Page 101 of Scorned Beauty

I deleted the space between us. Margo’s icy veneer cracked and the first signs of wariness stole over her face. “You manipulative fucking bitch! She could have died.”

“She made a choice to live,” Margo enunciated, sidestepping away from me while narrowing her eyes in warning. “Survival of the fittest has always been the motto of my business. I’m tired of powerful men and women choosing trophy wives and husbands and weakening the gene pool my family took centuries to cultivate. They procreate and produce entitled offsprings who wouldn’t know how to wipe their asses without help. Who are mentally incapable of handling stress without running off to mommy and daddy to fix their problems or getting strung out on coke.” She huffed. “I found the best matches are from crossing old money with new money or the ruthless bosses of the underworld.”

“You make it sound like breeding horses.”

She shrugged. “Call it whatever you like. But it’s a perfect metaphor. The problem with your ilk is to be careful not to end up with psychopathic mass murderers. See my dilemma?”

I would have chuckled if I wasn’t so damn irritated.

“Why am I here?” I asked. “If you won’t tell me anything at all about how to help Sloane, then why call me here?”

“I need to know how far you’re willing to go for her. Is she someone you think you could marry?”

I wanted to say yes. I didn’t understand my feelings for Sloane. “I want to keep her in my life. Make her a priority.”

Her mouth twisted in derision. But her eyes drilled into me and excavated the guilt I thought I had buried about how I had let Sloane down.

“You still can’t say it, can you?”

“I think I love her. Why else would I stalk her in the Outer Banks?”

“It’s not the same. Is your obsession more than your love for her?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Are you willing to put her needs above yours?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because my price isn’t cheap and I need you to follow my instructions.”

“Price for what?”

“To be her fairy godmother.”

I snorted a rough laugh. Margo Winthrop was amusing. “You got to be fucking kidding me. I don’t want Sloane to change.”

“I can make a beautiful woman like Sloane perfect to be at your side in public.”

“What? Give her a new identity? Not gonna happen. She’s perfect the way she is.”

“For someone in your position, you are incredibly naïve.”

I’d had enough of Margo’s bullshit and turned around. “This is a waste of time.”

“Dominic,” she called as I made a move to leave. “She’s perfect for you, but she has tobelieveit.”

“How?” I spun on her, piqued by how she zeroed in on the problem I was trying to figure out. Deep inside, I knew the matchmaker wouldn’t have gotten into her esteemed, veritably untouchable position without shrewd insight into the underpinnings of the world we lived in. “Are you saying you have a plan? Let’s hear it.” Because she was right. These revelations exposed the root of Sloane’s insecurity. That was why my guilt surged back with a vengeance. My words about slumming exacerbated her feelings of inadequacy. It was making me sick to my gut.

“For starters, I sent you an invoice.”

My phone buzzed. “Two hundred fifty large for a flower arrangement. Am I cleaning money for you?”

She shrugged. “That includes a deposit for services and the money I gave Sloane.”

“I didn’t realize I was hiring you.”

“You just did.”