Page 234 of Damaged Mogul

“We could go somewhere else and hang out. We don’t have to talk. I want to be here for you.”

Man, this guy drank some of my father’s Kool-Aid. Scratch that. He probably had an immersion baptism in said Kool-Aid.

This madness has gone too far. “Listen, Giuseppe, whatever arrangement your father and my father have, I want no part of it––”

“Our fathers are dead set on this union––”

“I don’t care.”

“It will benefit both our families. That’s how dynasties are built.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

He reaches out for me.

I jerk away from his touch.

A few patrons stare up from their plates, eyebrows cocked.

“Okay.” He nods. “You need a little time––”

“I don’t need more time to accept this preposterous idea.” I’m making a scene and I don’t give a damn. “I’m not dating you. I’m not marrying you.” I set Giuseppe-slash-John straight. “And I don’t want to see you ever again.” Like a demented woman, I bolt out of the restaurant.

Chapter 42

Lily

Three days later

Inibble on a plain croissant like a kid forced to eat broccoli.

“I hope that’s better,” Nadine says.

I drop the croissant on the plate, my eyes shifting to the chocolate croissant I took one bite of and the bowl of latte my stomach didn’t like one bit. “No. It’s not much better.”

“What about some plain yogurt?”

I make a face. “I’ll stick to Perrier.”

After that dreadful meeting with my father, I cried my eyes out all the way home in the back of the taxi. When I got to the brownstone––I video called my best friend. Once I was done telling her about the freak show that is my life, she declared I shouldn’t be alone. To avoid buying a ticket with my puppet master’s Black American Express card and letting him know of my whereabouts, Nadine bought me a last-minute flight to Paris.

Because she’s the best friend in the world, she took the day off, letting her part-time assistant man the shop. After droppingoff my suitcase at her apartment, we walked to Ladurée, located on Rue Bonaparte, in Saint Germain-des-Prés. When the shit hits the fan, you head to one of the best pastry shops in Paris.

Nadine reaches out for my hand. “So much hit you all at once. Three days ago, you got hit with a bad case of food poisoning. On the same day, your father dropped a bomb on you. And the cherry that tops the sundae, he proceeded to shatter your world with that jaw-dropping video. Add to the fact you haven’t slept because you took the redeye and arrived early this morning, it’s no wonder your stomach isn’t cooperating. Give it a few days.”

My body is out of sorts.

My life is a mess.

My heart is broken into millions of irreparable pieces.

The only thing missing is Edith Piaf’s sad song‘Non, je ne regrette rien’as a backdrop to make my misery complete.

“I dodged the bullet with one married asshole cheater, only to fall in love with––”

I clamp my hand over my mouth.

I alluded to it, but coming out and saying it, is a different thing.