Page 158 of The Billionaire's Baby

"What—?" I gape. "What the hell did I do now?"

"Nothing. Everything." She stomps her foot, then slams the jug on the table, snatches her bags from the chair and stalks out.

52

Karina

That ass, that absolute wanker. That…that…jerkenstein. "Aargh." I grab the bag of shopping and throw it across the room. It hits the wall, bounces off, and the shoes I’d purchased burst out of their tissue wrapping. Shit, no man is worth damaging an expensive pair of stilettos. Not even if he is the hottest, most desirable, six-feet five-inches, ripped like Adonis, alphahole... Are they?

I’d been so sure that he would apologize. Five syllables. Three, if he’d just say, “I’m sorry.” Is that so hard for him? Am I wrong in holding out until he says so? I twist my fingers together. Maybe it’s stupid that I’m holding out until he says so. I mean, what’s the point of going into a relationship with a man who doesn’t realize what he’s done wrong? Things could only go downhill from there. If we are to enter into any kind of relationship, it needs to be on an equal footing, with no lies between us. Nothing to obscure how we feel for each other. And he does feel…a lot for me… If only he’d, just once, come clean and admit it to me.

I wrap the strands of my hair around my fingers. Guess there’s no choice then. I have to put the rest of the plan into action. Damn him, for forcing my hand. I’d hoped the hint that I was getting married would be enough. That he’d see me through the shop window of the wedding boutique—of course, I knew he was there. I mean, just because I told the man back off... As if he would? As if he could! I would have been disappointed if he had. It’s not in Arpad F’ing Beauchaump’s nature to give up. And neither is it in mine.

I straighten, then walk over to the pair of shoes and lift them up. I pull them out of the wrapping, kick off the heels I am wearing, and slip into them. Instantly, I feel taller, more confident. Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world. Isn’t it Marilyn Monroe who’d said that? And I am going to need every bit of faking it until I make it bravado to get through what I have planned. The girls are behind me. They’ll help me out, for sure.

I only have to get through the wedding. That’s all. I mean, two can play this game, right? I have to show him that he can’t take me for granted. I have tried everything else possible, and now I have no choice but to take the final step.

The only way to tame an alphahole is to show him I’m not for sale. The only way to get him to take action is to show him I’m not available anymore. If he sees me on the arm of another man, surely, he’ll drop all pretenses? I have to appeal to the caveman in him to come out and stake his claim. Damn him, but he hasn’t left me any choice.

Isla is going to help me organize the wedding at the local city hall. The rest of the women are going to take their husbands into their confidence, and fingers crossed, they will be able to play along enough for Arpad to believe the story.

Now, the only thing left to do is to tell my family.

I pick up the phone and dial my father's number.

53

Arpad

I've screwed this up. Clearly, I have. I begin to pace back and forth in the hotel room. Damn, why are the rooms so small? Despite this being the top hotel in the city, it feels like there isn't enough room to breathe here. I march to the window and try to pry open the pane. Of course, it's sealed tight, goddam it. I raise my fist, ready to punch my way through it, then stop. Fuck that.

I shrug out of my shirt, head toward the closet. I open the door, pull out the rope I'd folded into in a figure eight. I shake it out, then loop it around my palm, so it's fashioned into a whip. I raise my arm and that's when my phone rings. I glance from the rope to the phone, raise the whip again, and the phone rings once more. Ah, hell. I stalk to the side table, answer it.

"What?" I snap.

"Beauchamp?" Edward's voice echoes over the line, "You sound terrible."

"Wonder what gave you that impression?" I snort.

"Perhaps it's because you sound like someone destroyed your yacht."

"That would have been easier to stomach than—" I clamp my lips shut.

"Than?" He prompts me, "Go on, don't hold out now."

"Than finding out that she's definitely getting married."

He blows out a breath, "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. " I hear the sounds of vehicles in the background.

"Where are you?" I frown.

"On the road," he replies. "I'm going to dial in the other guys."

"Wait, don't," I growl.

"Too late." Saint's voice comes over the line. "Why the fuck aren't you on video man?"

"Because I don’t want to see your ugly mugs?"