“The man who owned this diamond didn’t want to sell it. But I can be very persuasive.”
The armed guard marched across the stage in complete silence, then halted beside him and one man put on a pair of velvety black gloves, then produced an intricate key and placed it in the lock.
Forrest carefully raised the lid to reveal the biggest pink stone I had ever seen in my life, so big it was obscene, it would swamp my finger, covering my knuckle and all the way up to the joint.
“I love you more than ever. Marry me.”
Sheer fury clogged my throat as I watched him in front of me, down on one knee under the bright spotlight, holding up that massive pink diamond.
And just waiting.
Like he’d wait forever for my answer.
The amphitheater was hushed in anticipation.
“No,” I said, my voice sounding strangled.
“Excuse me?”
“No damn way,” I said, then I said it again, louder, angrier. “No, I’m not going to marry you. How dare you do this? How dare you attempt to manipulate me with this public proposal?”
“I love you, Birdie. Please forgive me. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
“I would not marry you if you were the last crusty old man on the face of the planet!”
And the pain on his face was pissing me off so much, his hand so steady on the ring he was holding up to me, that I swept my hand over it, sending the priceless pink diamond clattering loudly over the stage.
“Hell fucking no!”
Then I turned and stormed off, leaving Forrest on the stage with an open ring box and no finger to put it on.
Where the fuck was the exit? I headed backstage and down a dark hallway, waiting in front of the cloak room to catch my breath.
My costume was tight as hell, and I clutched wildly at the corset strings, desperately trying to loosen them as my breasts heaved with rage.
My skin was buzzing, on fire with emotion. I had never seen him do something as idiotic as that in my life.
Why had he thought I would accept?
People were streaming out of the amphitheater, confused at what the hell they’d just seen.
Was it a rare jewel-like vocal performance by the legendary Forrest Davies-Jones, or the most public humiliation he’d ever received in his storied life? Either way they were consumed with delight at the gossip.
The major music mogul who’d had a death grip on his own public image for the last five damn decades, rejected in front of an audience of thousands.
I was shaking. My dress suddenly felt way too tight, the laces constricted my breasts, and I tore at them, tears of rage in the corners of my eyes.
There was a noise down the hallway and a tall, broad-shouldered figure blotted out the light from the distant foyer.
I turned away from him.
“I hope this cures you of being such a cocky motherfucker.”
He took another step closer, the sharp click of his leather shoes loud on the stone floors.
“It doesn’t. I knew you were going to reject me.”
“Then why did you do it?” I snapped, my chest heaving up and down. “You just got rejected in front of thousands of people.”
