Page 20 of My Dark Prince
Oliver
“You’re letting me drive your Ferrari?” Frankie squealed, clapping her hands together like a seal.
I’ll let you drive a fucking M1 Abrams tank if it means you leave me the hell alone.
“Sure.” I tossed my keys into her hand. “Try not to run anything over.”
“No promises.” Frankie spun the fob ring over her index finger. “But hey, I love your optimism. Why are your eyes rimmed red?”
“Too much pot.”
I did not smoke pot. But I was well on my way to meth if I couldn’t bleach Briar Rose from my memory in the next few hours.
Briar.Not Briar Rose, dipshit.
But she still smelled like Briar Rose. Sweet, and floral, and so damn tempting I’d fought off a semi the second she’d laid hands on me. She was the same girl, down to the chewed-up nails, and yet … different. Fiercer.
Frankie pouted, loitering in the grand lobby. “Are you, like, in love with the intimacy coordinator?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know …affected.”
Could I really be in love with a woman I had not seen for fifteen years? Logically not. But logic was a foreign concept to me at present. What were social constructs, anyway?
“Go home, Franklin.”
“My home is in Georgia.”
“I said what I said.”
“Wait … can I keep the car?”
“If I give it to you, will you leave?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations. You’re the new owner of a Ferrari.”
She shrugged, strutting toward the elevators, hips swaying left and right. The moment she vanished between the metal walls, I torpedoed into the bar across the lobby and collapsed onto a stool.
The Grand Regent boasted of old-world exquisiteness, a modern mixture of Hogwarts and Hotel Lutetia. Brown upholstered leather recliners bracketed sleek mahogany tables. Antler chandeliers peppered the ceiling along a mirrored bar.
I rapped my knuckles on the counter. “Sazerac.”
Kelsey, my smart-beyond-her-years bartender, eyed me. “Straight?”
“Unfortunately.” I snatched up a copy of theWall Street Journal, thumbing through it without reading. “Though Iamhaving a horrible time with the fairer sex today. Perhaps I should reconsider this status.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” The halo of dark curls framing her kind eyes bounced as she collected the absinthe and cognac and poured them into a cocktail shaker, popping a cube of sugar into it.
“No. I’d like to stew in my self-loathing quietly, please.”
Little Briar Rose wasn’t so little anymore. The rose’s fine pointed bud had blossomed into something even more delicate and forbidden. Her beauty was still careless. Haphazard. An intoxicating cocktail of wavy curtain bangs, a messy top bun, an oversized denim jacket, and knee-length socks.
It didn’t surprise me that she was stylish and put-together. But it knocked the breath out of me that she’d manage to remain so uniquely herself. She wore suspenders.Suspenders. Her entire look was a big fuck-you to her parents.
Kelsey served my drink with a big toothy smile. I took a swig of it and tossed the newspaper across the bar, unable to concentrate. I told myself it didn’t matter that a mere few dozen floors separated me and Briar. That I simply didn’t care.
