Page 24 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Katarina

I 've never seen a man look so fucking good standing in front of a grimy warehouse. He looks like everything in this place is beneath him, and maybe it is. What do I really know about the guy? He could be in the fucking mafia for all I know.

“Call me when you're done shopping,” Conrad says, leaning back into the car. His eyes flick over my body like he's memorizing every inch. “Henry will take you anywhere you want.”

I roll my eyes. “I can take the bus or subway like a normal person, you know.”

“Not fucking happening.” His jaw tightens, and I can almost hear his teeth grinding, and it’s like music to my ears, knowing how easily I get under his skin. “Henry drives you today. That's non-negotiable.”

I'm about to argue when he dips his head down and presses a kiss to my forehead. The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that the words die in my throat. His thumb brushes over my lips, rough pad catching on the sensitive skin.

“Be good,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear it. “And if you can't be good, at least be careful. And remember the most important thing of all, have fun spending my money.”

Before I can respond, he closes the door and steps back. Through the tinted window, I watch him standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving the car as Henry pulls away. He looks like a man staking a claim, marking his territory.

The partition between the front and back seats slides down with a soft mechanical hum.

“Where would you like to go first, Miss Katarina?” Henry asks, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I fidget, still not quite believing this is happening. “Um, somewhere I can get basics? T-Mart, maybe?”

Henry's eyebrows shoot up so fast I almost laugh. “With all due respect, Miss Katarina, Mr. Gallo would prefer you shop somewhere…more upscale.”

“Would he now?” I mutter, crossing my arms. “Well, I'd prefer not to have my entire apartment flooded, but we don't always get what we want, do we?”

Henry's lips twitch like he's suppressing a smile. “Perhaps we could compromise. There's a shopping center downtown with stores at various price points.”

I slump back against the leather seat because Henry hasn’t done anything wrong and I’m not about to take my annoyance out on him. “Fine. Downtown it is.”

As Henry navigates through traffic, I stare out the window, trying to process the surreal turn my life has taken.

Twenty-four hours ago, I was just a broke bartender with a shitty, flooded apartment avoiding my boss.

Now I'm being chauffeured around in a luxury car with a black card burning a hole in my pocket.

This shopping center is a fucking maze of glass and chrome. There are sculptures that look like giant dildos, and the music is pretentious as hell, so I know people are spending like three hundred dollars on a plain white t-shirt and thinking to themselves how reasonable that is.

“I really don't need you to follow me around, Henry,” I say as we step through the doors of a shop. “I'm a big girl. I can shop by myself.”

Henry gives me a look that somehow manages to be both polite and completely dismissive of what I just said.

It’s like I suggested the dumbest thing in the world. I roll my eyes but don't push it. If the poor guy has to report back to Conrad about my every move, so be it.

An hour later, I'm standing in front of a mirror in some overpriced boutique, trying on jeans that cost more than my old rent. They make my ass look incredible, but Jesus Christ, who pays four hundred dollars for denim?

“These are ridiculous,” I mutter, turning to check out the back view.

The salesgirl hovers nearby; her smile plastic and practiced. “They're our most popular style. The designer personally?—”

“I don't care if the designer personally stitched them with thread made from his own hair,” I cut her off. “They're just jeans.”

Her smile tightens. I can practically see her mentally calculating her commission slipping away.

I sigh and check the tag again. The jeans do make my ass look like a work of art. “Fine. I'll take them.”

Three stores later, I've accumulated exactly two bags containing the bare essentials—some jeans, t-shirts, underwear, and a couple of bras. Nothing fancy, nothing that really screams “I'm spending someone else's money.” Just practical shit I need to survive.

Ugh, Henry is nice, but shopping with him isn’t exactly fun.

I wish Frankie were here instead of being whisked away at some mountain mansion with her ex’s rich ass daddy.

Maybe I should’ve let Conrad come along after all.

At least then I could’ve had fun pushing his buttons and watching the veins in his neck pop out as he restrains himself in public.

Conrad's name flashes on the screen with a text message from the devil himself.

Mr. Tall and Annoying

Stop fucking around and buy some goddamn things. You've spent less than two thousand dollars. If you don't fucking buy everything, and I do mean everything you need, then I'm firing Henry for letting you do this shit.

My blood fucking boils as I read the message. I clutch the phone so hard my knuckles turn white.

“That motherfucking control freak!” I snarl loud enough that a woman with a designer purse clutched to her chest gives me a scandalized look before hurrying away.

“Miss Katarina? Is everything alright?” Henry asks, his usually impassive face showing a hint of concern.

I thrust my phone at him. “Look at this shit! He's threatening to fire you because I'm not spending enough of his precious money!”

Henry's eyes widen slightly as he reads the text. “Mr. Gallo can be...intense when he doesn't get his way.”

“Intense? He's a fucking psychopath!” I snatch my phone back, fury coursing through my veins. “Well, if he wants me to spend his money, I'll fucking spend his money.”

I spin on my heel and march toward the most expensive boutique in the shopping center, the one with a single mannequin in the window wearing what looks like a napkin that probably costs more than a car payment.

“Miss Katarina—” Henry starts, but I'm already storming through the door.

“I need everything,” I announce to the startled sales associate, a rail-thin woman with a severe bob. “The most expensive shit you have. All of it.”

The woman blinks, then recovers with practiced smoothness. “Of course. What kind of pieces were you looking for?”

“Surprise me,” I say, slapping Conrad's black card on the counter. “Just make it expensive.”

Thirty minutes later, I'm walking out with four massive shopping bags filled with ridiculous designer clothes I'll never wear. Thousands of dollars’ worth of pure spite purchases.

“Next,” I say to Henry, who's struggling to keep up with me. “Where's the fanciest lingerie store in this place?”

Henry's ears turn red. “I believe that would be Luxe, on the third floor.”

“Perfect.”

At Luxe, I buy every ridiculous, overpriced scrap of lace they try to sell me. Teddies with more cutouts than fabric. Bras that look like they were designed by a horny architect. Crotchless panties that make Henry stare determinedly at his shoes when the saleswoman holds them up.

“This one says 'fuck me' without saying a word,” the saleswoman purrs, holding up a black lace number.

“I'll take three,” I say, not even looking at the price tag. “In different colors.”

By the time we leave Luxe, I've dropped another four thousand dollars, and Henry's face has settled into a permanent flush.

“Shoes next,” I announce, marching toward a store with a single stiletto on a pedestal in the window.

I buy six pairs of shoes I can barely walk in and a purse that costs more than my first car.

By the time we stagger back to the car, Henry's arms are loaded with bags, and my anger has crystallized. I'm not just pissed—I'm fucking furious that Conrad thinks he can manipulate me like this, threatening someone's livelihood to get me to bend to his will.

“One more stop, Henry,” I say as he arranges the bags in the trunk.

“Yes, Miss Katarina?” He looks exhausted but dutiful.

“The women's shelter on Parkway. The one with the donation center.”

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and something passes between us—understanding, maybe even approval. He nods once and pulls away from the curb.

Twenty minutes later, we're parked outside a modest building with a sign reading “New Beginnings Women's Center.” I grab armfuls of bags.

“Need some help?” Henry asks, already reaching for more bags.

“Fuck yes,” I grunt, nearly toppling under the weight of designer bullshit.

Inside, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes greets us at the reception desk. Her name tag reads “Gloria.”

“Hi there,” I say, dropping the bags at her feet. “I'd like to donate all of this. It's new, tags still on. Designer stuff.”

Gloria's eyes widen as she peeks into one of the bags. “Oh my goodness. This is…this is incredibly generous.”

I shrug. “The women here deserve nice things too.”

We make two more trips to the car, unloading every ridiculous spite purchase I made. Watching Gloria's face light up as she sees what's in each bag—the dresses, the shoes, even the lingerie—feels better than any shopping spree ever could.

“Many of our women are starting over with nothing,” Gloria explains, her voice thick with emotion. “Having something beautiful, something that makes them feel special...it means more than you know.”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. “I get it. Starting over sucks.”

Once everything is inside, I pull out my phone and snap a quick picture of the donation receipt Gloria handed me, the center's logo clearly visible. I add the photo in a text to Conrad.

Went on a shopping spree like you wanted. Bought everything that caught my eye. Then I donated it all to the women's shelter. Thought they could use some nice shit more than I could. Go fuck yourself and don't EVER threaten someone's job again just to control me.

I hit send with my middle finger, satisfaction coursing through me like a drug. My phone immediately starts ringing, but I decline the call with a vicious sort of pleasure.

“Henry,” I say, turning to the driver who's watching me with a carefully neutral expression, “I'm sorry he threatened your job. That was fucked up.”

Henry's lips twitch. “I don’t believe he meant it, Miss Katarina.”

“Well, it's still bullshit.” My phone buzzes again with another call. I decline it again. “Take me somewhere I can actually buy the stuff I need. T-Mart, Karsons, I don't care. Somewhere normal people shop.”

“As you wish.” There's definitely a hint of amusement in his voice now.

My phone pings with a text message. Against my better judgment, I look.

Answer your fucking phone.

No. I'm busy. Go micromanage someone else's life.

You're being childish.

And you're being a controlling asshole. Don't text me again unless it's to apologize to Henry.

I silence my phone and shove it in my bag, leaning back against the seat with a huff. By the time we reach T-Mart, I've calmed down enough to think rationally about what I actually need.

An hour later, I've got everything a girl could need to start over—clothes, toiletries, makeup, even some cheap art supplies to replace what was ruined. Nothing fancy, just practical shit I'd buy for myself if I had the money.

When we get back to the car, I check my phone. Seven missed calls and three texts, all from Conrad.

I apologized to Henry.

He says you're at T-Mart.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have threatened him. That was a dick move.

I'm surprised enough by the apology that I actually text back.

Yeah, it was. Don't pull that shit again.