Page 71 of Lovely Venom

“Like you did with Marco?”

I regret the words when she shuts down and curls into herself. It was an asshole remark, but there’s still a part of me that can’t justify her reasoning, even though I know what it was.

“I wasn’t in the market for Prince Charming,” she says quietly. “I knew exactly what Marco was, and what he’d never be. At least…I thought I did.”

The shame in her voice doesn’t sit well with me, and I wish I’d never brought it up.

“He fooled a lot of people,” I tell her. “Including me.”

She nods, and a beat passes before I check the time on my watch.

“I have to go. There are guards outside the house, so you’ll be safe while I’m gone.”

“I don’t need guards,” she protests. “I won’t even be here anyway. I have plans with Lucia.”

Bypassing the conversation about the guards, I focus on the more pressing issue.

“What plans?”

“These conversations might be less exhausting if you just put a tracker in me. Then you’ll always know where I am.”

It’s tempting to tell her I already know where she is because there’s a tracker on her phone. But if she keeps arguing with me like this, I won’t make it to the club because I’ll be too busy employing a better use for her mouth.

“I’m not against the idea. Now tell me what you’re doing.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know. Dinner and drinks. Girl stuff.”

That’s way too vague for my liking, but ultimately, I let it go because I’ll have someone watching her regardless.

“Be good, Mrs. Vitale,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door.

“Yeah, sure,” she quips. “Have fun on your hot date.”

“You’re late.” Angelo glances up at me from my desk.

“Something came up.”

“What, your dick?” He levels me with his signature stare.

“Where are they?” I ask, wondering why he’s loitering in my office.

“They’re down the hall with Olivier Rochefort.”

“The artist?”

Angelo nods. “He offered them a private showing of his latest work.”

“Didn’t trust me to handle the deal?” Irritation edges its way into my voice.

“The deal should have been wrapped up days ago,” he counters. “We’re not handing this partnership to Ares.”

I grab a glass from the bar cart and pour myself some whiskey. “I said I was handling it.”

“By handling it, you mean leaving out the important detail that Bastien requires a marriage contract with his daughter?”

I scrape a hand over my face as the suffocating weight of pressure bears down on me.

“I was negotiating with him.”