The Evolution of Man (The Trust Fund Duet 2)

I have actually had sex with Christopher Bardot but sitting to the side in the busy kitchen of a hip restaurant, watching him make that face feels like watching something private.

And regardless of whether he wants my rich-person opinion of the restaurant, I have no desire to sit here and be turned on by a man who doesn’t even like me.

“The papers,” I manage to say, my voice a little hoarse. I have to clear my throat and try it again, before they come out clear enough to understand. “Where are the papers?”

“Try the oyster,” he says, and because I’m weak, I’m so weak, I actually do.

I have a feeling this evening is going to crash and burn and I really want to taste the oyster. It slides onto my tongue with a burst of flavor, the strawberries almost unrecognizable this way, tart and lush and cold. It’s like a crisp bite of the ocean. Oh God. My eyes close. I’m making the face. I know I’m making the face, but I can’t stop. It’s so good.

When I actually open my eyes again, my muscles are lax. My defenses are down. It’s like I really did have an orgasm right here in this black wooden chair with mother-of-pearl inlays along the sides. Pleasure still lingers in my body, like warm honey on the inside.

“I didn’t bring them,” Christopher says, and it’s like another ice-water bucket.

“Are you serious? Why not?”

“I forgot.”

“I don’t think you’ve forgotten anything the entire time I’ve known you. You probably have a photographic memory, don’t you? There’s no way you forgot.”

A shrug. “Maybe.”

“Is this a game to you?” I left my mother in the Gone with the Wind house by herself, and I know she’ll be fine without me for a few hours. But something could happen. Inevitably something will happen, and this man is playing around with my time like it’s nothing.

“A game.” He seems to consider it seriously. “No. It’s not fun enough for a game.”

I stand up, throwing my napkin down on the empty oyster shell. “You know what? Go ahead and mail me the papers. I don’t know why I asked to meet with you. You are worse than self-centered, Christopher. Worse than arrogant. Now you’re just downright mean.”

It never ceases to surprise me that I tumble headfirst into holes that I’ve dug myself.

Or in this case, tripped over a piece of concrete that I painted in peaceful protest, which caused a halt to the construction of a shiny new strip mall where an abandoned library had stood. The marble floor catches my fall, sending shocks of pain up my arms and knees.

“Are you okay?” Avery asks, peering from the heavy plastic tarp behind me.

“Never better,” I say, dusting my hands off. “But watch your step.”

She glances around the large space with those wide Bambi eyes. God, no wonder Gabriel Miller went after this woman. He would have wanted her even if she hadn’t auctioned off her virginity like fresh meat in the middle of the forest. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?”

It’s definitely not safe. “I’m sure no one’s going to stop us. They mostly put up the barricades because people kept stealing pieces of concrete, which is crazy considering there are shelves full of old and rare books inside.”

“The concrete was selling for so much money online,” Avery says, her tone overly reasonable. “Then there was that one chunk with Cleopatra’s eye—”

“Can we not talk about that?”

“The bidding got to five figures, didn’t it?”

I glare at her. “We’re here to talk about construction plans, right?”

She bends to examine a small piece of concrete where an inch of white paint remains. “You have to own the building before you can start construction.”

“Oh, I own it.”

“Christopher sold it to you?” She sounds surprised.

It surprised me, too. Christopher Bardot might be cold and arrogant, but he has a strict moral code. Strict enough that he would never steal from my trust fund. That’s what I thought, until he made a veritable fortune selling me a pile of concrete. It makes me feel betrayed, which in turn makes me feel foolish, because I know better than to trust a man.

“All for the low bargain price of two billion dollars.”

Her mouth drops open. “What?”