His blue eyes hold mine for several heartbeats. “Think about it, Harley. A flower can’t bloom without dirt. What if you’re a hair away from burgeoning?”
As a former florist, his words speak to my soul.
I bite hard against my lower lip to stop my face from screwing up with tears. I’ve already ugly-cried enough times in front of this gorgeous man.
My, my, my. We spotted Devlyn Frostburg at the trendy Eleven Madison Park, and girlfriend wasn’t agreeable. Is she ever?We simply wanted to know abouther life plans. Since the sky is the limit now that she’s a lottery winner who won an eye-popping stash, what did she intend to do with that windfall of money? After all, her and her ex made history by becoming the first people to win the biggest lottery prize of all time and landed in the Guinness World Records. Winning $3.4 billion right after turning forty is an exciting way to kick off a new decade of one’s life.
Seems like Devlyn is as sour in her 40s as she was in her 30s.
She told us—and she was definitely slurring her words—her ex, Kazimir Lindström, had the luxury of donating the entirety of his share after tax because he owns several businesses, but she’sjusta working single mom, trying to make ends meet.
Single mom to an adult son who happens to be an NHL hockey player. Dear Devlyn made that drunken statement after stepping out of a pricey New York restaurant, decked out in monogram designer wear. Cry me a river.
Will Kazimir’s camp respond? Or will he keep his head low and ignore his ex-wife’s attempt at poking the bear?
#JustSpottedNYC #SpillingTheTea
Chapter 9
A more approachable Kazimir Lindström
Kazimir
With my arms weighed down with bags, I wave my foot under the bumper to close the trunk of my Mercedes Benz tank, round the vehicle, and enter my home.
My phone rings.
I drop the bags I’m holding on the console. By the time my hands are free, the call goes to voicemail.
I redial my publicist’s number. “Hey, Alina.”
“If you’re busy, Kaz, I can call at another time.”
“My hands were full, that’s why I couldn’t answer. I’m all yours now.”
I walk back to the door and shut it. Homes on Grace Court Alley tend to attract a lot of attention from thestreets. Passersby are always eager to get a peek inside.
Alina lets out a sigh.
My stomach tightens. “What is it?”
“It’s Devlyn.”
“We’re divorced.” I exhale a frustrated breath. “Why is it that I still have to deal with that woman?”
“I swear to God, she needs to hire a publicist who can speak on her behalf or learn to shut her mouth.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“A reporter fromThe New York Tribune’s“Culture & Style” section asked her a straightforward question, but Devlyn had to turn it into a ‘poor me’ moment.”
“What lies did my ex-wife feed the reporter?”
I kick off my Converse, remove my socks, and stuff them into the shoes. I pick up Harley’s discarded beat-up ones that look more gray than white that are flipped sideways and align both pairs side by side.
The difference in size is comical.
“This woman is the definition of being entitled.”
