My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(12)

Zach popped a dark eyebrow. “Any woman who is dumb enough to end up under you has already been thoroughly tarnished.”

Oliver sighed. “It’s true.”

Zach’s nose scrunched. “Aren’t you bored?”

Whereas Oliver loved all women, Zach couldn’t find a single one that lived up to his unreasonable ideals. In fact, Mrs. Sun arranged weekly dates with ABC heiresses to shipping, copper mining, and software companies.

His favorite pastime was shutting them down on absurd bases, such as too pretty, too smart, too rich, too charitable, and my personal favorite, too much like him.

“I’ll stop chasing tail when I die.” Oliver rose to his feet, slipping his wallet and phone into a sleek leather courier bag. He frowned. “Actually, even then, the worms aren’t safe from my libido. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make the most out of this shithole before we depart, and there’s no better way I can think of spending my time than not with you.”

With Oliver off to make the world a worse place, Zach and I stared each other down.

On paper, we shared much in common.

A single entity motivated us.

Money.

Zach had two multi-billion-dollar exits under his belt on self-developed apps. Meanwhile, I reigned over my father’s company as CFO, dabbling in hedge funds and high-risk investments for fun. Since graduating from MIT, I’d tripled Costa Industries’ revenue.

We were reserved, calculated, pragmatic, and unmoved by societal expectations. Both our parents pressured us to marry. And they would go to extreme lengths to walk us down the aisle with the future mother of their grandchildren.

But our similarities ended here.

Unlike Zach, I didn’t possess a single nerve in my whole body. Not to mention integrity, a concept I found as mythical as mermaids. I did atrocious things and still slept like a baby at night.

Zach, on the other hand, was genuinely decent. It didn’t matter much, since he found ninety-nine percent of the population hard to stomach due to lack of sufficient intelligence.

“So.” Zach didn’t lift his eyes from the screen. “Think you’ll develop a conscience and let the poor girl loose?”

I swung my feet to the floor and planted my elbows on my knees, digging my palms into my eye sockets. “No.”

“Why not?”

A million reasons existed, but only one mattered. “Because she was Madison’s, and he deserves nothing good in his life.”

“So, she is good.”

“Did I say good? I meant insufferable.”

“High praise.”

“Insufferable is praise, as far as she’s concerned. The woman could drive a monk to murder.”

“Interesting.” He did not find that interesting. He did not find anything that wasn’t money, technology, and art even remotely stimulating. “I’ve yet to hear you so passionate about a woman, one way or the other, since Mo—”

“Do not speak her name. At any rate, Dublin and I will be married on paper only.”

Was I telling this to Zach or myself?

“Dublin, huh?” He ripped his gaze from the screen only to deliver a pitiful look. “Don’t underestimate the power of paper. Money’s made of that shit.”

“Twenty-five percent linen. Seventy-five percent cotton,” I corrected.

Not that he didn’t know.

“Checks, then. What do you know about her?”

Not much.

After yesterday, my curiosity wasn’t piqued, to say the least.

Seducing her had been easier than taking candy from a baby. Ironically, taking candy from her was something I didn’t think was possible without losing an arm.

“She’s beautiful, unhinged, and would rather eat her own eyeballs than marry me.”

Zach saluted me with his electrolyte water. “I’ll make popcorn.”

“Don’t be so smug. You’re next in line.”

“But the line is long.” He clicked away on his mouse, already drifting from the conversation to his work. “And I’m very good at stalling.”





The day progressed like a night terror.

At an excruciating pace.

Zach fielded back-to-back conference calls for his impending hostile takeover. Oliver busied himself riding racehorses and getting oral—possibly at the same time.

Meanwhile, I wolfed down chicken breasts and Brussel sprouts, washed the bitter aftertaste with Chicory coffee, and stocked up on gum, demanding Mastika brand from the concierge.

When I could no longer delay the inevitable, I left the hotel to purchase a ring for the bane of my existence.

It was of great importance that Dallas wore an engagement ring at least three times the size of the one her ex-fiancé had gifted her.

This had nothing to do with her and everything to do with ensuring that Madison wanted to stab his own pupils whenever she flashed it in public.

And if it proved too heavy for her delicate fingers, she would have to manage. It wasn’t as if she ever put them to use and actually worked.

I’d heard the whispers.

My future wife was exceedingly, notoriously, incomparably lazy.

As the store manager rang up the two-million-dollar statement ring on my limitless card, along with the hefty insurance that accompanied it, my phone buzzed with an incoming call.