Page 89 of My Dark Prince
Finally, after a beat of silence, a sickly-sweet smile graced Dallas’ face. She beamed like she knew something I didn’t. “Crystal clear.”
“Sure.” Farrow returned her attention to her phone. “Keep lying to her. You’re the only one who believes you’re doing this for her own good. Soon enough, she’ll remember why you both lost touch.”
“So.” Dallas dusted her hands. “What now?”
“Now …” I’d already started storming down the hallway toward the common area, wherever the hell it was. “I’m going to retrieve my fiancée and get the fuck out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Briar
Unknown Number:Fair warning: your boy spent a good thirty minutes storming up and down this place, turning things over as if he’d find you under Geezer’s dog bed.
Briar Auer:Seb?
Seb vB:The one and only.
Briar Auer:Don’t lose my number, because I can’t guarantee I won’t hurl myself out of the plane with your brother.
Seb vB:Feel free to aim for the Mississippi. I hear E. coli is nice and toxic this time of year.
Seb vB:You promised you’d visit me again.
Briar Auer:I did. I will.
Chapter Forty
Briar
“Is this truly necessary?”
I burst into the cockpit of Oliver’s private jet, waving a small vial with white powder inside. The rage over his stunt at Baylor already had my blood sizzling. I didn’t bother reigning in my temper.
Ten more minutes, and I would’ve had a breakthrough. I knew it.
So. Damn. Close.
Already, I remembered more than I’d hoped for before the trip.
My roommate. My boyfriend. My majors. Plural. Marketing management and philosophy. My drink of choice: almond milk cappuccino. Tequila on nights out. #TeamOasis, not Blur. Jennifer Aniston over Brangelina. I took my whiskey neat and spent weekends volunteering at shelters. I must’ve read Steve Job’s biography seventeen times before I’d lost it in the Brazos River.
Oliver took one glance at the baggie from the pilot’s seat, clicking one of the hundreds of buttons before him. “Yes, it truly is.”
I threw my hands up, careful not to release whatever Schedule I narcotic he’d shoved into this thing. “You’re not flying us back home coked up.”
What kind of man did I live with?
“Coked up?” He jerked his eyes away from the cloudy skies. “Cuddlebug, that’s gluten-free flour. I take it everywhere I go because restaurants are shit about celiacs.”
Red-hot heat shotgunned to my cheeks. Ididknow that. Of course, I knew that. I remembered it from way back. The chefs at the lake house would make meals in small batches, just for him.
“Sorry.” I released a small breath – and with it, the tiniest fraction of my anger. “But I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.” He shrugged, flicking another lever. “Not that you have any reason to be. I saved you from those people.”
“Thosepeople? I adore my friends.”
“You’ve only just technically met them,” he pointed out. “And you have to agree Dallas isa lot.”
