More Than A Vow: Vows of Revenge / After Their Vows / Vows Made in Secret. Michelle ReidЧитать онлайн книгу.
lip curled in revulsion. She shook her head. “That’s not what—”
“Melodie,” he interrupted coldly. “This isn’t a conversation. I don’t care what you have to say. I’m simply telling you that your idea to use my PA to infiltrate my home has failed.”
“I’m not infiltrating! I’m planning her wedding—”
“No. You’re not,” he informed, oddly empty of feeling as he served up the next slice of his revenge. This should feel good, but it just made him bitter. “I’ve instructed Ingrid to fire you. If she wants to hold her wedding here, which she does, she will find another planner. One who actually does this sort of thing for a living.”
* * *
Melodie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clammy fear was pulsing through her, killing her afterglow and beginning to make her feel dirty and cheap. She was sitting here half-naked, a very personal tenderness reminding her of what they’d been doing a few short minutes ago.
Snatching up the bathing-suit bottom, she tucked her feet into it and worked it up her legs, giving Roman her back as she pulled it into place. Her skin felt flayed under his regard, her inner self yanked into the open, kicked and spat on.
It was such a shock her mind could hardly make sense of it. All she knew was that this had something to do with her father and Anton. She knew all too well what a bitter taste they left in one’s mouth. She clung to reason with her fingernails, tried to regain her poise and some semblance of control over this crazed situation.
She didn’t sleep with strangers. She didn’t—
Think, Melodie.
“You can’t fire me,” she said firmly. “I have a contract.” She reached through the neckline of the shirt to straighten the bikini top. Where was her power suit when she needed it?
“Do not charge any cancellation fees,” he warned. “If you try to recover any costs from this trip, if you so much as contact Ingrid to plead your case, I will make this worse than a job loss and eviction. Now go home, tell your father you failed and never come after me again.”
“Stop,” she insisted, spinning to confront him with an upraised hand, barely able to process what he was saying—eviction? She knew the cold fury and bloodlust that came of dealing with her father and half brother. Better than he ever would. She just needed to make him realize they were on the same side. “Roman, listen. I have nothing to do with him or Anton. Firing me will not impact them at all.”
“It’s time to leave,” he said with quiet frost.
“They’re not even going to know,” she asserted, hearing the crack of growing emotion in her voice and clawing hard to keep her cool. It was really hard when voices in the back of her head were saying, They’re still doing it. They’re still able to hurt you. “What you’re doing impacts me, not them.”
“You’re all one and the same.” The Gautier lack of mercy left a virulent flatness behind his eyes. Broader understanding began to hit. He really thought she was some kind of spy. That she had been put up to this by her father and brother.
Oh, she vaguely knew what her brother did for a living. She’d never understood how. He was the furthest thing from a techno-genius, and now pieces were falling together. Of course Anton would have stolen the product that had filled his bank account. Of course her father would have covered for him and profited along with him.
“I don’t know how to convince you, but you’re wrong. Before you go through with all this, stop. Think about what you’re doing. Give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s no stopping. It’s done,” he said matter-of-factly.
She swallowed, barely breathing, not wanting to believe him.
“You’ve already told Ingrid—”
“I emailed her before you reached the top of the stairs.”
She shook her head, absorbing the magnitude of losing this contract. This wedding was supposed to put her on the map. She was finally starting a real job. A career she could feel excitement about. No more juggling two or three minimum-wage jobs at makeup counters or bistros. Her aspirations of finally moving into a decent apartment, maybe traveling because she wasn’t tied down by her mother and debt, dimmed and doused like a candlewick gutting out, leaving only a wisp of smoke to sting her nostrils.
“You can’t do this,” she insisted numbly. Her mind leaped to wondering if she could start over somewhere, but as he’d pointed out, there was an investment in starting up a business like this. Without Ingrid’s payment, she was in a very deep hole. Then there was the loss of Ingrid’s circle of contacts. Starting over meant starting at the bottom, not stepping into a tony crowd with money and taste. “You’re destroying my life,” she informed him, heart beginning to tremble in her chest.
“Be sure to tell your father exactly how it feels.”
He wasn’t going to hear her on the lack of communication between her and Garner. She wouldn’t bother mentioning it again. This was happening. She could see his resolve and, if dealing with her father had taught her nothing else, she had learned to accept that there was evil in this world. The best you could do was mitigate the damage.
Exactly what was the damage?
“What...?” She was afraid to ask. “What did you say about eviction?”
He folded his arms, feet planted firmly. “I’ve made an offer to the owner of your building, one he can’t refuse. It’s on condition that your unit be made available immediately.”
Fury closed her fists into painful knots. “You can’t do that.”
He didn’t react beyond saying, “Your things are being removed as we speak.”
“To where?” she cried.
“The nearest Dumpster?” he offered with a pitiless shrug.
“You—” Her voice caught and realization began to squeeze her in its icy fingers. Fine quakes accosted her. She shook her head in convulsive denial as the buildup of emotion threatened to break the walls of her control. One thought formed and clung like a teardrop to a lash. “You’re having my mother thrown in the Dumpster. Is that what you’re saying? What the hell kind of man are you? There are laws.”
His brows jerked together, the first sign of emotion since they’d been writhing with passion. “What do you mean?”
“My mother’s ashes are in my apartment. You can’t just throw someone away like that. You can’t even—” Oh, what the hell did a man like him care about how hard it was to make the arrangements for scattering ashes?
Anxiety brought tears to her eyes, and she dashed them away, furious that she was breaking down, but this was the last straw. Losing things, starting over, having nowhere to live... Those were all problems she’d overcome before. Defiling her mother’s remains was more than she could withstand. Her breath hissed in her pinched nostrils while her mind raced through all the hours of travel it would take to get back to Virginia to save her.
“I’ll make a call,” he said.
Because the wheels were already in motion.
It hit her that he’d been making these arrangements yesterday, long before he’d kissed her in the cabana. He had set up all these horrible things, consigned her mother to the Dumpster, then had sex with her. She recoiled as she realized he’d already been filled with hatred and thoughts of revenge as he’d carried her to this bed.
Her revulsion must have shown. He reacted with a dark flinch.
“I will,” he assured her, glancing around as though he was looking for the nearest phone.
“You’ll make a call,” she repeated as she edged toward hysteria. “You’re just