She stares at me with that pretty red mouth turned down. “We’ve been together a long time. We make a good team.” Her voice is flat. She sounds like a robot. Like someone fed her that information and she’s just regurgitating it.
“I’m sure he agrees,” I say dryly. “He does whatever he wants and you put up with him. It’s a great deal.”
Violet narrows her eyes. Anger flashes in their depths, brief but intense. I touched a nerve. “You have no room to judge, considering your very—what did you call it? Your unusual relationship with Pilar? No one has any clue what to call you two. Are you together? Are you just friends? Is she your boss and your lover? Or just your boss?” She glances around guiltily. I’m sure she realized her voice rose with all of those interesting questions. It went to show that she thought about me. Wondered about Pilar and me, and what we mean to each other. I can’t deny that pleases me.
“Forget my questions,” she says hurriedly. “What you do during your private time is none of my business.”
“For one thing, Pilar isn’t my boss any longer and she hasn’t been for a while,” I say. The blush on Violet’s cheeks is unmistakable. “And two, yes, we have been … involved. Sexually.” We tease each other still. But she’s been feeding her needs elsewhere and I’m not sure with whom. Not that I really care, since I’ve sought others to satisfy my needs as well.
“Please. I don’t need any more details.” Violet shakes her head, holding up a hand, but I don’t want to stop. I may as well stem her curiosity.
“It is what it is. There’s no clear definition. We’re both fairly open about it.” I shrug. I can never explain my relationship with Pilar properly because I barely understand it myself. “I don’t want to defend it and I’m guessing you don’t want to defend yours, either, so we’ll just leave our relationship statuses alone.”
She stares at me for a long, quiet moment, her eyes focused solely on me. I take the opportunity to drink her in, study her every feature. The delicately pointed nose, the high cheekbones, those big, dark brown eyes. Her skin is flawless. Her lips the perfect red pout. So fucking beautiful it hurts.
“Thank you,” she finally murmurs, ever polite, always proper. “I can’t begin to explain to people why I put up with certain things, especially to my sisters and particularly Rose. They can’t understand if they’ve never been in my position, you know?”
I do know. More than she might realize. If I could, I would have shed Pilar long ago. But I owe her my success. At least, she tells me that constantly. Still, I figure that by now I’ve finally proved my worth, but according to Pilar, I’m moving up at Fleur because of her influence. Not because I’ve done a good job.
You hear that enough from a person who’s taken care of you better than anyone else in your life and you start to believe it.
My cell buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket, checking as discreetly as possible to see who the text is from.
Pilar.
You should stop by the bathrooms with your new little friend and see what’s happening. It’s rather …
jaw dropping.
Christ. The woman moves way too fast for me. I can only guess by her reference that she’s already got Lawrence’s dick in her mouth. I’m fucking impressed.
And disgusted, though I have no room to judge. I’m afraid this won’t be easy, dealing with Violet. She’s a delicate little flower. Discovering Pilar and her fiancé—or boyfriend, or whatever he wants to call himself—together has the power to destroy her. She could crumble into tiny pieces, fall into a fit of rage, cry buckets of tears. I have no idea.
I don’t like that. I’ve dealt with enough unknowns in my life. When it comes to this scheme, I want to be in control. I need to. Pilar is trying to take that control away from me.
Deleting the message, I turn to look at Violet and find her staring at the city spread out before us, the wind blowing through her lustrous dark hair, her red, red lips pursed into a delectable pout. She appears contemplative. But I see the wrinkle in her brows, the tightness in her jaw. She’s upset.
“We should go inside,” I say gently, touching her forearm, streaking my thumb across her baby-soft skin slowly, just once. A tremble moves through her, subtle but there, and she lifts her gaze to mine. “Lawrence is probably looking for you,” I tell her, feeling like a liar the moment the words fall from my lips.
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m sure he’s not, but thank you for your feigned concern.”
“Violet,” I murmur, but she says nothing, just pushes away from the railing, away from me, and starts toward the door.
I let her walk ahead of me, my mind feeling as if it’s on speed, rushing through the endless possibilities of what might happen next. A few minutes alone with her and I should be feeling on top of the world. It’s all going according to plan, even if the plan was placed on fast forward and is skipping through all the relevant scenes. Instead of triumph, guilt slips through my veins, turning my blood cold. This woman has been made a victim by her asshole boyfriend time and again. Why is she so blind to his faults? Why has she let him continue to cheat on her? It makes no sense.
But it’s not my concern. It’s not as if I have any concern for anyone but myself. She’s exactly the same way. It’s all about appearances for her. I need to remember she’s nothing but a rich bitch who can have whatever and whomever she wants. Not my problem that she chooses to stay with an utter asshole who loves nothing more than cheating on his beautiful girlfriend. She’s smart, successful, beautiful, and worth an absolute fortune. Yet he’s never satisfied.