Good God, the devil really does wear Prada.
I’m totally fucking screwed.
Chapter 12
I take deep breaths as I try to ignore the feelings that Tristan Miles arouses in me.
Maybe that’s it—it’s just a bad-boy thing.
Yes, all women experience this at least once in their lives. I’m just doing it a little later than most.
Of
course.
That is totally it. Why didn’t I realize this before?
I know I shouldn’t want him, and so therefore I do. Maybe if he were the perfect model citizen, I wouldn’t even want him at all.
I sip my wine in celebration about my epiphany. God . . . and I thought I really liked him. Stupid idiot. This is actually a relief.
My phone vibrates on the table as it receives a text. Tristan. Here we go.
Let me guess,
Gabriel Ferrara is offering to
help you financially?
I frown. What? Angered, I text back.
Gabriel is a good friend.
I’m offended.
Stop texting me before I block you.
A reply bounces back.
If you block me, who’s going to
nail you through the mattress tonight?
I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. I write back.
I am on a date with another man.
I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you.
An answer bounces back.
You don’t like him,
I know you don’t.
I roll my eyes; the arrogance of this man is next level.
Okay Siri,