She takes a long sip of her coffee and a new wave of anger passes over me. What does she know about how I treated Maria? Maybe that whole letter was fake, for all she knows. This time, the frustration bursts out.
“Poor woman? Ha! You don’t know anything about Maria or who she is, any more than you do about me. You read her sob story, which, by the way, is missing huge amounts of information, and decided you’re the expert on what happened. What gives you the right? Do you also believe every piece of clickbait crap you see on social media?”
“No, of course not. I do my research,” she says haughtily. But I notice the tips of her ears have taken on a reddish tint. I must have scored with one of those accusations.
“Well, you didn't do a stitch of research on me. You just sounded off, without bothering to check your facts.” Now her face is red and slightly mottled, as her hands clench uselessly on air.
“Look, Mr. Lane. All I know is that you broke someone’s heart this month. You hurt a woman badly enough that she had to turn to me for help.”
Lowering my brows, I lean close.
“Riddle me this, Miss Henderson. If she was so hurt, and your advice was oh so helpful, then how come I never received the bracelet in the mail?”
I give her my most patronizing smile. A flicker of uncertainty passes over Casey’s face as she processes this new information. Flustered, she shakes her head as if it will get rid of me. No such luck.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her,” the brunette insists. “Actually, it doesn’t really mean anything. I told her to do whatever made her feel comfortable, so I imagine she did.”
Feeling powerful, I press just a little further.
“I don’t think so. I think if she was really offended by my so-called ghosting, then she would have sent the bracelet back. Wouldn’t you?” Casey dodges the question.
“The jewelry doesn’t mean anything,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s just a material item. You always think that women can be bought off.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I muse, smirking. She merely rolls her eyes in response, as if that comment’s not even worth replying to.
I look Casey in the eye. She looks back straight, her lovely chocolate gaze full of disdain. But then I smile again.
“That bracelet cost me twenty thousand dollars. I bet Maria didn’t mention that in her letter to you. Now tell me, if someone gave you twenty thousand dollars, would you give it back over hurt feelings?”
By the shocked expression on her face, I can tell my tactic has worked. Obviously, the diamond bracelet was expensive, but Casey had no idea just how expensive. She probably thought it was some trinket bought from a jewelry mart, and I smirk knowingly. Because now, Casey’s played right into my hands … and I’m ready to devour the curvy woman.
5
Casey
With a casual sigh, Pierce takes a smug sip from that obnoxious little miniature coffee. But somehow, the tiny cup just makes Pierce look bigger and even more dominating. Oh god, what have I gotten myself into? Because twenty thousand dollars is a lot, and I know what I’d do with that bracelet. I certainly wouldn’t give it back. I’d keep it in my jewelry box and take it out occasionally, savoring the sparkling diamonds. Maybe I wouldn’t wear it right away, keeping it as my special treasure, but I definitely wouldn’t give it back.
Still, the alpha male doesn’t have to know.
“It seems that money is the only thing you care about,” is my airy reply. “You seem to be missing every point, and I’ve had enough. Goodbye, Mister Lane. Enjoy your lonely life surrounded by fancy things.”
I know it's petty, but I can't resist giving him a deep, sarcasm-steeped curtsy after getting up from the small table. I tilt my chin haughtily, and then spin around, hair flying before waltzing out of the cafe.
On the street, my body is ablaze. Did that really just happen? I’ve never told a person off like that, especially not face-to-face, and definitely not someone who’s a billionaire. I’m opinionated, sure, but I tend to like and trust most people.
Not that I don’t trust Pierce. Actually, despite everything, I feel strangely safe and comfortable around him. How did that happen? One moment we were snarling like dogs at one another, and the next, I was safe as a rose in a bud vase? Where is this coming from?
My mind travels back to our sordid cafe meeting. Was the sarcastic curtsy really necessary? I mean, I’m impressed that I had the guts to go through with it, but I just feel overwrought now. Like I’ve survived two earthquakes and a hurricane, and am only just now coming back to my senses.