The Master (The Game Maker #2)(86)

Check. Check. Check.

I might put Sevastyan behind me, but I was never going to get over him. Though I’d easily shed my regard for Edward, it wouldn’t happen with Máxim. With a sinking feeling in my belly, I recognized that I was always going to love him.

Me jodí. I was so screwed.

Was I ready to write him off totally? How would I feel if he’d groaned another woman’s name in sleep?

Now that I’d had some time to cool off, I wasn’t as outraged about him playing me. He’d never lied to me per se, and he had started treating me better after eavesdropping on my conversation. He’d tried to win me.

But nothing could excuse how callously he’d treated me today. I merely have to pay you. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over the fact that I was an escort.

As I closed in on my dismal neighborhood, my need for survival rose to the fore, drowning out my spiraling emotions. I never would have taken Sevastyan’s gifts (not even my red scarf), but I shouldn’t have left my ten grand in the closet. Mierda!

Wait, Anthony still owed me! I pulled up his number and rang him. An assistant put me straight through.

“Cat! Great to hear from you!”

“Hey.” We’d never actually spoken, even in the midst of his selling me to Sevastyan. “I need to come by and get the money I earned.”

“What money, darling?”

Was he joking? “For all my outcall hours. Plus the twenty-five hundred I’m due for my phone number.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve already invested it for you! Got you lined up with a photographer! A legit one. He’ll make you look like a million dollars.”

It is not a problem. “Anthony, you can get my pay back, a quick refund. I need it now.”

“No can do. But if you’re short of dough, I’ve got a French millionaire in town who loves Latinas. He’s a huge tipper. A shade raunchy, but he pays for his raunchy ways, you know what I mean—”

“You son of a bitch! Get my money back!”

His voice dropped. “You better be nice to Uncle Anthony, girl. Especially since the Russian’s well ran dry. At least for you.”

“What are you talking about?” He couldn’t know Sevastyan and I were over.

“He just got done scheduling someone else.”

“Wh-what?”

“Five minutes ago. He booked the one he’d wanted in the first place.”

Ivanna. Stunning, glamorous, sensual Ivanna. Who ticked every one of Sevastyan’s boxes.

“The Russian was as determined to have her as he’d been with you. He’s definitely through with you, darling.”

I didn’t know whether to scream—or cry. Sevastyan had gone back to his old ways, the PhD was at it again. Former hobbyist, my ass!

Did I believe he had felt something for me? In his own way, yes. He’d probably requested Ivanna just to hurt me, or to amuse himself at my expense. He was still scheming and coldhearted! Fuck him!

Oh, wait, that was Ivanna’s job. No wonder she hadn’t called me back. Would he stick to the script with her? Or would they enjoy the pool and champagne?

Anthony said, “So let’s talk about the French guy—”

Without another word, I hung up the phone. That invisible fist had returned, punching me even harder. I doubled over, gasping to the cabbie, “Stop here.”

Anthony called back. Then he texted about that date. And again! He thought he had the right to burn up my line? The * was using my dire straits to lure me deeper into hooking!

As the cab rolled to a stop, I glared at my still buzzing phone. It’d been in Sevastyan’s possession for over a week. Business of information? He’d probably placed some kind of tracker in it.

This town was done for me; I had no one to call. Decided, I stuffed the phone under the cab driver’s seat as I paid him.

Under a winter-bright sun, I stumbled across the parking lot. Too late I realized that Sevastyan would have to give a damn to use my phone against me. He’d be too busy tonight with Ivanna.

I’d worried that he was setting me up for a crash landing. Oh, he had. I felt like there were parts of me scattered all over the pavement, my heart shattered like glass.

Once I reached my apartment complex after being away so long, I grimaced. I hadn’t remembered how horrid it was. I climbed the stairs, feeling a hundred years older.

Inside my studio, I peered around, thunderstruck. How had I lived here for half a year? Only one more night, only one more night.

Over the weekend, I’d started to believe I would have a future with a guy who could help me stand up to Edward. A partner, someone on my team. I’d lowered my guard. I’d gotten caught up in that life, that man. I’d gotten soft.

Never again.

I crossed to my safe. I’d count up my loot. That would make me feel better. I unscrewed the AC vent and removed the grill—

My thoughts blanked. My safe was . . . empty. I blinked in bewilderment. Empty?

EMPTY?

My money was gone. My own meager savings, plus what I’d earned from Sevastyan. Who the hell could have taken it? Who would’ve known?

I had only Sevastyan’s pin money to my name. After the cab, that left me two hundred and forty dollars. Would that even pay for the bus fare out west?

Tears welled. My hopes of leaving Miami, of reaching safety, were gone. I had no expectation of help from Sevastyan; the well had gone dry—right when I’d been robbed.