His eyes sparkle with interest as he tilts his head. “An ex?”
I don’t answer, but my cheeks heat enough that he can probably tell anyway.
“An ex,” he repeats, but it’s not a question now. “Very trusting.”
“Anyway, he defaulted,” I go on, and I hate how stupid I feel. “So I have to pay the balance.”
When a smile spreads over his face, I glare at him again, my irritation simmering just below the surface. “Is this funny to you?”
“Not at all,” Roman says cheerfully. “I just continue to find myself baffled by the men you allow into your life. Especially given your…” He trails off delicately, waving one hand at me, and I bristle.
“Given my…what?” I say.
“Your overall demeanor,” he says. “I suppose you like men you don’t have to take too seriously.”
This hits closer to home than I prefer, so I ignore it. “Anyway, I find myself in sudden need of extra funds.”
He tilts his head. “Have you talked to this guy yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Do you need help tracking him down?” he goes on. “Because I have resources?—”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I say firmly. Then I jerk my chin at him, straightening up once more. “Now answer me. Are you going to stay there?”
“Depends.” His lips tug into a little smile, and somehow the dimples make him look even more youthful. “Tell me to leave.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Tell me to leave,” he repeats. “If you want me to go, tell me to go. Don’t be shy.”
My brows furrow into a frown, my hand tightening around the stapler I’m holding. “I’m not shy.”
He looks at me expectantly, and although he doesn’t say anything, I can hear his message loud and clear:Prove it.
“Go,” I say with a roll of my eyes. I point out the door and resist the urge to stomp my foot like a child. “Please. Now.Leave.”
And with a satisfied smirk and a sardonic bow, he turns silently and leaves my sight.
I mutter several unflattering things under my breath, startling when I hear his voice.
“Sorry, did you say something?” he calls, and I clear my throat.
“Nope. Nothing.”
ROMAN
Aurora Marigold has morepurpose in cleaning one house than I have in my entire life. She’s down there attacking my grandfather’s old desk so she can earn back the money she was forced to pay, while I’m sitting around doing…
Nothing. I’m doing nothing.
Oh, I have responsibilities. But they’re mostly related to the several weeks of work I’m putting in at Soul2Soul, and they’re minimal, because I really am more of a babysitter for the company than an actual authority figure.
So here I sit, in a house I inherited, in clothing purchased with money I didn’t earn, and all I feel is disgust—especially because I brought this situation on myself. There was a time when this life was the life I wanted. I wanted to play. I wanted to have fun.
And I still want those things. But this way of living has begun to feel empty. Meaningless.
A surge of frustration rises inside of me, and I swallow it down before digging my phone out of my pocket. I stare vaguely out my bedroom window as I call my sister.
