Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Do you?”
“Possibly,” I say, shrugging.
“I don’t. It’s purely an obsession you have with one another until it dies. Because obsessions always do.”
I side-eye him, infuriated by his attractiveness even at this angle. He has his fist closed under his jaw as he watches passersby. Not with curiosity but almost as if he’s a king in his domain, irritated that they’re in his way.
It’s not that I’m surprised the man doesn’t believe in love. He obviously doesn’t have an ounce of care or kindness in his body. But it’s in the venomous way that he says it. A previous sweetheart, perhaps? Maybe even Mommy and Daddy issues. Lord knows we all have them. Of all the criminals I’ve studied and interacted with, I have the impression he might be the most cruelly cut.
“Take a photo, princess. It lasts longer.”
I feel heat flush my cheeks, irritated that my stare lingered so long. And worse, he always seems to know when I’m looking.
The car slows to a stop, and he exits and walks around to my side. Opening the door, he offers me his hand, but I refuse to take it as I climb out and grip my purse to myself.
It still doesn’t add up.
All he talks about is marriage.
He’s a man who doesn’t believe in love and could own the world if he wanted to. So why stalk me?
“So what’s the point of marriage?” I ask as he strides into the restaurant, straight past the hostess, and keeps going to a booth in the back. He waves for me to enter, and he sits across from me after I sit. I hate how this was all just so conveniently prepared for us. He knew I would come with him and I find that so infuriating.
“Marriage is just another contract,” he says, reaching for the water and pouring us a glass each. “It’s a deal between two people, and this arrangement could benefit you wisely. Not only would you have status, but you would be one of the most feared women ever.”
“I don’t care to be feared unless it’s in the courtroom,” I inform him. He sits back and takes me in. That cool, harsh gaze on me as if he’s deciding what to do with me. “Why am I here?”
He pulls out the box again, placing it on the table between us as the waitress comes over. I take a sharp, constricted breath at the sight of the damn box right in front of me. Just by looking at the box I know this ring cost a small fortune. This fucking box is going to be the death of me. I want to throw it across the room, but if anything, he’ll demand I get on all fours to crawl and bring it back to him.
I scan the menu as he orders a steak and waits for me to speak.
“I’ll have the green curry buddha bowl, please.” When I’m finished, I hand her the menu, but her gaze is on Crue. And his gaze is fixated on me.
“Why no meat?” he asks, effectively dismissing the waitress.
“It’s something I decided on many years ago and never went back,” I reply, my gaze leaving his face and falling to the box.
“You can open it.”
A part of me really wants to, just to look at what he got, knowing it will be stunning. But the other part knows how stupid that would be—to even look at the ring because it would give him hope, which I don’t want to give him.
Instead, I meet his gaze again, my disinterest evidence enough that I am not going to play into his game.
“How long have you been in charge? What do you call it these days… a mafia kingpin?” I say with an eye roll.
He quirks an unfriendly smile and leans in. “Your father is a part of us, so why the attitude?” And before I can answer, he raises a brow. “Kingpin?”
I shrug. “Sounded good. Fitting, really.”
“I like to just go with ‘boss.’” He smirks as the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine. She fills our glasses in silence and places the bottle on the table before she walks off again, obviously offended that he hasn’t offered her one ounce of attention since we arrived. And I don’t know why, but, for some reason, having this powerful man’s undivided attention is nice. Even if he is batshit crazy. Damn, am I really that desperate to scratch my itch? I down a mouthful of the wine, desperate for relief from all the menacing ways this man seems to crawl under my skin.
“I’m sure you can marry any woman,” I point out and nod to the box.
“It’s you I want.”
“You don’t even know me,” I remind him, then take another sip, which he seems to find almost amusing, before he takes a mouthful of his own. “And I don’t know you.”