Page 17 of My Dark Prince
Whatever you do, lady, don’t let Franklin Townsend near you.
“Yeah. It was just a prick.”
I pushed the double doors completely open, barging inside, a smooth smirk on my face. “Did someone call me?”
My grin dropped, right along with my heart, the moment I came face-to-face with the woman sucking blood from her thumb. She held a needle between fingers I knew too well. They once gave me amateur haircuts on lazy summer days by the lake. Shoved themselves into my nostrils while I pretended to concentrate on card games I’d always let their owner win. Stroked my face when I lost my grandma, and when I broke my arm, and when I fought with my parents.
Those fingers, like the woman attached to them, were the very reason I floated in this world aimlessly. They were what I’d run away from for fifteen years and counting.
Briar Rose.
MyBriar Rose.
Chapter Nine
Briar
Don’t throw up.
He is not worth your lunch.
You had a vegan crab cake. It was delicious. And expensive. Keep it down.
It was near impossible, though, seeing as Oliver von Bismarck stared right back at me, with the same level of surprise I surely wore on my own face.
The world went black, and my knees buckled. Gravity pulled from under my feet like a rug. I stumbled backwards, reaching for a candelabra for balance.
Never in my life had I pricked my finger before. My seamstress skills were unmatched. But seconds before he entered the room, I could feel his presence. The suffocating calamity that buzzed in the air.
I wasn’t dumb. I knew he owned this hotel the minute the producer ofLaw Liveshad informed me of our film schedule. But years of stalking this man had reassured me that Oliver shared no involvement in his family business. Apparently, my first – and only – love had become a fuck up of gigantic proportions. A hedonistic man-child who only cared about partying, vacationing, and corrupting young women. I’d paid close attention to his antics over the last decade. The arrests, the debauchery, the alcohol, the conquests.
And still, my heart wrung tight like a washcloth when our eyes met. Because I could still seehimbehind those pale pupils.
The boy I rolled down hills with, until we were covered in grass, manure, and sweat, laughing our asses off.
My throat clogged up with all the things I’d wanted to say to him for fifteen years.
Where were you and where were you and where were you?
Once upon a time, he promised me forever. Our forever turned into never. And never was an awfully long time to fester in the newfound hate I felt for this man.
“Well, I never.” Oliver recovered first, plastering a coaxing smirk onto his lips.“Hello, Cuddlebug.”
In this small, insignificant nickname, he shattered the rest of my composure. I let go of the candelabra and slacked against the wall. The needle I held fell to the floor.
Oliver gestured to the skin-colored thong in my fist. “Is this for me?”
I felt like a gutted fish. How could he be so calm? So thoroughly entertained?
Through the anger, the pain, the frustration, I gulped him up. The sleepy, lust-drunk cobalt eyes, still heavily lashed. The petulant, childish pout that begged to be kissed and the high Roman nose. All these years later, his rugged, imposingly tall frame still had the same effect on me.
I didn’t know what was more devastating – how gorgeous he was or how patheticIwas, unable to produce a sound.
“Are you okay?” Frankie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Look, I know he has a reputation for being a brothel on legs, but I promise he is mostly harmless.” My surprise assistant’s voice echoed along my spine.
Say something. Do something. Show him that you are not the same desperate girl. The one who realized too late that nobody would come to save her, and she had to get up and save herself.
Ollie’s falcon gaze did not withdraw from mine. “We know each other.”
