Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(16)

“Whoa. Feel how fast my heart is beating?”

Actually, all I could feel was the need to put my lips on hers. The way my own heart flipped and twisted in my chest, trying to break free from its arteries and veins, and the way I didn’t feel so brave anymore next to her.

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

I jerked my head yes. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Yeah, well, I still owe you from that time we were being chased.” Her smile was big and genuine and told me I was definitely, definitely on the brink of catastrophe.

“Arya?”

“Hmm?” Her hand was still on mine.

Let go of me.

But I couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t deny her anything. Even what could have been my goddamn destruction.

Instead, I kept my hand on her chest until the coast was clear and she slipped away on her own.

That was my first mistake of many.



The day with the cigar box changed everything.

We were skidding on the brink of disaster, always dangerously close to the edge. Not because I wanted to kiss her that bad—I could probably go for eternity not touching her, even if I didn’t like that idea all that much. But because my ability to refuse her was nonexistent, which meant sooner or later, she was going to get me in trouble.

Funny how her parents were so worried I’d corrupt her, when she could probably convince me to kill a man with no more than a toss of her crazy Medusa hair.

A few days before summer vacation came to an end, I eavesdropped on the Roths again. This time, it was no accident. I was worried they wouldn’t let me spend next summer with Arya. I wanted to know where the wind was blowing. At this point, Arya was the closest thing to happiness I’d ever achieved, and I was willing to do some screwed-up things to keep our arrangement going.

I hid in Mrs. Roth’s closet while she was getting dressed for an event. Through the sliver of space beside the sliding door, I watched Mr. Roth tying his tie in front of the mirror.

“Did you know I caught him packing the leftovers Ruslana usually throws out and taking them home without asking?” He flipped the tie’s tail and tugged the knot upward. I followed his every movement, taking notes. I’d decided earlier that summer I was going to have a job that required you to wear more than sweatpants. “Course, I didn’t say anything. Can you imagine the headline if it ever got out? Hedge fund tycoon denies the poor help’s boy his scraps? Pfft.”

“Deary me.” Mrs. Roth was on the other side of the walk-in space, so I couldn’t see her. She didn’t sound interested. She was never interested in her husband. Conrad continued anyway.

“You know what Ruslana told me? She said over the weekends, he shines shoes on the corner outside of Nordstrom. Puts them out of business by charging half the price. And last year, well, he got his hands on a few Nike knockoffs and sold them around his school. That, she didn’t volunteer. I found out all by myself.”

“You looked into him?” Mrs. Roth said, snorting. She liked to show she hated her husband. “Darling, you have too much free time on your hands. Maybe find another lover to keep you occupied? Oh, and your obsession with your daughter is quite off putting. I’m here too, you know.”

This was not good. Not good at all. My next summer with Arya was in jeopardy. I was going to have to ignore Arya in the next few days, even if it hurt her. Even if it hurt me.

“That kid has the kind of ambition that will land him either on Forbes’s richest list or in prison.” The scowl on Conrad Roth’s face indicated exactly where he preferred future me—and it wasn’t brushing shoulders with Bill Gates and Michael Dell.

Mrs. Roth came into view through the crack of her walk-in closet. She caught the tip of his tie and tugged hard, choking him a little. His lips came smashing down toward hers, but she dodged him at the last minute, laughing cruelly. He groaned in frustration.

“Wherever he ends up, it will not be with your daughter.”

“Our daughter,” he corrected.

“Is she? Ours, I mean?” Beatrice wondered aloud. “You seem to be under the impression she is all yours.”

She kissed him hard on the lips. Closemouthed. He cupped her butt. I looked away.

I liked Arya a lot, but I hated her parents.





CHAPTER SEVEN


ARYA

Present

The satisfying clinks of my Louboutins snapping over the rich marble floor reverberated through the walls of the Van Der Hout building on Madison Avenue. A cold smile touched my lips when I reached the receptionist.

“Cromwell and Traurig?” My fingernail, the same scarlet shade as the bottom of my heels, tapped over her desk impatiently after I handed her my ID. I couldn’t believe I was wasting my time on this.

The receptionist handed me a visitor badge and my ID back, and I slipped both into my purse.

“That’d be floor thirty-three, ma’am, which requires access control. Please hold while I get someone to escort you.”

“No need to call someone down, Sand. I’m on my way up.” A baritone so low and deep it slithered into my veins boomed behind my back.

“Hey, boss,” the receptionist squeaked, her professional demeanor melting like ice cream on hot asphalt. “New suit? Gray is definitely your color.”