12.1
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
PASHA
I should’ve walked away before I ever kissed her. I didn’t.
I should’ve walked away before we set the painting on fire. I didn’t.
I should’ve walked away before I fucked her, or during, or after, or at any point in the moments that have
followed.
But I didn’t. I can’t bring myself to do it.
Even now, as Daphne chews on a French fry and gazes thoughtfully out of the diner window, I find myself lingering, though the hours keep ticking past like someone’s playing tricks on me with the clock
hands.
“So tell me about that painting,” I say, if only to stop the reckless thoughts from spiraling out of control.
Daphne snorts. “You mean the five–million dollar masterpiece we just burned?”
“That’s the one I was referring to, yes.”
She sighs and stirs her raspberry iced tea for a moment. “The original sketch was mine. Of me, I mean. I was his model, his muse, his grande belle. He’d just started laying down the first layers when…”
“When they started fucking around.”
Daphne casts a panicked glance around the diner. “Shh! Yeah!”
I laugh. “It’s practically midnight. Anyone here is either too tired to hear us or too drunk to care.”
“Still.”
A
pussy and
I have to secretly confess an admiration for her sense of propriety. Even after tasting her
making her scream my name–real music to my ears–she carries herself with grace and dignity.
“Is that what tipped you off to the affair?”
She squirms in her seat. I know I’m inviting myself into her personal life, but I’m curious to know what exactly I walked my way into. I went to the gallery expo for a painting, for fuck’s sake. And instead of leaving with one, I burned five million dollars into ashes and then pounded my release into the artist’s ex.
Who is now looking at me like she expects me to backhand her into the booth seat if she speaks so much
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Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets
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Chapter 15
as one syllable out of place.
The fuck kind of number did Ewing do to her?
“No.” Daphne takes a tentative sip of her tea. “I did notice some alterations at first, but… artists, you know? Especially the abstract ones. No, it was the, ah, photo she sent him that popped up while he was taking a shower.”
Something ugly boils up inside me at the mental image of Daphne, naked and in Ewing’s bed, while he’s in the shower washing off whatever pathetic attempt at sex he’d just done to her body.
I shake it off. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Not my woman.
Immediately, every fiber of my instinct challenges that last thought with a resounding, Yes, the fuck she is.
“Photo.” I force myself to keep my voice calm. It’s not her fault I’m feeling a very misplaced sense of possessiveness over her.
“Yeah. One she took while they were… Ah, I suppose ‘doing it‘ is the technical term.”
I snort a laugh. I can’t help it. Stereotypical idiots playing stereotypically idiotic games.
But when I see the crestfallen expression on her face, I regret it. “Do they know just how stupid they really are?”
“No. Not at all.” “But you’re smart.”
Daphne flashes those magnetic blue eyes at me. “Am I? Because this sure doesn’t feel smart.”
“What doesn’t?” I cock my head to one side. “You left him. You left both of them to burn their world down together. You showed them, both of them, what happens to people who fuck you over. And then you took the most gorgeous man at the event and rode him until you were done with him. That sounds pretty
damn smart to me.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my ever–loving mind. What the fuck do I know? Maybe I have.
What I do know is that for some inexplicable reason, I need to see her smile
–and when it breaks across her face and she laughs, it’s almost as good as feeling her fingers digging into
my back.
“Wow.” Daphne shakes her head and tries to stifle her laughter. “When you put it like that… I am so messed up.”
“Yeah, well, you’re in good company.”
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She steadies her gaze on me. The smile stays where it is, thankfully, “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s got you so messed up? I mean, no sane man just literally blows away five million. You must have some skeletons in the closet.”
If only she knew. It’s cute that she thinks she has nothing to do with my insanity. To be fair, there’s more than enough to answer that question long before meeting her tonight.
I’m just not at liberty to talk about any of it.
I roll my shoulder in a half–shrug. “Family, mostly. Growing up with expectations no one is ever able to
fill no matter how perfect they are.”
Daphne scoffs. “Tell me about it.” “Rough upbringing?”
“Oh, no. Don’t try to turn it around. This is about you now.”
I feign surprise and point to my chest; she grins and nods. In mock surrender, I sigh and slump back in my seat. “I swear, I’m really not that interesting.”
“Says the man with five million to quite literally burn.” “Trust fund kid.”
“Bullshit.”
Damn. I really like her. She meets me eye–to–eye and doesn’t fawn over me like every other woman who sees my black American Express card and instantly wants to become a sugar baby.
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