I sigh. “If by that you mean pissing him off until he’s put off women forever, then yes, I will be the last. Trust me, I’m a massive inconvenience.”
“Are you sure about that?” she questions, raising her eyebrow again. And I can’t answer, because I’m not sure about it myself. “I can definitely see the allure. I was quite taken aback when Lisa walked through the door with you. You know, I’m not supposed to say this, but we all wondered what exactly he did with all those women.”
My fingers mess with the fabric on my dress as I ask, “Did you ever find out?”
After securing the last pin, she moves around the chair until she’s facing me. Picking up cream, she dabs it on my face and feels nice when she rubs it in. “No…though there are plenty of rumors circulating about that mansion of his. The one he owns with Mr. Koslov. Not sure if you’ve ever seen him. I’ve only caught glimpses myself. Terrifyingly handsome, and like Milton, an absolute enigma. Apparently, best friends. Anyhow, rumor has it, Milton runs a sex cult there.”
“A sex cult?”
Bethany smiles as she starts applying the foundation to my face. “I know. Sounds rather out there, doesn’t it? But yes, that is the rumor mill. I mean, there’s certainly more to Milton that meets the eye.” She blends in my foundation with a damp sponge. “Who knows? Maybe he’s into that kind of kink? I know Mr. Koslov has to be. Men that beautiful can’t be vanilla.” She sighs wistfully, eyes clouded in thought, almost as if she wouldn’t mind knowing if it’s the truth or not. She then laughs when she catches me staring, flabbergasted by all this maybe fake information she’s dumped on my lap. “Listen to me, letting my mouth run away with me. I better shut up before Lisa hears me talking about her master. Lord knows, she’ll rip me apart.”
A little while later, after taking the pins from my hair and putting down one of the many makeup brushes, she stands back to admire her work. “Whether you think that man likes you or not, he will now.”
Turning, I glance at myself in the mirror. The creature that stares back resembles me but isn’t. She’s beautiful, her blond hair no longer dull and flat. It’s shiny, curled, and longer than it’s ever been. Makeup compliments her dress, eyes dusted in kohl to make them pop, offset by a nude lip.
“He won’t resist.” My stomach flutters at her words. I want to tell her again; it’s not like that, but my mouth won’t cooperate.
Because it is like that. It always has been.
Chapter Twenty-One
The building we pull up to is nothing like I’ve ever seen before—the kind of place only the elite of Fair Haven frequent, reeking of class and wealth. Even elegantly wrapped and primped, I don’t exude such things. I look the part, but beneath this creature’s skin, I’m still me—a damn mess.
Milton is waiting in the foyer as I enter alone. A multitude of different sensations washes through me when I see him. A prickle of hate. A shot of unease. A dose of attraction.
There’s no way to deny how exceptionally handsome he looks tonight. Dressed impeccably in a charcoal three-piece suit, I’m rendered speechless. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and the closer I get, the more the heat sears my skin. For the first time tonight, I’m toasty warm when I shouldn’t be anything but icy cold.
Catching his eye, my stomach tumbles as his gaze instantly lowers. It’s not apparent as to what he thinks as he takes in my appearance. Probably thinking what a fake I am. Nerves squeeze the life out of my chest as he reaches for my hand, his thumb rubbing against the metal of the ring once I’m in his grasp. I’m not sure why the meager thought of him being happy I’m wearing it pleases me, but it does.
Placing my hand into the crook of his arm, the smell of him makes my insides ache as he leads me into the restaurant. He smells good—of rich cologne and something familiarly him. We draw attention from men and women waiting in the foyer, and I swear I’m not imagining Milton’s grip tightening on me. I don’t want to imagine it.
Making our way over to a hostess standing behind a mahogany podium, she politely nods even though pink colors her cheeks in Milton’s presence. “We have your table ready, sir. This way.” Again, he says nothing, and I wonder what’s wrong with him as she walks ahead. He’s never usually so quiet. Reserved.
Following the woman past the bustling restaurant where other people are dining, we enter one of the private rooms with a table set for two. It’s intimate, but not constricting, and noticeably quieter. Soft music trickles in through speakers as Milton pulls out my chair for me.
I sit, muscles tense as he circles the table and sits opposite. The hostess leaves, and a male waiter donning a smart black suit replaces her. “Good evening to you both. My name is Harry, and I will be looking after you this evening. May I start you off with drinks? A glass of wine, perhaps?”
“Sure,” Milton finally speaks, fingers drumming on the table. Drum, drum, drum. “A bottle of Cheval Blanc.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” Harry says with a bow of the head before leaving. I spot water on the table and reach to grab it, not able to recall the last time I drank something.
“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Milton says when my mouth is full of water. “If we’re going to do this, you will eat properly.”
I swallow in one painful gulp when the waiter reappears, presenting a deep red bottle. With Milton’s nod of approval, he pours wine into our glasses, finishing with a practiced twist of the wrist to avoid
