The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(54)

“You know what? Forget this. All I’ve done is make excuses for your behavior because I was hoping there was a decent guy underneath all that anger. But in reality, you’re nothing but a jerk who gets off on making everyone as miserable as you.” Her bottom lip wobbles.

No. That can’t be true. That’s something my father does, not me. I’m practical and blunt. There’s a difference between that and being a miserable fuck like my father.

But the way she looks at me makes me consider it for a second.

My chest tightens. “Zahra, I’m sorry. Hear me out—”

“I don’t want your apology. It means nothing coming from someone who wouldn’t know the first thing about feeling remorseful.”

I feel as foolish as motherfucking Mr. Darcy.

You’re comparing yourself to the fictional characters she loves now?

You’re fucked. Absolutely fucked.

My stomach rolls. I’m tempted to say something snappy back, but I hold back. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. The one who loses the girl before he even had a chance. The same one who hides behind a pseudonym and waits up for her messages because I hate the crippling loneliness that hits me every time I walk into my empty house.

No. From here on out, I’m choosing to be better with her. Even if I made this mistake, I can still keep trying anyway.

“Forget this kiss happened. God knows I will.” She turns and walks away without a second glance.

Something about her departure has my chest tightening to the point of difficulty breathing. I go to grab my Tums bottle from my blazer’s inner pocket, only to find the damn thing empty. It’s a perfect representation of how I feel now that Zahra’s gone.

Nothing but empty.





Asking Zahra out on a date like that was careless. I got caught up in the moment and it was the first thing I thought of. It was stupid, especially when she sees me one way while I see her in another light.

I thought I could go back to pretending to be Scott, but after kissing Zahra, I can’t do it. It feels…wrong. Like I don’t fit into that persona anymore because my interest in Zahra has evolved. I don’t want to pretend I’m some loser who has no contact with people. I don’t want to pretend anymore. Period.

So I start a new conversation as Rowan. From now on, that’s all she’ll get from me.

Me: I need you to meet me at my office tomorrow at 8 p.m.





I release a pent-up breath when she finally responds an hour later.

Zahra: Okay.





Her simple answer makes me edgy for the rest of the night. She’s not the kind of person to do simple anything, and I don’t like receiving a one-worded message from her. She would never do that to Scott, yet with me, she doesn’t even try.

You sound jealous of your own damn self.

I consider canceling the meeting twice before shoving my phone in a drawer and ignoring any messages Scott received from Zahra. It needs to be done. She’ll accept my reasoning behind pretending. It’s not like I could admit who I was to her when it’s hard to trust anyone besides myself and my brothers.

What if she doesn’t forgive you?

She will. There’s nothing wrong with what I did. I have no doubt if she was raised the same way I was, she would do the same thing without blinking.

Right.





27





Zahra





I push my shoulders back and knock on the door to Rowan’s office. I’m ready for whatever he might throw at me after our little spat, although my heart feels like it’s been permanently lodged in my throat after his text message yesterday.

“Come in.”

I open the door and find Rowan seated on the opposite side of his desk. His button-down shirt is wrinkled, and the sleeves are rolled up, revealing his strong forearms. The best kind of vein porn makes my mouth water, and I’m tempted to trace them with my lips.

I stop moving once I look up at his face.

Rowan wears glasses. Thick, black-rimmed glasses that belong on some superhero moonlighting as a reporter. I’m caught off guard by the look. It’s…God…wow. They make his face look harsher, bringing out every sharp angle. I want to reach out and touch the dark shadow covering his jawline.

It adds to his more rugged, after-hours look. While a clean-cut Rowan is enticing, this disheveled version has my blood pumping to the beat of my erratic heart.

“Have a seat.” He gestures to the empty chair across from his desk.

I follow his order, dropping into the chair. It’s hard to remain graceful when I’m prone to drooling.

Rowan pulls out some file and drops it on his desk in front of him. His eyes remain focused on his clenched fists on either side of the file, and I’m pretty sure my heart might explode from the irritating silence.

“What’s this?” I gesture at the file. “Please tell me that’s not an NDA or something nefarious.”

He rips his glasses off. I mourn the loss as they slide across the desk. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Okay then…”

He won’t even look me in the eyes. “I brought you here under false pretenses.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Hear me out before you do anything.” He looks up at me with guarded eyes.