The Player (The Game Maker #3)(44)

“I gave you that necklace because it’s a good start for your collection. I warn you now, I will spoil you to an embarrassing degree.”

I tilted my head. “You’re not the first man to tell me things like this. To make promises.”

“Then I’ll be the first man smart enough to keep them. I will pick you up tomorrow at one. Pack for warm weather.” I got the sense that leaving me pained him. As soon as the thought occurred, he informed me, “This will be the last night I part from you.”

I couldn’t allow myself to believe the promise in his eyes—because it was way too soon. Plus, he was a man.

But what if . . . ?

At the door, he said, “Have sweet dreams, moy ángel. Mine will be of you.”

What if, what if, what if? Once he’d locked me in and I heard the limo leave, I squealed with happiness, drumming my feet on the bed.





CHAPTER 19

At ten till one, a knock sounded. I was still in my underwear! “Just a sec,” I called, shimmying past my overnight bag to reach my closet.

I grabbed a simple black linen sheath I’d made. The shortest part of the asymmetrical hem hit just above my knees. I smoothed my hands down the front, proud of my work, then stepped into pointy-toed black pumps.

My gaze lit on my new necklace, laid out on my duvet. Last night, I’d sent a picture of it to the family’s conference line along with a message: Got drama from night before worked out with Sevastyan. Had great dinner. Going on trip tomorrow at 1:00. All good. Please, sleep better.

After I’d signed off, I’d danced naked to A-ha while I packed. I was dying of curiosity about our “warm” destination.

This morning, Karin had called for a real update.

I’d filled her in, admitting, “He gave me a taste of something I don’t think I can live without.” So how would I feel if he took my key away?

“Listen to your voice, Vice,” she’d said. “You’re falling in love with him!”

“No, I’m not.” Falling in lust maybe. But those flashes of crazy kept me on edge. “He’s got more red flags than Soviet Russia. He is obsessed with me. He’s jealous and possessive and controlling.”

“Yet you’re letting him take you on a trip?”

“We’re running out of time.” With Karin’s recent score, Lucía’s watch, my car, and the necklace, we had to be getting close. “To the grave, remember?”

“We didn’t mean your grave.”

“He’d never hurt me. My grift sense cleared him. . . .”

Now I pulled on the necklace, brushing my fingers over the stones. Soon Dmitri would be out of my life, his gift converted to cash. All I’d have would be a photo of this to remember.

My eyes threatened to water. Maybe I was a softie.

Inner shake. I finished dressing, then quickly assessed my outfit in the mirror. I’d kept my accessories simple—a light silver pashmina and my little silver purse looped over my shoulder—so my necklace would be the focus. I’d lined my eyes, but wore nude lipstick. I’d left my hair free to curl down my back.

Work the con, Vice.

Ha. I kept assuring myself I was acting in the interest of the con. But I feared I was already addicted to him.

My stomach felt fluttery as I carried my bag to the front door. With a wide smile, I opened up. “Hey, big—”

Brett.

I froze.

He looked like hell, his face unshaven with dark circles under his eyes. “It’s so good to see you, Tori.” The nickname dredged up a slew of memories.

Tori, w-will you go to the movies with me? . . . I love you, Tori. . . . Will you marry me, Tori? . . . Please, Tori, she didn’t mean anything to me!

He pointed to the green notice on my door. “They’re gonna evict you?”

Finding my voice, I said, “That doesn’t concern you.”

“Of course it does. Come back home. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Home? We’d been broken up for a year. And Dmitri would arrive any minute! “You’ve got to go. Now.”

“Why?”

“I have a date who’ll be here shortly. This isn’t fair for you to barge in on me like this.”

He frowned. “Then why did you tell me to come over at one?”

“What are you talking about?”

He took his phone out of his jeans pocket and showed me an e-mail—sent from my account two hours ago—that did indeed ask him to come over to talk.

Who the hell had sent it? Anyone in my family could have accessed my account—they all knew !jiepdll!ozqkml14** was my password—but they also knew Dmitri would be here at one.

They’d never let anything interrupt my budding relationship with a jealous, possessive, controlling billionaire—

My eyes widened. But they’d do anything to accelerate it.

Whoever had e-mailed Brett was using him as an unwitting shill—to create a crisis of jealousy for Dmitri.

Too soon in the timeline! Too freaking personal.

Just yesterday, Karin had talked about manufacturing a crisis. Had it been her? “I’m sorry, Brett, but I didn’t e-mail you. Someone must be . . . playing a prank. Or something.”

“A prank?” The pain in his eyes was stark. He’d gotten his hopes up.