Page 43 of Handsome Devil

Did he stalk me?

If so,why?

It was hypocritical of me to judge him for stalking. A few years back, I did the same thing to someone else. But still…

My thoughts scattered like marbles, running in a million directions. Tate knew me well before I knew him.

I’d been the center of this man’s attention long before I learned of his existence.

Every fine hair on my body stood on end.

“As I said.” Tate unbuckled and yanked the keys from the ignition lock, unaware he’d given himself away in this crucial, small detail. “I haven’t a chivalrous bone in my entire body. I will retaliate and twice as hard. Play your cards right, and I will give you half my kingdom. Defy me, and you’ll lose everything that’s dear and precious to you.” He kept his little finger on my neck, relishing the rhythm of my hammering pulse, his thumb brushing my lower lip down. He stared at my mouth with those unsettling eyes, unblinking. “Do you want me to destroy your life, Gia?”

I shook my head faintly.

“Good. Now, you are going to get out of this car. I will drape you in my coat to hide those lovely legs I cannot wait to have wrapped around my fucking shoulders, and you will choose a ring no cheaper than one million dollars. There’s paparazzi waiting outside, so you’ll be on your best behavior. You will gaze up at me lovingly, point at different rings, and generally have a good fucking time.” His voice was low, steady, smoky. “Am I understood?”

I clutched my seashell bracelet in a death grip.

You are your father’s daughter. You won’t cower to this arse.

“As you wish.” I slammed my teeth over the tip of his thumb, desperate to hurt him back.

Tate grinned, placing his thumb in his mouth and sucking off the little blood I drew.

“Now that’s a good girl.”

Three days later, chef Ambrose “Row” Casablancas almost tore my door off of its hinges, galloping into my office. Even without looking at him, I sensed the blistering waves of anger pouring out of his massive body.

He was a basic creature. Like a fish, but with the ability to make a decent omelet.

“This is bullshit.” He slammed a piece of paper over my desk, splintering the wood with his paw.

“You finally learned how to read.” I didn’t raise my gaze from the bylaws I was skimming. “Congratulations. You’re almost ready for a big kid bed now.”

“This is my letter of resignation from La Vie en Rogue, effective immediately. I’m selling my shares and washing my hands of the restaurant completely if you don’t let that poor woman go.”

I sat back, weaving my fingers together and staring at him drily. The man was as philanthropic as a lethal injection. My guess was he didn’t give half a shit about Gia’s well-being. His wife twisted his balls, and he sang whatever tune she fed him.

Row was pathetically pussy-whipped.

Row and I co-owned a two-location restaurant chain called La Vie en Rogue in London and Edinburgh. Business was booming. So was his voice when he didn’t get any response from me.

“Seriously, Tate, what thefuckis wrong with you?”

I sighed. “Neither of us has time for that exhaustive list.”

Speaking of royal fuckups, I spotted Rhyland, Row’s best friend and his sister’s husband, from the corner of my eye through the glass wall.

He was skulking his way to my office, ignoring my lip-biting, horny employees that eye screwed him. He flung the door open and slammed it behind him, pinning me with a glare.

“Who let you both in?” I asked calmly.

“The person whose life you’re ruining,” Rhyland retorted.

I scowled. “You’re going to have to be way more specific than that.”

“Gia,” both men exclaimed in unison.