Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

“Yes. You did. You do not accept anything from that little bitch. She’s to put it personally into my hands.”

She swallows and nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Ravnikar.”

Almost a week later, Ciara’s back. This is getting fucking insulting. My need to know how she’s daring to stand up to me overwhelms my desire to see her suffer. “I’ll cut your debt in half right now if you tell me where you’re getting this money.”

That tempts Ciara. For a moment, her mouth goes slack as she considers my offer, but just when I think I’m about to learn the truth, her lips firm, and she brandishes her phone at me.

“I’d rather pay back every penny my father stole from you. Now, get out of my way before I call the police and tell them you’re keeping me here against my will.”

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to wring her goddamn neck. As she squeezes past me out of my office I imagine it so clearly. I’ve never killed a woman before, but Miss Ciara Alders is making herself an excellent candidate to be my first.

As soon as she’s gone I pull out my phone and call Boris. He answers right away.

“Yes, boss?”

“I want men tailing Miss Alders at all times from now on, day and night. Everywhere she goes, everyone she speaks to. Addresses and photographs. I want a report on my desk every day at midday.”

Boris’ reply is prompt and businesslike. “Yes, Mr. Ravnikar.”

I feel myself unclench a little. People saying yes to me. People doing as they’re told. There hasn’t been enough of that lately.

I hang up and turn my phone over in my hand. Miss Alders thinks she can outsmart me. That she can just pay me back and laugh at me behind my back. Not a fucking chance.

It turns out I don’t even have to wait until midday the next day to get the first report. Later that evening, Boris calls me, and the news he has for me is the only thing I didn’t want to hear. The truth is a knife slipping between my shoulder blades and piercing my heart.

“She’s with your brother,” he tells me. “Anton and Miguel tell me they came out of a bar together looking like they were on a date. When they tried to grab her, Mikhail beat them up, and drove away with her.”

My brother and Ciara Alders. Mikhail helping the daughter of our enemy. Protecting her with his life. Betraying us and all we built together. I knew there was something up with him. I could feel the treachery all around me, but I didn’t want to believe.

Not my own brother.

I stare out the window at the view of the city my brother and I have called home for so long. Mikhail Ravnikar, you are one dead motherfucker.

Chapter Five

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; Bethany

Oh, fucking hell. Another one looking for a sugar daddy.

I fume at the message I’ve received on my dating app. After my date that Damir ruined, I redoubled my efforts. I thought I’d nailed my approach to make my hunt more efficient, but if anything, things are worse.

Thumbs flying, I type a reply to RichGuyGreg, 38, 2mi. Just because I’m looking for a certain class of gentleman doesn’t make me a sugar baby. I am an upscale young woman looking for an upscale man. I don’t accept cash in exchange for dates. I expect a man to treat me in the manner which I’m accustomed to, but apparently scrubs like you don’t understand that.

RichGuyGreg responds with a picture of his dick. I send back a picture of a bloodied carving knife, and block him.

I navigate back to my DMs. Next up is Callem, 34, 1mi. Young, fair, big smile and wearing a striped collared shirt with a lilac tie. Interesting choice, I guess. His other pics show him running the London Marathon, at a wedding with “the boys,” a shot of him in tweed trousers and an incongruous polo shirt with a dead pheasant in one hand and rifle in the other, and finally a moody selfie probably taken at home that shows off his glitzy watch and a view of the Thames out his living-room window.

His message simply says, Hey.

I grimace. I want to delete it because this guy is as Oxbridge Basic as they come, but that’s what the old Bethany would do. New Bethany isn’t such a judgy bitch. New Bethany is just a tiny bit desperate.

I type out a reply. Hey, there! So nice to meet you. I love the tweed. Is that one of your friend’s estates?

His reply comes back a minute later. No, that’s my family’s. You’re beautiful.

His family’s. Ding ding ding. Thank you. You’re pretty cute yourself ;)