Page 32 of Savage Prince
I don’t know anything about him except he’s dangerous. At least, according to Magnolia.
But even that doesn’t curb my growing addiction.
My rational brain tells me I can’t keep doing this. That tonight has to be the last time. It’s not smart. It’s not safe. But my body disagrees.
I have to keep doing this.
But there’s one massive hurdle—I have no way to get in touch with him.
Some of the fluttery feeling in my belly fades away.
What if he doesn’t find me?
He will. He has to feel this too.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter 14
Temperance
The next morning, as I lock my Bronco in the parking lot of Seven Sinners, my mind is still on the tangled sheets of my bed and the filthy dreams that had me waking up sweaty and begging. Every twinge of my sore muscles keeps last night firmly fixed in my mind.
I’m addicted to this stranger, and I don’t even care how crazy it is.
Those thoughts evaporate like water on a blazing-hot tin roof when the yelling starts.
“How dare you pass off some piece of trash as my art!”
Gregor Standish’s insult slams into my belly like a sucker punch as he slams the door of a Range Rover. He storms toward me, his face mottled and red.
“Mr. Standish—”
“Did you see this garbage?” He waves a newspaper in my direction as he advances.
Stepping away from the flapping pages, I clear my throat. “Sir, if you’ll please—”
“They putmy nameunder the picture of that abomination. I’m going to be the laughingstock of the art community by lunchtime.”
“Sir, please—”
“I can’t have my name associated with that tasteless pedestrian refuse masquerading as art!”
Each word scores a direct hit, reinforcing what I’ve always feared—my work isn’t good enough to be seen. The burn of tears stings the back of my eyes. The death of a dream is never painless, even if it’s an arrogant asshole wielding the executioner’s ax.
I straighten my spine, determined not to allow him to see how deadly his strikes are. He can never know that the piece was mine. No one can.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Standish. If you have a complaint to lodge, you can do it civilly or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” I inject authority into my tone, even though I’m crumpling on the inside. Shoring up my defenses now is too little, too late, but I have no choice but to pretend.
Standish’s face turns an even darker shade of red, and if he wasn’t such a jerk, I might worry about his blood pressure. As it stands, I can’t find it in me to give a damn about his health. Not when he’s eviscerating me.
“My artwork—myactualart—is inside, and if you try to keep me from it, I will take everything from this company and that bitch who runs it.”
As soon as he insults Keira, steel lodges in my spine and I level a hard stare in his direction. “Mr. Standish, it would be in your best interest to stop right there.” He opens his mouth to spill more vitriol, but I keep speaking, a new confidence in my tone. After all, it’s much easier to stand up for her than for myself. “You will not like the consequences of your actions if you don’t.”
The expression on his face turns snide. “Don’t you tell me what to do. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he’s the one who doesn’t have a clue who he’s dealing with, and any further comments are going to mean that he ends his day in a body bag, but I don’t. This man will not be calmed with reason or threats. He’s completely unhinged.
