“Seriously, Mateo? God!” I spin on my heel and take out my cell, opening the Uber app. “Call me when you’re sober.”
“Brooklyn—”
I whirl back on him, still angry. “I’d rather be holed up in my room alone than have to listen to this. I came out tonight because I needed my friend, and instead I get…this. Thanks for nothing.” I give a last, halfhearted wave and weave my way through the crowd.
“I’m sorry!” I hear him holler as I make my way to the door.
I sink into the seat in my Uber, picking at the hem of my silly shiny dress. I can’t wait to take it off and bury myself in a pile of bubbles in a bubble bath. I check my cell for anything from Luka. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing. It’s really late, and I wonder if he’s finally home.
The penthouse is quiet when I walk in and put my clutch on the entry table. Turning on a light in the living room, I’m startled to find Luka standing at the living room windows. He turns and holds out his cellphone to display a photo of Mateo kissing me on the cheek, both of us grinning like maniacs.
Luka’s eyes are steely and cold.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my soon-to-be wife, sneaking back in after a night out with another man.”
Luka
Chapter 18
“Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?” I growl, using every ounce of my self-control to keep my hands at my sides.
I’m so angry—no, enraged—that I can barely think straight. Imagine my surprise when my phone started blowing up with social media notifications about my fiancée whoring it up on the dance floor of some club with another man’s lips all over her.
I know it’s her friend Mateo. But the rest of the world doesn’t.
Besides, no man’s mouth should be anywhere on her body.
Only mine.
Mine.
“You don’t own my body,” she says, copping an attitude and throwing a hand on her hip.
She thinks I don’t own her? She’s about to learn otherwise. I storm toward her. She lifts her chin and holds her ground, watching me approach. How can she be so calm in the face of the storm I’m creating? I want to punch something. To take her in my arms and show her just how much I own every inch of her skin. I stop before I touch her, keeping enough space between us that I don’t do something stupid, like tear that damn silver dress off her perfect body.
“Yourimageis owned by me, in case you’ve forgotten, and I have the contract to prove it,” I tell her. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re out at a club or on a set—the same rules apply.”
Brooklyn’s jaw clenches. “Mateo asked me to go to an opening with him, so I went. It wasn’t an official public appearance.”
“Oh really? Because it looks pretty official to me.”
I flip through the images of her on the dance floor, holding them at an angle so she can see. They’re still popping up all over social media, one after the other. She’s not looking at the photos, though. She’s looking at me, as if waiting for my next move.
I thrust the phone closer so she has to look. “I didn’t give you permission for this.” A picture of Brooklyn laughing, drink in her hand, half of her perfect breast exposed, has me especially angry. “And what about this, huh? Did I approve this?”
She glares at me. “Did you approvewhat? I don’t need your permission to go out with a friend, Luka.”
“You put yourself in a public space without any of my input into your creative choices, or the setting.”
She scoffs at me. “Creative choices? You’re being ridiculous.”
I take a step back and gesture to her dress. She looks down at herself, then back at me with confusion. I know that I’m being a dick, but I don’t care.
“Image is everything right now,” I insist. “Your image tonight was all wrong.” I lean in toward her, but she shifts back, diverting the touch she thought was coming. Her aversion only flames my anger.
“The club choice was a mistake,” I go on. “Did you even think to research the place before you made a public appearance? I’m guessing not, or you would have known that the owner recently got out of prison for running cocaine in the pockets of underage girls. How’s that for DRM’s stellar new image?”
Her face pales a little.
