Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(8)

“Sounds perfect,” she croons, her hand covering mine once more, her foot sliding along my leg. My cock twitches to life, both from Pilar’s actions and the challenge of the hunt, the chance at the prize.

Fucking Violet Fowler and getting a promotion in London, away from Pilar? I couldn’t ask for anything better.

“After her, this is it, though. No more games. We remain friends only, Pilar. That’s all,” I add.

The smile on Pilar’s face diminishes, but I can still see the glow in her eyes. She loves it when I talk like this because she thinks I don’t mean it. This time, though, I do. “Fine. Whatever you want, darling. It’ll be fun. We can compare notes.”

I don’t say a word as she scoots her chair closer to mine, her hand gripping my shoulder as her gaze goes to my lap. “You know, you can act like I’m the one who selected Violet as your latest conquest, but remember it was your idea. I suspect you’ve wanted her for a while,” she whispers, reaching out to settle her hand on my dick. “So pretend all you want that hard-on of yours isn’t for her.”

I take a deep breath, tell myself to remain calm. “It isn’t. It’s all for you,” I lie smoothly. My life is f*cking chaos. I don’t need Pilar making it more of a mess than it already is and she knows how. That’s the scary part. “So you’ll start in on Lawrence tomorrow?”

She arches a perfectly sculpted brow, removing her hand. I swear my cock breathes a sigh of relief. “And you’ll start in on Violet?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, pushing aside the uneasy feeling that wants to take over. “But then … like I said, that’s it. We’re done. I go my way and you go yours. My debt to you is paid in full.”

“All right.” The smile returns, darker this time, her eyes lit with an unfamiliar fire that makes me wary. “Then we’d better make this interesting, shouldn’t we?”

“As interesting as we f*cking can.” I shift in my seat and her hand falls away from me, thank Christ.

My gaze wanders yet again to Violet and Zachary’s table, but they’re gone. They’ve just left, Zachary heading toward the entrance of the restaurant, Violet going in the opposite direction, most likely to the restroom.

“I should go after her,” I suggest, never taking my eyes off of her. God, she’s beautiful. I want her.

Though I shouldn’t.

“Yes, you should. Now shoo.” She waves her hands, as if she’s a mama duck pushing me out of the nest for the very last time. “Work your McKay magic all over her and I’ll go find Zachary.”

Without another word, I stand and wind my way through the tables, following the path Violet just took. It’ll be a game. A little fun. How long will it take to make her fall for me?

I’ve done it before and I can do it again. I know how to play the game. Be what she wants me to be. I’m a chameleon. Been told that since I was a kid. “Adaptable” is a much nicer way to put it.

A phony. A fake is the more honest term for what I do. I own every title. After all …

I’m practically a professional.

Chapter Three

Violet

I lied when I told Zachary I wasn’t upset about his leaving but I put on a brave face, something I’ve become exceptional at doing. Just when I believe things are going my way, news is delivered that’s like a punch to my stomach. But I’m a survivor, not weak, or at least so I’ve been told again and again. Now it’s all about my game face. That’s what Father calls it.

Like life is one big game. Who thinks like that? Who actually lives like that?

Just as the waiter took away our plates, Zachary told me he would drop me off at my apartment. “Too much to do,” he murmured with that reassuring smile of his pasted on his face. So phony. Why do I believe his lies? Am I that insecure? “My only chance to start packing is at night, after work. I leave in less than two weeks. You understand, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Of course I understand. I’m the perfect girlfriend who stands by her man and lets him do whatever he wants. Including letting him leave her while he attempts to take on a new and glamorous job in another country. He’ll most likely go find a new and glamorous woman, too.

He’s done it before … though never out of the country. So that’ll be a new adventure for him. One I’m supposed to ignore and pretend doesn’t exist.

The telltale stinging in my eyes lets me know I need to get out of there so I can be alone. Zachary would be embarrassed if I cried. He’d probably tell Father, and I can’t … I can’t let him know that I’m upset. I’m fine. I’m composed. I’m happy.

I’m perfect.

So when the tiny imperfection tries to slip through in the form of tears, I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. Hide away in a stall so no one can see me as I lean against the wall with my face buried in my hands, the tears streaming freely down my cheeks. I only allow myself approximately ninety seconds of crying, though. Any more and my cheeks would turn ruddy, my eyes bloodshot. Zachary would know what I was doing.

And I can’t have that.

I keep Visine in my purse for moments like this and after I exit the stall, I go to the row of sinks to wash my hands and assess myself in the mirror. I look … like I’ve been crying. My cheeks are a little rosy, my eyes damp and with a tinge of pink. I dry my hands and reach into my purse, grabbing the eye drops so I can take care of the problem. I’m always ready for any situation. My sisters love it. They make fun of all the things I have in my bag, but I like to be prepared.