The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(10)

“Let’s say you’re too proud to take money from me—your own sister, mind you—and still want legal representation. I would just go to Sailor and ask for a loan.” Her voice grew heated, desperate. “The Fitzpatricks have enough fuck-you money to build a dick-shaped statue the size of Lady Liberty. Sailor won’t be hard-pressed to get it back, you’ll have zero interest, and she knows you’re good for it. You’ll pay it eventually.”

“I can’t.” I shook my head.

“Why?” She took the pizza out of the microwave, put it on a paper plate, and sauntered over to the couch, dumping it on the pillow I was hugging. “Eat the whole thing, Pers. You’re skin and bones. Mom thinks you have an eating disorder.”

“I don’t have an eating disorder.” I frowned.

Belle rolled her eyes. “Bitch, I know. Your ass inhaled three Cheesecake Factory meals just eight months ago and washed it all down with margaritas, Tums, and regret. You’re going through something, and I want you to snap out of it. Ask Sailor for the money!”

“Are you insane?” I waved the soggy pizza in the air. “She doesn’t have time for my drama. She just told us she was pregnant.”

Three days ago, on our traditional weekly takeout night, Sailor dropped the bomb. There were a lot of squeaks and tears. Most of them Ash’s and mine while Sailor and Emmabelle stared at us blankly, waiting for us to get over our hysterics.

“And?” Belle cocked her head. “She can be preggo and give you money, you know. Women are known for multitasking.”

“She’ll get worried. Plus, I don’t want to be that loser friend.”

“It’s just a few thousand dollars.”

It’s a hundred thousand of them.

But my sister didn’t know that.

Which was the real reason I hadn’t asked Sailor.

“At least think about it. Even if it feels weird for you to turn to Sailor and Hunter, that sociopath Cillian would give you the money. Sure, he’d make you sweat for it—I swear, that asshole is as annoying as his face is sitable—but you’ll walk out of there with the money.”

Cillian.

After the suite incident, my friends and sister demanded to know what happened between us. I’d told them the truth. Most of it, anyway. About the bleeding heart and the steroid shot, omitting the part where I told him I was in love with him and put a curse on him.

Why get into the small details, right?

I’d managed to forget Cillian over time. Barely. Even the memory of him saving me faded and was washed away along with the Wish Upon a Cloud performance I was determined to suppress from my memory.

I hadn’t spoken to my Auntie Tilda since that day. That day, I stopped spotting lonely clouds in the sky and tried to move on with my life.

I fell in love.

Got married.

Almost got divorced.

Cillian, however, remained the same man who left that suite.

Ageless, timeless, and taciturn.

He was still single and as far as I knew, hadn’t dated anyone, seriously or otherwise, in the time since he’d rejected me on Sailor and Hunter’s wedding day.

Eight months ago—on the week Paxton had disappeared—Kill took the reins of Royal Pipelines, his father’s petroleum company, and officially became CEO.

How did I not think of him before?

Cillian “Kill” Fitzpatrick was my best shot at getting the money.

He had no loyalties to anyone but himself, was good at keeping secrets, and seeing people squirm was his favorite pastime.

He’d helped me before, and he’d do it again.

One hundred thousand bucks was pocket change to him. He would hand me the money if only to watch me turn into a hundred different shades of red as I slid pitiful monthly checks that meant nothing to him down his mailbox. I’d even agree to take back the curse where I’d told him he’d fall in love with me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt my mouth watering.

Not because of the pizza, but because of the solution I could practically feel grazing the tip of my fingers.

I had a plan.

An escape route.

The older Fitzpatrick brother was going to save me, again.

Unlike my husband, all I needed to do was play my cards right.





“Sorry, sweetie, I don’t think seeing Mr. Fitzpatrick is in your cards today.” The malnourished PA made a show of tossing her platinum ponytail, a venomous grin on her scarlet lips. She wore a bubblegum-pink vinyl dress that made her look like BDSM Barbie, enough perfume to drown an otter, and the expression of someone who would die before letting another woman stake a claim on her boss.

I showed up unannounced at the Royal Pipelines’ offices as soon as I finished work, asking to meet with Mr. Fitzpatrick. Sailor had mentioned that Hunter, who also worked for the family’s company, was accompanying her to her first OB-GYN appointment, and dipped early. I didn’t want Hunter to see me and pass the information to my friends.

When I showed up, Cillian’s personal assistant pouted the entire time she spoke with him on the phone.

“Hiiiiiii, Mr. Fitzpatrick. This is Casey Brandt.”

Pause.

“Your assistant for the past two years, sir.”

Pause.

“Yeah! With the pink.” She giggled. “Totes sorry to bother you, but I have Miss Persephone Penrose here without an appointment.”