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Hell, that would explain why and how all these women are on the list.

They are rich. They all look like they were born with silver spoons in their mouths.

They are gorgeous, the type of gorgeous that would have men lining up to worship at their feet.

Green envy paints my insides the more I look at all these women.

My wolf wants me to burn their pictures and not pick anyone.

The not-so-naive part of my brain reminds me that Alaric Hell broke me apart, and he’ll always be off limits, whether or not he kissed me.

But all these women? Did he kiss them too? Did he sleep with them?

Even with Amanda fucking Brighton?

Refusing to subject myself to this torture, I put on my big girl pants pick a random woman, and close the file without so much as a glance. By the time I lift my head to look at the clock on the wall, it’s already my lunch break.

Alaric hasn’t shown up to the office.

I have been picking women for that asshole, and it’s already my lunch break. Great, just great.

I put the file among the others on my desk.

I take my purse, urging myself that this would be the perfect time to catch up with my colleagues over lunch break.

My heels clack against the floor, the sound grating against my insides. Uneasiness twists in my stomach as my finger presses the cold metallic button of the elevator.

It takes about two minutes for the elevator doors to chime open and a second for me to step in.

I press the number thirty, barely aware I have company until I cock my head to the side and nearly scream my lungs out.

He’s dressed in a three-piece suit, his broad shoulders and lean waist filling it out perfectly.

My eyes lock with his blue ones. The same eyes that ooze charm when his personality is anything but charming.

His golden hair has grown out a lot, like he couldn’t care whether it still remained shiny and pristine.

His lips curl into a smile, and I move faster than he can spew his nonsense.

Unfortunately, he’s too fast for me, because he cages me against the steel walls of the elevator with both his hands on my waist.

“Let me go! Let me go right now, Julian.”

“Is this how you greet me, peaches? After six fucking years of not seeing each other?”

Chapter Eleven

LILA WINTER

“Peaches.”

The nickname slithers over my skin like poison. He’s in my personal space, close enough that I can’t fucking breathe without inhaling the same cologne that used to do something to my insides.

Six fucking years, and he still wears the same cologne.

Six years, and he still has the same cocky smile that once won me over.

It’s been six years since I found this despicable man cheating on me with another woman. The pain of hearing him call me a “game” while he was ramming inside another woman slams into me like a wrecking ball, a vicious reminder of why I hate Julian Hells.