feels like, Oliver.”
“Yes, you exacted your revenge.” At the venue. Then in my bed. “It was quite spectacular, but you should probably prepare for him to attempt the same.”
“He’s the one in the wrong,” she says, with less zeal this time. “I’ve done nothing to deserve ...”
Her words trail off as I place my phone on the table between us. “He didn’t come off very well in this.” Idly touching the screen, I make a show of searching the app for it, like I haven’t already saved it. Or watched it a dozen times. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No magnificence either. “Few men would take this kind of embarrassment well. On the other hand, you really should take some time to read the comments,” I add, glancing up. “You seem to have created quite the sisterhood.”
“It won’t be my fault if women start heckling him in the street.”
“But will he see it like that? No matter how accidental, you’ve created quite a platform. He’s become the poster boy for fuckups. The impact will invariably leak into his personal life and his business.” I pick up my glass. “I wouldn’t put it past him to seek some kind of retaliation.”
“He can try.” She shoots me a hot glare.
“You and I are reasonable people. Mitchell, in both our experiences, is anything but. After all, it takes a special kind of bastard to cheat on the woman he loves.”
“He never loved me.” Her answer spills from her mouth in a bitter laugh.
“According to him, he did. He does.”
Her posture stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t spoken to him. He doesn’t know about last night.”
“I don’t care,” she grates out.
“I do,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t allow him to sully such a beautiful memory.” My mind bends to a fragment of the experience. Her breasts pressed against me, so lewd and lush as I slid my hands into her hair. Gold. Amber. Red. So many colors. My fingers tangling in the silky strands as she threw her head back, rocking against me. I can almost hear the soft sounds she made, feel her breathless pleading against my cheek. But this won’t do. “Would you like to hear the messages he left on my phone?” Using my forefinger, I swipe away from the app. “There are quite a few.” I won’t mention the articles in the online press. At least, not yet.
“He called you?”
“Dozens of times after we drove away.” No doubt appealing to my better nature. Sadly for him, I haven’t got one.
She rolls the edge of her cocktail napkin between her thumb and forefinger before glancing up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’d ruined your day already.” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t want to be put in the same category.” A pause. “Would you have wanted to speak with him?”
“I never want to hear from him again.” Like a statement of fact, there’s no emotion in her answer.
“Then I’ll delete them.” I do just that as she watches me.
“Block his number.”
“If you want never to have to deal with him, you could always return home,” I suggest, picking up the thread of something she’d hinted at yesterday.
“To Connecticut?” She shakes her head. “He’s not forcing me away from my life, from a job and a place I’ve come to love. I’ve made friends. I have responsibilities. No,” she adds more forcefully. “I’m going nowhere.”
“Visa issues notwithstanding.”
“Obviously.” Her answer is casual, but the pinch between her eyes gives her worries away.
I give her a little time to dwell on that as drinks are sipped but not really tasted before I speak again. “I’ve no cause to really know, but he sounded quite convincing.”
“He’s had a lot of practice,” she answers flatly.
“Love, like humiliation, makes people do stupid things.”
“Nothing but being an asshole makes you lie and cheat. Look,” she says, making a triangle of her fingers around the base of her glass. “I don’t care what he does. I’ve decided he can donate my clothes to Goodwill, throw my belongings out of his third-floor window like it’s raining my stuff. Whatever. I’m over it. I just need my purse, my phone, my passport, and a few personal documents. Now, how about you stop telling me about my problems and just say what you brought me here for.”
“Straight to the heart of the matter?”
“Give the man a prize.”
“All right. I want three months from you.”
“Three months of what?”
That scowl. I think I’d bite it before smoothing it with my tongue.
“Of your time, quid pro quo.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Something in exchange for something,” I reply, not so much laying it out for her as annoying her more, apparently.
“I know what it means. I just don’t know what it means in this instance.”
“Your belongings, your phone, I’ll get them back for you—today, if you like. You won’t have to stay with your friend ... or whoever that was yelling at you earlier.” As she’d shut the front door, I’d lingered a moment. Those old mews houses don’t offer much in the way of soundproofing.
“You heard that,” she says wearily as she drops her head to her hands.
“It sounded quite contentious.”
“I only asked her if she’d loan me a different T-shirt.”
“You wouldn’t have to borrow anything.” Though I’d loan you my cock, mouth, and fingers as often as you’d like.
“If I throw my lot in with yours,” she says with a snort. “For three months of ...” Her eyes move over me speculatively, and I almost laugh.
“Yes, that might be one benefit, I suppose. And money. I’ll pay you for your time.” A startled noise sounds from her throat as her mouth falls open, but I push on. “Just name your price.”
“This sounds a lot like the kind of deal that ends with at least one of us going to jail. Can you spell solicitation , Oliver?”
“That’s not what I’m offering.”
“Good, I’m not an escort. I’m a veterinarian.”
“A noble way to earn a living. While fucking you was a delight, that isn’t the purpose of my proposition.”
“Would you keep your voice down?” she whisper hisses, her eyes sliding over my shoulder.
“I’m asking for your help, not access to your body,” I retort, craving both. “I need the appearance of a relationship—a stable relationship. There’s a building coming up for sale in Surrey. Unfortunately, the seller has quite an antiquated outlook.”
“Antiquated how?”
“He doesn’t want to see it pass into the hands of a developer.”
“You especially,” she somehow intuits.
“He mistrusts my motivations.”
“I can’t think why,” she mutters. “Oh, wait, yes I can.”
“He wants the building to remain intact and believes the best way to ensure that is to sell it to a private buyer. Someone in a settled relationship. He also wants to be courted. Wooed like a debutant.”
“When you just want to strip the old girl out of her underwear. I can see how that would be a problem for you,” she adds, biting back a grin. “Given you prefer to be the one being chased.”
“I think you’re confusing courtship with manipulation.”
“Either way, all this sounds like a you problem.” She happily pokes the air with her forefinger. “One easily solved with a call to an escort agency, I’d say. Or if sex isn’t part of the deal, you could try for an actress.” She holds up her hands: a triumphant shrug in miniature. Like she’s solved all my problems.
“When did Mitchell propose to you, Eve?”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Her hands fall, her expression turning guarded.
“He’s interested in the same property.”
“I don’t know where he’d get the money from.” Her eyes drift over my face, unsure.
“We’re both in the same business. You know that.”
“But not in the same league. You own a hotel. Mitch flips houses. You have a driver and a Bentley, and he—”
“Is not quite so wealthy,” I agree. Pressing my elbows to the tabletop, I steeple my fingers in front of me. “But he’s not so very far behind. Yesterday, you asked what I had against him. Well, last year, he outbid me on a parcel of land earmarked for regeneration.”
“That’s it? That’s why you don’t like him?” She sounds unimpressed, as though millions lost in profit is not enough to be upset about.
“What’s important about what I’m telling you is that the land sold for ten million.”
She begins to shake her head. “Mitch doesn’t have that kind of money. I would know. He lives in a rented one-bedroom apartment. He drives an electric car that’s on lease.”
“He lives in the apartment, but he doesn’t pay rent. He owns the building. He not only had ten million to buy the land, but he’s also successful enough to attract investors. That means he has a track record of returns.”
“I don’t know where you got that information from, but you’re way off.”
“Why? Because he didn’t tell you? Because he didn’t ask you to sign a prenup? There would be no point,” I add as her head rears back in shock. “They’re not worth the paper they’re written on in the UK. Besides, all his money is funneled through foreign shell companies. You’d never get a penny of what he’s worth.”
“I don’t want his money—I didn’t even know he had any!” Color rushes to her face, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Still, it looks like he’s been lying to you on more than one front. He’s quite cunning. You see, the parcel of land went to tender, and I happened to know my bid was the most competitive.”
“Because that doesn’t sound suspect at all.”
“Yet I was outbid.”
“It happens,” she says uncertainly. “Maybe he just bid more.”
“My point is how he knew what to bid because I later discovered he was sleeping with my personal assistant, Lucy.” My jaw tightens. One of these days, my molars will likely turn to dust as I remember. What happened with Lucy was the most painful factor in the whole sorry, sordid business. The repercussions ... well, I just don’t want to think about any of it.
Eve grows pale and quiet, and as she reaches for her glass, I notice how her fingers tremble.
“I’m sorry,” I find myself murmuring. Stranger still, I mean it.
“You didn’t fuck me over. Lie to my face for an entire relationship.”
“I can still be sorry. I don’t like to see you sad.”
“I’m not sad,” she retorts sharply. “That asshole doesn’t deserve my tears.”
“I’m sorry because I’m about to make you feel worse. The property Mitchell and I are both interested in is owned by a man who’d like to see his legacy endure. He has no family of his own, and in his aging state, he believes the best thing he can do is to sell it to someone who has. Or at least has plans of settling down. I happen to know for a fact that Mitchell has played up to that.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“I think you do, Eve. When did he propose?”
“February.”
“A short engagement?”
“Long enough.” She frowns.
“Was that his idea or yours?”
“What does it matter?”
“The timeline ties in.” I give a careless shrug, knowing it won’t take the sting from my words. “If you’re sure it’s not love he professed”—I touch my phone for emphasis—“then perhaps it was need that prompted him.”
“You’re suggesting he asked me to marry him to get his hands on a house?” Her words are meant to be incredulous, but I hear the hurt in them.
“It is a very lovely house. An ancient estate, more appropriately.” One with nine thousand acres of land. It’s a symbol of the status that Mitchell covets, one that he no doubt imagines could be the crown of his success, were I not about to tear it out from under him and make it into a hotel.
He’d made no secret of his interest. Conversely, his wedding was almost a national secret. The first I’d heard of it was when Eve flung herself into my lap, which, of course, makes sense now. She’s the perfect woman to help him get his hands on Northaby House and all that it encompasses, and I’m sure he wanted to be certain I wouldn’t reach that same conclusion.
Too bad. His plans won’t be going ahead. I’ll have this monstrosity of a house. Truth be told, I’d raze it to the ground out of sheer spite, but English law tends to be very protective of its heritage. I’ll do a lot for revenge, but that doesn’t include wearing a prison uniform.
I’ll settle for ruining him.
Step 1. Steal the woman he needs.
Fuck with his head. Make him wonder: Is it real between them? Does Deubel know why I proposed? Does Eve?
Step 2. Steal Northaby from under him.
I doubt he’ll ever recover financially. And never professionally. He’ll be utterly humiliated in the eyes of his investors—ruined. Like he almost ruined Lucy.
“It’s still ridiculous.”
I pause before answering. How do I explain this without giving away the most unusual facet of the estate—without revealing her place in this whole scheme? It wouldn’t help either of us for her to know the whole truth.
“It has the potential to make him famous. It’s a celebrated piece of history. Unique. He’d likely become a national celebrity. Not that I’m suggesting he doesn’t also love you,” I add.
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
“You have to admit, there could well have been an element of convenience in his proposal.”
“No one proposes marriage for a business deal.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
“A few days ago, I’m sure you would’ve said the same about his cheating. Now you know differently. Your bridesmaid and my PA.” With a sigh, I sit back.
“Excuse me.” There’s no swift removal from banquet seating. Her movements are ungainly and jerky—my own a little less so as etiquette dictates I also stand.
“Eve.” I wrap my fingers around her forearm, and she stills, but she doesn’t give me her gaze. “I am sorry.” Sorry that it had to be her tangled in this mess. “I promise there is good to come out of this.”
A sudden ache blooms in my chest as she swipes at a tear with the back of her hand. I just want to take her in my arms, but that would make me as bad as him. And the truth is I’ll hurt her much worse than this to get what I want.
“Where are the restrooms?” she asks a passing waitress, an older woman, not the same girl from earlier. The woman’s eyes dip to my fingers, her eyes an angry shade of blue as she misreads the situation.
“Follow me, hon.” Her attention moves to Eve with a smile. “I’m going that way.”
The pair leaves without a backward glance.