The Opportunist (Love Me with Lies, #1)(66)

“Like, telling him that Leah ran you off when you left Florida and that she tried to bribe you with money…how about that?”



“That’s not going to make a difference. He already knows she’s as rotten as I am. He freaking loves immoral girls.”



“What about confronting him about his feelings for you? He found you again, even after he knew what you did when he had amnesia. He’s still in love with you, Olivia. You just have to convince him of that.”

I think about how he showed up to my condo the night before Leah’s sentencing. He was always showing up wasn’t he? Showing up at the music store, showing up at the grocery store, showing up in my office. Damn it. Cammie was right, there had to be something to that.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Now turn that computer on, we have to find out where they went.”

Two hours later, I walk through the door of my condo. The windows are open and the salty sea air hits my face. I take it in in great gulps and start searching for my rat fiancée. I remind myself to be calm, to act like a lady, but when I see him sunbathing on my oversized patio I swear at him loudly, so that he spins around almost dropping his water.

“Here,” I pull the ring from my finger and toss it at him. It goes careening across the tile and spins to a stop at his feet. “I’m going on a trip. When I get back, BE GONE.”

He jumps up looking confused. He is looking left to right like the answer for my erratic behavior can be found there.

“Wha—?”

I take in his salmon colored swim trunks, his Gucci sun glasses, the way he moves like a robot, and I inwardly cringe. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t! I was stuffing something in my heart. Cammie was right!

“You know Leah! All these months of me defending her in court and you never said a word!”

Turner’s face goes white, despite his ridiculous tan. He flaps his hands around like he can’t decide whether to surrender or point at me.

“You dated me for Superbowl tickets!” I am yelling now.



“Yes, but—”



“Shut up! Just shut up.”



I collapse onto a lawn chair and put my head in my hands. I feel like I am ninety years old.



“Turner, we’re not right for each other. I don’t want to marry you, I’m sorry.”



“Well,” he puffs. “Don’t I get a say in this?”



I look at him from between my fingers.



“No, actually,” I sigh and stand up. “I have to go pack.”



I head inside.



“Why?” he calls after me. “Why can’t we work it out?”



I pause looking over my shoulder.

“There’s nothing to work out. I can’t give you something that I don’t have.





Chapter Eighteen





Eight hours later, I am sitting in business class, sipping on a coke and drumming my fingers impatiently on the beverage tray in front of me.

Caleb and the Scarlet Beast are in Rome. Yes, that’s what I said, Rome. The Bahamas weren’t good enough for her and neither was Marco Island; both of which were listed as top baby making locations on her computer’s Internet history. Instead, she opted for The De La Ville Inter-Continental hotel where her favorite actress Susan Sarandon became pregnant. How do I know such a personal detail? Because, along with breaking into her home with my psychotic best friend, I also hacked into her email account and read a correspondence between her mother and herself.

“Is this your first time to Rome?”

I look over and see a pair of very green eyes looking at me from the seat next door.

“Um, yes,” I clip my words so that I sound as rude as possible and look back out the window. Yucky—chit chattery. I am in no mood to converse. I am on the most important mission of my life.



“You’re going to love it. It’s the best place in the world.”



“Yea, to make babies,” I mumble.



“I’m sorry, what was that?”



“Oh, nothing,” I say. “I’m going there on business, so it’s all work and no fun for me,” I laugh shrilly and pretend to dig around in my purse for something.

“Too bad. You should at least make time to see the Coliseum—absolutely amazing.” I look over at him now because that’s actually not a bad idea. Holy crap! I’m going to Rome! I’m now officially excited. In all the commotion of booking a ticket, throwing things in a suitcase and breaking up with Turner, it completely escaped me.

“Maybe I will,” I say, smiling at him. He wasn’t bad looking. Actually, he was roguishly handsome with coal black hair, caramel skin, and a chiseled jaw. He had one of those distinctly Jewish noses. I suddenly feel self-conscious about my pasty complexion.

“Noah Stein,” he offers me his hand and I take it. “Olivia Kaspen.”



“Olivia Kaspen,” he repeats, “That’s a very poetic name.”



“Well, that’s about the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me.”