Angelique’s little demon wasn’t quite ready to back down. ‘You’re scared. You’re worried you might get to like having me around, aren’t you, Remy? You’re not used to that feeling. You’re the one who hires and fires your bedmates week by week. You don’t form lasting attachments. You form convenient, casual alliances that temporarily scratch your itch.’
He glowered at her again. ‘I do not want you around. You’re nothing but trouble. You attract it and you revel in it. I don’t want it.’
‘Then give me back Tarrantloch and I’ll be out of your life as soon as you can say blackjack.’
The silence vibrated with palpable tension.
‘No.’ His one-word answer was clipped and determined. Very determined. Caffarelli determined.
Angelique hitched up her chin. ‘Then you’re stuck with me. I’m not leaving your side until you give me what I want.’
‘You don’t want Tarrantloch.’ His lip curled mockingly. ‘What you want is a pat on the back from your father.’
‘Ha ha,’ she scoffed. ‘And what you want is a big tick of approval from your grandfather. You think by taking possession of Tarrantloch that it will somehow win favour with him.’
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘I do not need my aging grandfather’s approval to get on in life. I’ve made my own way. I don’t need anyone’s tick of approval to be happy.’
‘You’re not happy. That’s why you’re so restless. You can’t settle because you’re not happy with who you are on the inside.’ Just like I’m not happy.
His eyes flashed with ire. ‘Oh, and you’re an expert on that, are you? The woman who doesn’t eat in case she puts on a gram of flesh. Don’t make me laugh.’
Angelique hated that he knew so much about her, about her insecurities. How did he do that? They had barely seen each other for years, yet within such a short time he had summed her up in a sentence. ‘I have a contract—’
‘That insists you parade yourself in front of people who don’t give a damn about you, to make millions of dollars for them. You’re not important to them, only your body is. They don’t want what’s inside you, they’re only interested in what they can get out of you.’
It was true.
It was painfully, agonizingly true.
It was a blunt truth she had come to acknowledge only very recently, which was why she was so keen to get out of the industry, to come at it from a different angle—the design and marketing angle.
But her confidence had always been the kicker and now it was even more so. She hadn’t gone to university. She had no business degree or diploma. She hadn’t even finished school. She had no official qualifications. What sort of ability did she have to run her own business?
She would be such a babe in the woods. It was cut-throat and dog-eat-dog out there. She had seen it first-hand. People with good intentions, with good skills and awesome talent were pushed aside by the power brokers, the money men who were only interested in the profit line.
‘I’m not planning on modelling for too much longer.’
His gaze hardened. ‘So am I part of the back-up plan? The rich husband to bankroll your—’ he made quotation marks with his fingers ‘—retirement plan?’
‘I have my own designs.’
He looked at her for a moment in silence, a frown deepening across his forehead.
‘Designs?’
Angelique let out a little breath. She had told no one about her plans. It seemed strange, almost ironic, she would be telling him. ‘Not every woman is a size zero. There are women out there with post-baby bodies, with scars, who’ve had mastectomies, or with the track marks of age. None of us are perfect.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
Her shoulders went down on a sigh. ‘I’m tired of being the poster girl for perfection. It takes a lot of hard work to look this good.’
‘You look pretty damn good.’
Angelique felt a frisson of delight at his comment. He liked the way she looked?
But it’s not real.
If she ate properly she would be a size—maybe even two sizes—bigger. Would he—and the rest of the world—find her so attractive then?